His Sweetest Delight

20

-Alia Romano-

"How is it?" Mama sparks conversation.

I slurp down another fork full of noodles before answering, "Davvero una brava mama!"

"Muy bien Mio amore." Papa says. The Spanish makes mama cringe before she smiles.

"Delicious!" Maria and Matteo say.

Alessio doesn't say anything and we all look at him as he's downing every last pice of his food. Mama can't help but smile at her cooking skills.

Alessio puts his fork down on the now empty plate.

"Dude. We sat down like 10 minutes ago." I say.

Alessio shrugs, "What? It was good."

I hold back my laugh only because I don't want to waste the noodles I'm already chewing.

For a moment, everyone is silent.

I look over at the empty place setting diagonal from me. The pain of it still hurting.

He was there just a week ago.

My breathing hitches and it suddenly feels like the oxygen I'm breathing is contaminated, the air thick and it being hard for me to get a proper breath down.

The room shakes. Or... in my mind at least. My hands are shaking too. In anger? Anger that I couldn't save him or that he's no longer here? Maybe both.

My body, however, it feels light. Like I'm floating. And that helps me recognize what is happening.

Before it can get worse, I slide my chair back, and with shaky hands and a cracked voice, I excuse myself from the table.

I walk quickly out of the dining room and down the hall again. I stop at my door, but tears are at the brim of my eyes and the need to keep walking, moving, breathing, something. It all washes over me.

I walk a little further down the hall till it feels like my legs are about to break from the weight of my torso. Three doors down from my own bedroom, I'm now in front of his room.

The sign on the door that I'm pretty sure almost every teenage boy got in highschool reading 'keep out! You have been warned' is still hanging there. As it has for almost 15 years.

I take an unsteady breath and reach for the door knob that is as cold as ice. I take another breath and turn the knob and push the wooden door open.

A breeze of cold air, almost like no one had been occupying the room for years, making it practically a fossil, rushed past me, picking up some pieces of my hair.

The first thing I notice is the strong scent of Dior Sauvage cologne. As I walked farther into the room, it only got stronger. Almost like he was actually there.

"I miss you." I whisper into the silence. "So much." My voice cracks.

I sigh and walk over to the bed. I sit down and just breathe. I do that till my hands are no longer shaking and the air doesn't feel thick.

In the corner of my eye, a notepad catches my attention on the nightstand. It was bright red and had a matching pencil sitting on top.

I pick it up opening to the first page that read as follows:

'Men can have diary's too. Doesn't mean you should read them. If you are anybody but the author of this journal, I advise you to put it down, close it and place it back where you got it from unless you'll be walking around in heaven with your head in your arms.'