our last summer. (e.m)

two: coming up empty.

stepping back into this old territory of mine is like wading into churning waters;
how long until it pulls me under?
or will it decide to be gracious and become steady?
though it has been ten, long years since i've seen this place,
my feet are steadily walking on pure muscle memory.
the smell of freshly tilled dirt hits me like it never left my lungs.
this house has not failed the test of time.
though the paint on the side of the house is chipping and blown in leaves decorate the front porch,
it is still the very same house eight year old y/n once laughed and lived without consequence.
i knock on the front door now,
like i'm a stranger,
when this house is and was my livelihood.
i must ask for entrance now,
despite the part of me that still lingers in the cracks of the walls.
"clover girl!"
my father says with a smile,
bringing my hand into both of his as a gesture of greeting.
my father has never been a hugger,
so this is as close as we will ever get.
"hi."
"how have you been? here, let me get that."
my father takes the bags at my side and moves our conversation inside.
the air conditioning is relief to my sweltering skin.
"i've been good. yeah, just fine. you?"
"same old. how's your mom?"
i clear my throat at how easy it is for him to bring her up.
does his heart no longer ache for their lost love?
"you look just like her, clover. i can't believe how grown up you are."
"she's doing good."
he nods in understanding then shoves his hands in his denim pockets.
i can see the memories of us as a family in his dark eyes.
how he used to hoist me up on his shoulders,
how we used to swim together in laps,
how we used to color until my eyes got heavy with sleep.
if it weren't for the way his cheekbones sink in like mine do,
i might call this man a stranger.
"thank you for coming. i know it wasn't what you had in mind for the summer, but it means a lot that you're here."
i nod my head and give him some grace by saying,
"i'm glad to get to see you, dad."
the word sounds unfamiliar on my tongue.
i wonder if he hears how foreign it sounds.
instead of it being awkward,
it seems to do the opposite and replenish my dads sickly skin;
a reminder of who he used to be.
"your room is still the same one, clover. i redid it some, though. since you're not eight anymore."
he chuckles at himself then begins rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet.
another thing him and i have in common,
like something etched into my dna from him,
despite how completely different we are.
when i go up the stairs and to the right,
where my old bedroom used to be,
i notice he doesn't follow me.
he stays downstairs and i must admit,
i'm glad for it.
i'm finding it harder and harder to breathe the more i remember this shattered childhood of mine.
what happened between my parents that drifted them so?
did they simply stop loving each other?
surely not...
love doesn't work that way, does it?
so what could it have been?
and why was i left as collateral?
i open the door and find that all my toddler likeliness has been stripped from this room,
replaced with a more modern, mature look.
it looks like a room for a guest,
not for a girl who once lived her greatest life here.
i sit on the edge of the bed and let out a heavy breath.
maybe my time here doesn't have to be so disheartening.
if i can learn to let it go,
to shed that younger version of myself,
i can replace it with a girl who is happier,
who has the time of her life,
like it should have always been.
i won't grieve any longer.
eight year old me has been tossed out with my bedroom.
i head back down the stairs and meet with my father in the kitchen,
where he quietly sips water from a glass.
"i'm gonna go on a walk. get some fresh air."
"okay, yeah. sounds good. i can make us some clam cakes tonight if you'd like."
my stomach grumbles in reply which makes my dad laugh.
it's enough to break the ice for now,
so i laugh along with him.
"that'd be great, thanks."
then i head out the front door.
the house across the street stops me short.
i'd been so nervous greeting my father,
that i forgot all about this house here.
eddie munson might just lay right in my reach,
after all these years.
my feet move before i can think this through and soon,
my knuckles are tapping against the front door.
my heart races,
my palms sweat,
my legs tremble.
what will i say?
"hey, remember me? don't worry, i never forgot you."
the door opens to reveal a woman i've never seen before.
she stands significantly shorter than me,
with bluntly cut hair and a white smile.
"can i help you?"
she asks politely.
"um...i'm-i'm sorry, does an eddie munson live here?"
she chuckles as though my question was one of stupidity then shakes her blindingly blonde hair.
"no, sweetheart. that family hasn't been in these parts of town since, whew...i couldn't even tell you. nearly a decade."
so just about after i left?
"okay, thank you. i'm sorry to bother you,"
i say with an awkward laugh then head back down the very sidewalk i came up.
and so my one hope for this summer has been diminished
something to make this reconnecting with my father a bit more bearable no longer exists;
nothing more to look forward to.
i know it sounds harsh.
like my reasons for coming here are all out of priority and quite selfish.
but please believe me when i say:
i have no connection to my father.
and maybe that will change.
that is what i'm silently hoping for with this summer.
but for now,
all i can do to get through this is hope eddie munson is out there,
waiting for my return.