Hello, Again

Chapter 14 (Part 1)

~~~

There's a right and a wrong time~~~

"Where even is this Syracuse?"

"I've told you, it's in New York City," Amelia replied patiently, and reached out to take Bethany's hand, "it's just four years, Beth, four years we would have spent apart anyway – and it's not like I won't come over for holidays."

"That's bollocks," Bethany snorted, "I know you Amy, you can't wait to get away from Surrey. Don't give me shit about coming back – I know you'll end up staying there forever."

"You can't make conclusions like that," exclaimed Amelia, unable to fathom a way to placate her friend, "it's just Uni, Beth. We can't be joined at the hip forever, can we?"

"Oh wow, now I'm the one being clingy,isn't it Amelia? This is just typical you – you're so caught up in your own tragedy that you never think of what others feel."

The words stabbed sharper than a knife would've managed

"You don't mean that," said Amelia quietly, "do you Beth?"

Bethany didn't reply.

...

Middle-of-June mornings weren't meant to be so melancholy.

But Amelia had long learned that her personal tragedy was to feel acutely what most others hadn't quite heard of, and as she walked down 86th street she thought of how peculiar it was that she'd chosen to wear a yellow sundress today, of all days.

It was the last garment she'd ever want to be found in, but ironies like that kept the Sadness at bay. Sometimes.

She was almost proud of herself – she'd kept her own promises and risen up early,spending hours scrubbing every inch of her skin until it nearly bled, dressed in her (questionable) best, and organized her portfolio. Her finals were finally done, and a small, contrary part of her found herself looking forward to her parents' arrival due in two weeks. She reminded herself that they were possibly very proud at their only child's graduation, as yet another thing to tether her to the ground, and set out for a walk.

Sixteen-year old Amelia wasn't quite as overwhelmed and walked a far greater deal, taking the bus to London with Beth and ambling along the streets while the latter went off with her latest conquest. There as something unquestionably freeing about walking amid the throng, her bright blue and battered headphones blaring Florence Welch, people pushing past her small bubble. She'd spend hours pacing through streets, watching faces and buildings and store-fronts, each glittering with its own charm, until it was time to meet Beth back at the bus stop.

Twenty-two year old Amelia lamented about the scarcity of time, and walked around her block every weekend to make up for it.

On mornings like this, however, she decided to break tradition and ambled along the Museum Mile instead.

Fate worked in funny ways, sometimes.

Standing in front of the Guggenheim, Amelia took off her recently prescribed temporary glasses (that she'd put on quite religiously this very morning) and stared up at the curving mass of the building. Tourists jostled past her towards the entrance, taking pictures of the building, talking excitedly about the vibe of the Big Apple, but Amelia paid them no heed. For once, this turbulent morning, her mind was at peace.

She hated this building.

She watched with mounting distaste at the smooth white surfaces, the spiralling structure that stood out blatantly against its classical neighbours. To Amelia's (almost) trained eye, it screamed for attention at the street corner, a glaring incomprehensible mess that wasn't content with housing artworks as much as it was at having become one. She'd walked inside the museum plenty of times to have memorised the layout of the floors, the scale of its grandeur and luxe, crevices hidden away from the public eye, but something stopped her each time she looked upon its façade, discontent and indignation growing in her heart at something that wasn't, for once, herself.