April 15, 2013
Day 15: Write a scene in an almost empty room.
The door was fractionally open. I inched closer to it, intending to knock, but I could see Jared through the crack, standing by the wide open windows, watching the streets below as he so often did sometimes. The wind ruffled his already messy hair, but he seemed so fixated at the scene before him. No smile touched his lips but I could tell from the peaceful expression on his defined face that he was fairly satisfied with what he was seeing.
I pushed the door a little just enough so I could squeeze past the doorway. The creaking sound that the door made did not seem to startle Jared, but his eyes met mine, and for a second, my imagination must have been playing tricks on me for I thought I saw Jared's eyes light up at the sight of me.
I took the opportunity to look like I wasn't staring at him and to sweep my eyes over the room, but there wasn't much to look at for the room was empty. It was a small room especially for someone like Jared who grew up in a miniature castle, but it was costly enough and big enough in such a cramped and populated place as the center of Paris, the heart of the City of Love. There were no furniture and the walls were bare plaster. The wooden floor was impressive though, as though it has been recently polished.
Jared slinked off the window sill and took a few steps closer to me. I was suddenly so aware of his prescence, that there were only the two of us. Alone.
"What do you think?" Jared asked me, a lopsided grin of an excited schoolboy on his lips.
"It seems pretty...spacious?" I tried, unable to resist his contagious smile and smiling teasingly back at him as well.
"I know," he said, looking around, "I haven't even started yet. I bought this place on my own and I'm going to fix it up on my own. I just wanted you to see it, first."
There was a confident assurance in his eyes, a certain positivity about him.
"Why did you buy this place, Jared?" I asked unable to hold in my curiousity any longer, " It seems pretty small compared to West Manor, don't you think?"
"It reminded me of you," he said timidly and simply, and that was something because Jared was not the timid kind of guy. Nor was he simple in any kind of way, really.
"Me?" I echoed.
"Yes, and our crazy misadventurous summer together."
My heart was beating fast in my chest. Something stirred inside of me, something terrible and confusing ang wonderful and destructive. It was called hope.
Jared wanted to be reminded of me.
"It does look a bit like our hotel room," I commented.
"And it's cozy too," he added.
Then, just like that we were silent.
The words had run out.
Just as our time will come to run out.
And the goodbye becomes inevitable.
It hung heavily in the air, both of us aware yet none of us brave enough to acknowledge that soon, we would have to part ways. I would have to get back to the States and the Paris that was ours for the summer would be nothing more than a bitter sweet memory, a life-changing journey.
I don't think it can ever be reduced to that, though.
We can never be reduced to that, an old photograph, a faded memory.
It was too special.
We were special.
Him and me.
Me and him.
It was impossible.
