Writing About Blue Eyes -Phan-

Chapter 10

Phil's POV

I had been working for about an hour when my mum asked me to go get the canning stuff from the basement. It was near the end of peach season and she realised we had yet to make any jam. As I walked down the stairs into the dimly lit room, I smiled as I remembered how scared I used to be of down here when I little. I actually don't think I had gone into the basement since we had properly moved here.

Once I looked around a bit, I realised I had no idea where the canning stuff actually was. I could just go upstairs and ask my mum but that seemed like a lot of unnecessary stairs. Instead I began to crack open boxes and peek inside. It only took a few tries to find the one I was looking for. Yet, the box next to the jam making stuff was the one I sat down on the ground to open.

I could smell her perfume before I even opened it. Sweet and floral, it reminded me of tight hugs and reading stories in the evenings. When I opened the box I found a blanket.

"Are you ready for a story Phil?" An older woman asked a small child who was clearly too excited for bedtime.

"Yes!" He exclaimed excitedly, bouncing up onto the bed.

"Get comfy snugglebug," She said kindly, taking a huge knitted blanket and tucking it around both of them.

"Can you tell the one about the two princes?" The boy asked.

"But I just told that one last night," The woman smiled.

"It's my favourite," He insisted, "Please?"

"All right then," She began, "Once upon a time..."

The little boy listened the whole time, interjecting his own ideas when she told part "wrong". Still, it wasn't too long before he couldn't keep his eyes open, and the story had to be stopped for the evening. They could finish it tomorrow. They had all the time in the world.

I buried my nose in the blanket, trying to remember it forever now. I couldn't forget anything about her now, or else it would be gone forever. Gone. I had never allowed myself to think about that.

At the funeral I didn't cry. It's not that I was ashamed of crying, but my mum was so devastated. I needed to be strong for her. It was easier to lend a shoulder to cry on and to stop thinking, than allow myself to grieve. That way was painless. But the forgetting... Now that I remembered it hurt so much more. Having the memories back was something I didn't account for. But how did I ever let them go?

Suddenly it was impossible to keep from crying. Crying with deep shuddering breaths that I couldn't stop. And I felt so weak. I should be okay by now. This was months ago. People die, that's how life works. Yet, it was the permanence that was so hard to wrap my head around. She wasn't just away on a trip and I'm never going to be able to talk to her again.

I needed to stop crying. There were things I was supposed to be doing, my family couldn't know this happened. They don't need this, they're finally smiling more again. But deep breaths don't work when a single thought can send you back into sobbing. There's all the things I never did. The last few summers that I missed completely because I was "too busy". Things I can never get back.

Eventually I got myself collected and the tears began to stop. I dried my eyes, keeping my breathing as easy as possible, and hoped they weren't rimmed in red enough to give me away. I picked up the canning supplies before walking back upstairs, joining my parents in the kitchen. Once I was back in the light of the kitchen it was easy to stop thinking for the moment, to burry myself in the work. That's the only way I could deal with it.

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At the end of the day, I went back down to the basement, though this time there were no tears. I think that the crying had been necessary. Maybe now I could finally start to think about the memories, slowly. In the basement I grabbed the blanket and then went to go put it on my bed. The smell will probably wear out quicker that way, but I don't want to forget anymore. I don't want even the simple task of moving a blanket to make me tear up.

Soon after I had set the blanket on my bed, my phone buzzed with a text from Dan. I almost didn't want to answer, interacting sounded difficult at the moment, but some distraction would probably be good. I laid down on my bed, next to the blanket, and immediately began to smile at Dan's texts.

To: Phil

i hate writing

To: Dan

I don't like it very much either. That's why I'm not an author :)

To: Phil

tru. your life decisions make much more sense.

To: Phil

how was your day while i was hitting my head against the keyboard?

To: Dan

I've had better days

To: Phil

?

To: Dan

I never properly cried when my grandma passed away. It caught up today.

Dan didn't reply for a few minutes after that, he must have gotten distracted or something. Then there was a knock at my bedroom door.

"Come in," I said, my voice already annoyed. It was probably my mum wondering about why I had been so off today and I did not feel like explaining that again.

Dan opened the door carefully, "I was thinking we could go sit outside and eat some ice cream," He said holding a container of said desert, two spoons, and a blanket. The benefits of having your boyfriend live only two blocks away.

"That sounds perfect," I almost laughed at how great that sounded. Dan couldn't have done anything better.

So we went outside and walked a bit into the woods, until we found a nice clearing in the trees to set down the blanket and eat. I told Dan about how out of control I feel when I'm crying. He offered advice and we ate right out the ice cream container. It wasn't long before I no longer had to force my smiles. Dan even jokingly offered that making out would make me feel better. Well he wasn't wrong. That's how we ended up kissing ice-cream-sweet kisses under the trees, completely entangled with each other.