Yesterday Never Ended: The Nostalgic Season

Prologue IV: A Thousand Miles Apart

By the time I arrive back home, the sun begins to set. I'd wasted a lot of time earlier when I loitered pointlessly and I'd actually gotten somewhat lost after I'd left the store. I am still reacquainting myself with the city, after all.

A quick check of the kitchen cupboards warrants my earlier decision to pay visit to the grocery store, as I find their shelves nearly bare.

*****

As I absentmindedly watch the noodles boil in the steel pot, I wonder to myself how my father had gotten by all that time while I was gone. It seems like he didn't venture much further than his own room, judging by the condition of the house before I'd tidied it up. At that, with the lack of any resources in the kitchen, it's as if he'd never stepped foot into a grocery store after my leave. Though, maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions too quickly and just caught him at a bad time. I can't know for sure.

I pour the contents of the can of tomato paste into another pot to warm as my mind travels to other subjects.

I remember an image of my mother in the kitchen nearly in the same place as myself with my brother at her side. She was preparing a meal, all the while teaching my eager for knowledge brother a certain family recipe for stuffed shells that was passed down through her lineage. She was always an amazing cook and my brother certainly followed in her footsteps with every lesson taught. Although I'd also learned a thing or two in the culinary arts by my mother's guidance, I certainly wasn't prepared to outdo either of them.

I was always the talentless one of my family. To this day I can't readily say that I have a calling in life. Right now I'm still in the air about current circumstances and I continue to dwell in my own past. I know that Hiram has and still continues to be an unsinkable ship headed towards the lands in the horizon as he attends college and chases his dreams everyday. Yet, it makes me feel like a lost sheep as I think about him, I'm without destination or calling.

"Just where am I going with my life?" The question echoes in my mind as I remain pensive, staring at the clock as seconds of my life waste away before my eyes.

*****

Two sets of silverware and dishes lay on the table as time drags on. Nearly two hours have passed since I'd finished dinner's preparations and the food had long lost its warmth. I remain waiting at the table with a dish yet untouched, maintaining patience with waning hopes of justification. I guess it would have helped if I'd at least known my father's work schedule but was there really a way of knowing? I laugh at my own stupidity, critical of myself and my most recent failure as I rise.

A sound that rings through the silent setting alarms me and I turn to face its origins. Standing in the doorway, doorknob still in hand, is my father who looks to me and the table before him with surprise as a dominant feature on his face. The two of us continue as still as stone until he makes the first attempt to clear the stagnation from the air.

"What's this about?" He inquires almost apprehensively.

I open my mouth only to close it again. The words feel like immovable rocks in my chest. I struggle a moment longer before I can finally verbalize what I want to say.

"I thought you'd like to have something to eat after coming back from work. Was I wrong?"

"I don't think so. I'd be fine with eating, I guess." His response is as stilted as my reasoning.

"W-well, won't you have a seat?"

He steps into the house and shuts the door behind himself, approaching the table with infrequent and hesitant steps. I do my best to welcome him by pulling out the chair at the head of the table and motioning him to seat himself. He follows my proposition and takes the chair I'd readied for him. Once he is settled, I take my own seat.