As They Come and Go

The boy is in town for Thanksgiving this year. He slowly sips Brandy, eyeing the girl. Tell me, he says. What were we like back then? The question makes the girl shift in her seat. Uncomfortable, she gets up and walks toward the window. The lawn is draped in a thick white sheet, and the cold winter night sky finally gets to her. She shivers and turns around, facing the boy's aged face. I haven't seen you in years and this is the first thing you ask, she yells. Tell me, the boy says, please. Her eyes shift around the room, trying desperately to avoid meeting the boy's. She paces, sipping hard liquor in between steps. Well, the boy asks. She plops down on her seat, defeated. I don't understand, Louie, what is it that you want, she asks. I want to hear a story, the boy says. Do you remember us in high school, Clarice, he asks. She shivers again, this time feeling colder than it was outside. Of course I remember, the girl says. Tell me all about it, the boy says, I'm afraid I don't remember much.

The girl sits up in her seat, then leans toward the coffee table. She downs the remaining Brandy in her glass and pours in more. The brown liquor creates a whirl sound, spinning as it hits the glass, then finally collapses altogether. The boy reaches out for the glass flagon, touching her hand. The girl winces. Are you playing coy, the boy jokes. Shut up and listen to your stupid story, she says. They both sit up straight, staring intently into each other's eyes for just a moment. The girl's eyes quickly move away from the boy's face. She stares at the pill organizer at the left of the coffee table. They are all full. It makes her realize the situation, and she snaps back into reality.

You know what, he says, you don't have to tell me anything. I'm fine with just looking at your beautiful face. Gosh, look at how well you've aged, Clarice. The girl gave him a grimacing look. The boy frowns. I'm sorry, he lets out, it's not my fault I disappeared. You kept pushing me away when you found out the truth. I'm surprised I got this far without you removing me from your life again, he says. The girl is having none of it. She gets up, without saying a word she opens the pill organizer, and scoops out Wednesday's contents. I didn't want to leave you, but you left me no choice, Clarice, the boy continues. The girl faces the window. Through the dense fluff, she sees an elderly woman wading towards her home. Ignored, the boy loses his patience.

The elderly woman shoots her head up towards the living room window, the source of all the noise. There is yelling, bumping, and crying. She quickens her pace, towards the home, as much as an old woman can. Her keys tumble about in her old, shaky hands. They fall in the snow, making a small imprint. The old woman struggles to bend down and get them. The door opens, it is the girl. Ah, Clarice, what was with all that racket, the old woman asks. I had a friend over, mother, the girl says. The old woman rushes inside, dropping her bags in the white patio. She checks all around the house, and then she sees the coffee table. Relieved, she sits down, reaching for her favorite book. Clarice, dear, fetch me my reading glasses, the old woman says. The girl walks towards the bathroom, switches on the light and fan, and locks the door. She turns on the faucet, running her hands under the lukewarm water, raising them over her mother's glasses, spilling some water on the lenses and reaching towards a towel. She kneels in front of the toilet, reaches into her mouth. She hears the clanks of ice cubes in a glass, and she turns to face the boy. About that story, she says.