Bygone

Part III

            Two smart raps to the door called me to rise from my chair. It must be Lavinia. I shuffled over to the door a little faster than usual. Lavinia was someone I could talk to, someone I could trust with my thoughts, which were the only possessions worth anything to me anymore. Maybe she could find a cure to help me from the disease that had infected my mind. I open the door, and in front of me, with a wide smile on her face, is Michelle the tax collector.  

She beams at me and waves her hand in front of my face. “Hey there, Atlas!”  Before I have time to reply, she hands me a white envelope with To: Atlas Vivienne Pless scrawled in neat black letters.

She walked past me into the room, and sits herself down on the sofa after moving away some paints, which clattered to the floor, making me frown.

“I’m getting married, Atlas!” She tells me breathlessly.

“Oh,” I said, a little shocked.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’m old.” She laughs to herself. “Well, I met him, you know when….” She continued on for a while, and I listened, nodding in all the right places.

“That’s great!” I say once she finished speaking. Her lined face almost radiates happiness. She nods so excitedly that the frizzy red bob on her head jumps like a small child.

“Well, go ahead and open it.” She says, pointing at the forgotten envelope in my hand.

“Oh, right,” I say, tearing the letter open. It’s an invitation to her wedding. It’s a picture of Michelle and her husband, Joey, both of whom were wearing robes, with the date written. “thanks.”

She nods gravely and looks at me with stars in her eyes. “Doesn’t he look absolutely sexy in his robe?” she sighs.

“Uh,” I don’t know what to say. “sure. He looks sexy. That robe suits him just perfectly.”

The doorbell rings, and Michelle stands up. “Well, ta-ta now!” she throws open the door, says her greetings to Lavinia, winks at me, and flies off shouting “Remember to send the tax money to me, you know my address!”

Lavinia stands at the door, a perplexed look on her face.

“Oh, come in.” I say, and she does.

“Who was that?” she asks, pointing at the door.

“Michelle, the tax collector.” I respond matter of factly.

“Oh.”

“So, where would you like to get started?” I say, clapping my hands together.

“Let’s start in the kitchen.” She says, heading over to the sink. “And I like your hair, Atlas.”

I smile broadly. “Thanks!” she smiles back and starts the water, and begins washing the hoards of dishes piled one on top of each other.

            I watch her back, hunched over my sink, scrubbing soapy water over drying food, and decide that it was best not to tell her after all. I wasn’t about to make her into another me. One Atlas is enough, and with two, it would just be chaos. I didn’t have the heart to see shadows begin to creep over her eyes, spreading out underneath them into half moons, her days wasted thinking about what ifs, and her health crumble around her, her mental strength following close behind.  No, I would keep her like a pressed flower, preserving her innocence eternally. That meant that I had to act the part, that is, of the ‘old’ me, so that I wouldn’t arouse any suspicions.

            This would be easy. I wasn’t always a sad, lonesome little author, though it seems hard to believe now. I used to have quite the number of friends. I wasn’t what you would deem to be a social butterfly, but I wasn’t a recluse either. My friends comprised of many similar people, bordering on antisocial, but not quite. We were all good friends, and we had a lot in common. After all, we were pursuing many of the same things by attending the Amelia Earhart University for the creative arts. We were the phoenix. At first, when I was still socially awkward, I had nothing to do but to put my time and energy into my studies, and people came to know me as that one genius kid. But, as I grew to have friends, I realized that people found people who were more stupid then them, or below them, better friend material. It was strange. I had assumed that people would like intelligence, and gather around people who they aspired to be. On the other hand, in reality, I found people to wanted to be the queen bee of their group, and though they befriended those more able then them, they always held jealousy in their heart and were prone to backstabbing.