Pink Lemonade

Thoughts and a Letter

The sun illuminated itself through the plain glass of pink lemonade. Its light bouncing off the sides creating a beautiful simple view. Yellow and reds tainting the glossy surface like it belonged there. Green faintly painted in the back... The trees... slowly growing darker from the setting sun. I could hear the leaves shift and sigh. The dark of the lawn marking the horizon line, wilting flowers I haven't worked on in a month, crispy brown petals like baked potato chips. The burnt curled ones that were a nuisance to eat because they'd always brake and hurt my mouth... I fixed my gaze to the white table holding up the glass, holding its clear rose pink shadow. My eyes fixed on what started my wandering indulgence of the scenery. The sun was almost at the bottom of the glass now.

And he still wasn't home.

The view of the glass blurred.

I wipe away the tear stinging at my eye.

He still wasn't home.

I slowly propped up on my elbow, rubbing my eye, feeling my eyelashes scratch across the palm of my hand. I touched the glass, feeling how warm it was. The ice had melt after all, and it was another warm summer evening. I looked to my empty glass that lay on the floor, only a line of the sweet syrup left in the cup. I had set It on its side carelessly because I was busy sobbing. What if I had gotten that into the carpet? Impossible to clean. It would sit there and stink.

Stink till he said "Is that a stain?"

Than we'd play the staring game. He'd stare at the ground, then back to me expectantly. I'd stare at him, then stare down at the ground. This is the game we'd play whenever I'd leave a subtle mess behind. But this game made me feel like the dog who pissed on the carpet. I make the lemonade after all. I pissed the carpet. All I can do is look at my mess in shame and wait for the "Bad! Bad dog!" Only he never does that, we just play the staring game, and then I clean it up. But the stink. Sticky sweet stink. That smell reminds me of the last spill I made. A panic attack was it... I stood to fast and broke my cup... no. It was his cup.

I trace my finger along the imperfect bumpy surface of the glass.

His cup used to have words on it, something dumb... it was clearly a souvenir. From his brother probably, always promoting his college. But he always drank from that glass. It wasn't special. Just a personal preference. When I broke it his expression didn't even change, I remember hearing myself say sorry over and over, saying I'll get the broom, and I'll clean up my mess. But his face. It never does change. Those sad sunken in eyes.. is it pity? Or disappointment in me. He always smiled around his friends, genuine wide sweet grins that make me smile.

I smile. But it fades, my lips relaxing.

When was the last time he smiled at me?

The stink.

The sweet stink of my lemonade.

I suddenly heard a car door shut and I sprung up. I quickly fixed my dress and stood up- then quickly bent down picking up my glass on the floor, setting it next to his glass. Fixed my dress again, and looked at the clock. 3:20. He usually came home around 10:30... I rushed through the hallway, to the white front door, with pink silk curtains. I slowly opened the door expecting to see his black car.

But he wasn't there.

I think it was the neighbors...

I stared out at the beautiful white painted fence, then to the flat black pavement. My lips slowly curled into a frown, feeling myself doze out... but a sparkle of light caught my eye, causing me to look up... I became fixed on the tall man who lived across the street. He was looking at his mail. I watched him carefully flip through, his sweat tainting his white blouse, and his lips somewhat pursed in concentration. Gold strands of hair fell into his blue eyes, his glasses catching the light of the sun like the lemonade glass had.

His name was Logan. He worked at Whoolincon Elementary as a teacher, and had brought a cake when my husband and I moved in. He had no wife. No husband. No children. Not even a pet.... My husband said he was a sad, sad man. But he seemed happy to me. Free...

I soon realized he was looking right at me. My heart thundered in embarrassment, my face burned, my jaw locked and I instantly shut the curtain... I could feel the ringing in my ears fade, I loosened the grip on the side of my dress, and all I could hear was my panting, and the loud clacking of the fridge making ice.

I should turn that off...

But... I slowly slipped open the soft pink curtain, peaking over the edge of the door window. He was walking over to the house!! I instantly shut the curtain, the ringing started again. The doorbell sang loudly throughout the house, and I suddenly felt so small.

I never answered the door HE answered the door!

But he isn't here.

Ding dong!

I felt my heart throb again.

And I did something I never thought I could.

My hand, touched the cool golden knob, and turned it, and I pulled open the door.

My eyes met his. Those dark deep blue. He smiled... I could see it in his eyes, it wasn't fake. His shining blue eyes he was looking right at me, and smiling. Teeth and all. A handsome uplifting grin.

His voice cut into my thoughts. "Ah... Sorry does Robert Gosling live here?"

Robert... I stared at him. His sharp nose, silky lips that he occasionally licked at because it was dry outside, and his forehead which had small drops of sweat from the hot air. "That's my husband's name." I whisper.

"Oh uh. Well. This is his then." He smiled offering me a small envelope. It had his name, scrawled in a fancy cursive on the top,

ROBERT GOSLING

I slowly took the letter from his firm grip, which barely indented the paper.... I stared at the fine ball point pen inked words. The handwriting was beautiful. But. I didn't recognize it.

"Mail guy mixed up the addresses I guess." He laughed

I looked back up at him "Ah. Yeah." I said so softly I don't think he could hear. "Well sorry to bother you." He smiled at me. There it was again. That beautiful genuine smile. We stared at each other for a little while... I think I wanted to say bye but I simply parted my lips, then shut them. He smiled a little and decided to leave. I watched him go. He passed the white fence, and glanced back at me, waving. I slowly raised my hand in response, and he continued his walk back home.