Wake Me Up |e.s|

Five

I kind of glance at Ed, his eyes staring up into the sky. I don't really know the exact amount of time we were standing there, but I knew it was for a while because the sun was beginning to rise in the sky.

"I love the sunrise," he whispers as he gives me a quick glance.

I guess it was quick because at the same time I was staring at how his pale skin was so noticeable from the green grass and how his orange hair matched the sun that was rising, almost as if he was the sun himself.

I figured to some people he was, the way his music relates to real-life situations and shit like that, but I stared at him for those few seconds right until he glanced at me. To which I quickly turned from him and stared at the sky, "I like the sunrise as well."

I swear I could feel his smile linger on my skin, so close yet so far away was he. It felt like an eternity before he replied, a slow but sure reply of, "You were my inspiration."

I slowly recognised the words he said, but then he stood up, quickly. He stood up and held out his hand to me which I took and we slowly trudged back towards my Beetle. He opened the door to the passenger seat and slowly clumbed in, his head going in then his hands and then his legs, like a little kid. I smiled slowly before climbing in myself, turning on the ignition.

We both buckled our seatbelts, and I began the drive back towards his hotel. I didn't know why he stayed at a hotel, maybe because his old room was used for storage, but he could easily move somewhere in Framlingham. I remembered then that we both lived in London, no where near close driving distance of Framlingham, a slow three hour drive was in store for myself by the day after tomorrow.

I don't think I really wanted to go.

• • • •

Throughout the day, I found myself slowly picking up random things that tied memories to myself with my mother. I had picked up once a flannel jacket, something so simple, but so special.

Being in the UK, it's almost easy to assume that you can get used to the cold; but the cold is the worse to get through. One afternoon, my 8th birthday, I had forgotten my coat in the car that day, I was so excited to be traveling out the country that day.

My first out of the country trip was to Australia. I don't remember the exact details, just the cold airport, and how I forgot my coat in the car.

My mother had offered me her coat, "But aren't you cold?" I had asked, it was an obvious question, but she only smiled, "I'm never cold when you're around, you make me feel all fuzzy inside."

I remember smiling at her, but I don't remember the rest; just another simple memory that was falling into the drain just as my mother's life had.

I had put down the sweater, stuffing it into a cardboard box that had, in large letters, "Mum."

It was simple, put the objects in the box, put them away. It wasn't simple, pick up the item, reminisce about the item, keep it in your hands for five hours.

By the time five PM had rolled around, I was finally done with putting away my mother's life. The house had gone from full to empty, pointless clutter had been stashed away from the crevices of bookcases and cushions, pictures had been put up, notebooks had been placed in a box, and everything went in the attic.

The house had never looked better, but it had never looked worse. The walls were a purple colour, her favourite was violet, but it was the ugliest shade of purple in the world. I sat on the 10 year old seat in the living space, only to be greeted by groaning from the springs.

I slowly surveyed the room, silence filled every void in it, filled every sentence that would follow, and filled the walls. Slowly, but surely the room would once again find it's voice, but it wouldn't be for a long time.