Please Don't Set Me Free // c.t.h

0.1

"Is that the last of the boxes, hon?" My mom yells to my dad from the dining room.

"Yes!" He responded, jogging back from closing the trunk of the Jeep.

They were discussing what boxes had what in them as I ascended the stairs, a box in hand.

As I took out the last T-shirt in a previous box, mom calls that dinner is in half an hour. Falling out of the wrapped up shirt, was an old torn photo. Not sure who's it was or how it got there, I brought it downstairs. As I slowly walked down the stairs, I studied the photo carefully.

It was ripped in half, a little boy standing proudly. He couldn't have been any older than 6 years old. His skin was tanned, eyes were a chocolatey brown that could melt your worries away, black hair falling over his eyes but he didn't seem to mind. There was a dainty, fairly tanned arm around his waist. The arm had to have belonged to a girl around his age, and slightly shorter than him. I assumed the arm belonged to a younger version of me, but I had no clue where the other half went to. I assume the little boy in the photo or his mom.

I turned the corner to the kitchen, carefully playing with the delicate photo between my fingers.

"Oh! I was just about to call you and your broth-" She stopped when she noticed the photo in my hands.

I extended my arm, handing her the photo, "Who is this boy?"

She took it, wiping a small tear from the corner of her eye before I could notice.

"He was your best friends before moving to America. You had a massive crush on him, and the feelings were reciprocated back. To this day I feel horrible for taking you and Michael away from him. With the time difference, it was just so hard to keep in touch with Joy.."

She was talking about this boy like you would talk about an old friend. With the passion she spoke about him, made a few memories I never knew I had surface.

She continues, "he was so sweet and compassionate. Joy raised him right."

Before she could continue, I butted in, "do you remember his name?"

She smiled, even chuckled a little, "how could I forget? Calum Hood."

Memories came rushing back like a flash flood. One memory in particular stuck out the most to me. Calum and I were sitting at the top of a slide, out of our parents' view. We lost track of time that night, but no one cared. We found comfort at that old playground with the broken swing and a missing monkey bar. The sun was setting behind the forest in front of us.

Calum turned to me, and shyly declared, "I love you" to me before giving me a peck on the cheek.

At that age, we thought 'I love you' was something you said to a good friend or someone you really cared about so it wasn't a big deal when I said it back.

I snapped back into reality when my mom asked me to go get my brother for dinner. I grabbed the photo from between her fingers as I went back up the stairs.