Past Tense

Chapter 4

anisoptera
dragonflies

THE DAYS TEND to blur together in the reprieve of Aimee's small apartment, almost like a distant dream, or a forlorn memory. Sometimes I imagine time as string threaded through my fingers, each past and future moment intertwining with the present, knotted and tangled.

It had only been a week since I last saw Matty, in the quiet car ride adorned with fallen raindrops and hazy memories. It seems like madness to keep thinking about him like this, wondering if he had forgiven me, wondering if he was okay.

The sound of heavy footsteps and closure of the front door stirs me from my fetal position on the couch. Bean, at my feet, also perks up from Aimee's presence, before slowly resuming his resting position. My eyes remain open, trailing my sister's movement from the hallway to the living room, as she puts down her tote bag and textbooks on the floor, then sits on the opposite end of the couch, drawing out a slow breath and closing her eyes.

"How was your day?" I ask, mostly in an attempt to be polite. We tend not to delve into very deep or meaningful conversations, in part due to fatigue, as well as the fact that we already see each other every day.

Aimee shrugs, then stretches out her arms and legs in front of her. "Same old, you know."

"Okay."

"Nothing much."

She reaches for the remote on the coffee table, underneath unopened mail and miscellaneous items (trash), then turns on the television.

I'm messy, I used to tell my mom, I get it.

We watch some show Aimee had been binging for the past month, but I'm only barely paying attention since the plot is too convoluted to follow. My sister likes to keep the volume low and read the subtitles, so it's easy for me to close my eyes in the dull noise, drown in my thoughts.

"Maybe one day," Aimee used to say, "we can go to law school together."

Now, she asks: "Are you doing okay?"

I keep my eyes closed, my breath even. Sometimes she oversteps her cordiality in a tactful way. "I'm better," I say, turning my head away from her gaze. "I promise."

***

IT'S DAWN WHEN I find myself awake, my body sprawled across the bed, the morning light seeping through my bedroom window. I'm excruciatingly tired, but the restlessness overcomes me, and I slip on a pair of loose pants, my running shoes, and head out the apartment door. I'm greeted by the dew and pastels and morning air, and a feeling encompasses me, wondering, wishing, that I could just fade in the twilight and disappear into the rising sun.

***

I WAIT FOR what seems like an eternity. He keeps looking at me, as if I were an enigma, all messy hair and furrowed eyebrows, the silence stretching long and thin between us. I'm not sure what a good excuse is ("you let me inside") or why I decided to come in the first place ("I passed by your apartment, again and again"), but I feel relieved when he stands up from the couch to walk into the kitchen, without asking me why.

Matty turns on the faucet, running water echoing through the apartment, the smell of coffee beans lingering into the hallway.

I stand up, too, walking slowly around his living room, noticing that it was open and clean, as if he didn't own anything but a couch and a coffee table and the framed photographs lining the walls.