Between Two Eternities || Travis Hamonic

(1) Amnesia

Yay first official chapter!! Enjoy.

"Then we met and everything changed, the cynic has become converted, the sceptic, an ardent zealot."

-E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet. My mom used to say we have the same soul, just separated into different bodies. I never knew what she meant, seeing as that Matt is the total opposite of me. He's very athletic, for one. And he talks a ton, never stops actually.

He's very independent. But he doesn't quite know it yet, so I stick around. It takes away from a normal social life, having only my little brother as a friend. No other friends or opportunities to occupy myself.
It's okay though. Not like I would want any of that with the way my life is going now.

Before I left this morning, he begged me to buy Oreos. That kid's got an addiction to em.
I find them to be terribly expensive for a little cookie, but I placed them in the basket anyway. I come to the grocery store about once every two weeks. It's one of my responsibilities at the house.

And once again, grocery shopping is making me sick. Just figuratively this time. The literal sickness happened once last winter. I swear that little boy sneezed on my purse... He was cute though so I didn't mind. I still don't mind. Coughing my lungs out gave me an excuse to miss a few days of class, of boringly important class that I don't understand but have to understand but am too afraid of it to try harder.

"Ma'am do you need any help?"

"Hm? Oh, uhm no I'm okay. Thank you though," I respond and smile to the the man wearing a dark green polo shirt. He retreats back out of the aisle.

I take a deep breath to clear my head.

The end of the grocery store aisle is occupied by a father and his two kids. The kids, two rascal little boys, are throwing cereal at each other. An open box of Cocoa Puffs lay on the shelf. Their father didn't even notice, too busy staring at his cell phone. He was in for a real treat when he realized he would have to pay for that cereal.

They must be the only other people in the store, as it's extremely quiet compared to other nights- no matter how late. This grocery store is open 24 hours, and it has saved me one too many times. I always feel horrible to come in here so late, because the workers don't deserve this in my opinions, but mazing through empty aisles before dawn is too tempting.

I'm used to the emptiness when I come in at that time. But tonight- I check my phone for the time- it's only 11:20. It's usually still pretty crowded by now. I shake my head. It's a wonder I didn't notice anyone else, with the quiet and all.

"You know those Oreos are even better if you get the double stuffed."

I jump at the surprise of another voice and turn to the other side of me, clutching the container of Oreos to my chest.

A young man stands on the other side of me, hands empty. Young man? I don't know why I said young man. It sounds too sophisticated for the kind of man that is standing before me, with an aura of innocence and goofiness oozing out of him.

This guy's voice is deep and rattles through my body. It catches me by surprise; I don't like surprises. My heart starts racing and I have no idea why.

"You scared me," I say through a heavy breath. He chuckles sheepishly and offers a quiet, "Sorry about that."

I don't know how to respond, and my awkwardness probably stems from the reality that every time I come in any kind of contact with a boy, I always think of Bobby Hurd - the one boy that I've ever loved. That is a story for a different time, my friends. Long story short, he did leave me. Left me in the dust for a jet to some Ivy League college in California. Didn't even call until after he was already gone.
What a way to experience a first heartbreak.

You can only imagine what that did to me, a girl already with woes that she hadn't even discovered at that time. It only made them brew and boil. Eventually, at multiple occasions, they had surfaced.

This guy was standing just a few feet over, in a glorious ensemble of jeans, and a gray sweatshirt that looks like it had been through a lot. The words were faded but I doubt the memories had.

He is handsome – extremely handsome. He has dark hair, that curls at his neck. And a clean shaven face that allows his smile to brighten. I can't see his eyes all that well – he has a baseball cap on pulled down low. And his jaw, oh! It leads to a strong neck and shoulders, and on to the rest of his body.

"I- thanks for the advice." I look back at the shelf, stacked with cookies of all kinds. I was never good at accepting advice.

He smiles. He smiles at me. I could feel it at my cheek. Goddammit Arden.

"They're for my brother," I explain, still staring straight ahead.

He purses his lips, like he is holding back a chuckle. My heart is still racing, and getting faster. Finally I turn back to him. He's looking at me and biting his lip. He must've pulled his hat up a bit because I can see his eyes now. They're brown, like mine.

His face is very attractive, the kind of face that makes a girl want to giggle and flutter her eyelashes; makes a girl want to be perfect and dainty. I had never seen someone so beautiful.. I used to think Bobby Hurd was the most perfect boy in the world.

"I'm Travis," he says to fill the silence, taking a hand out of his pocket and reaches it out to the space between us.

"I'm Arden." My voice squeaks so I clear my throat. This isn't new; making a fool out of myself. I extend my hand as well.

He smiles. "I like that name. I've never heard it before." His hands both go back into his pockets, both his shoulders go up and then come back down.

"No one has," I say and shrug, mimicking his actions.

No one had heard it before. It's like my parents were trying to name me Garden (which is also questionable) but dropped the G on my birth certificate. I used to question if they hated me. Once I got past the fifth grade I realized how ridiculous it was to think of that. When I was in fourth grade, I kept writing Arielle on all my papers.

My teacher had a heart attack, thinking I forgot my name and had some kind of rare amnesia... she was crazy like that. I remember my mother picking me up one day and explaining that I just don't like my name.

"But it's a beautiful name, Arden," Miss Corkley had said. I just stared at her, probably hid behind my mom's leg.

"Well I like it a lot," Travis says, taking me back out of the fourth grade. "I might even suggest it to my sister. She's having a baby soon," he explains, a bright, starlit grin on his face.

I smile and blush like a tomato. To think that someone I just met wants to compliment me so much that he makes up some ridiculous lie about telling his sister to name her baby after me ... heat rises to my cheeks.

"You mind?" he asks, eyebrows raised, for my permission. My lips purse and I shake my head. Not at all.

I had never liked my name. I have mixed feelings towards it now that I'm older. I've even begun to appreciate it more, now that the people who gave it to me are not on this earth any longer. But if this mysterious man named Travis likes it, then so do I.

How can I not believe the words that come from a charming boy?