Spotlight |h.s|

Twenty

Aubrey Hart

Saturday. A happy day, right? A break. One of the best days of the week to most people. No work, no school, no obligations. Saturdays are whatever you want them to be.

But not this week. Today is November 7th, meaning it's officially been five months. Five whole months without her. Five months since I got that horrible call that changed everything for me Five months since the cops on the scene handed me the letter she left me that I have yet to read.

Five months since my best friend and sister thought dying was the better option.

I've spent the entire day distracting myself with stupid tasks. I've been mentally off all week in anticipation of today. It's almost been half a year. Half a year since I saw her face in person, heard her voice right in front of me, felt her hugs, or had her braid my hair.

Jade is doing her own method of distraction at her place, I'm sure. Hers probably involves someone tangled up with her in the sheets. I used to do that every anniversary, but when I broke down in tears after a guy ate me out, I realized the sex distraction wasn't for me. Not at all.

So, instead, my house is spotless. My hair is in a low bun on my head as I walk around in an old band t shirt and pair of baggy grey sweats that drag across the hardwood floor, completely covering my bare feet.

I've mopped, sweeped, dusted, vacuumed, and wiped down every surface of my house. I watered all of the hanging plants and roses in the kitchen along with the ones in my yard, power washed my driveway, and even cleaned out my car.

I then took a dinner break, eating some cold pizza from the fridge and feeding Charlie some of his wet food. After my brief sit-down, I'm back on my feet and heading up the stairs to fill my laundry basket with all of my dirty clothes.

I unload my hamper into the basket, then head to my closet and make sure there isn't something I could be missing in here. When I see that I've missed nothing, I walk down my upstairs hallway to the door right in front of the stairs, opening it up and revealing my small laundry room. I turn on the light as my feet touch the cold flooring, heading toward the washer.

I load the clothes inside, pouring in the detergent before turning it on. I then pick up the clothes I put in the dryer a while ago, accidentally dropping a sock behind it and cursing to myself. I sit down the basket on top of the washer and lean my whole body forward to reach the sock wedged between the dryer and the wall. I touch another piece of fabric, making me furrow my brows.

I first focus on the sock, pulling it up successfully and tossing it into the basket. I then bring my hand back down in the crack, feeling that same fabric. It feels like a t-shirt. I finally grasp it enough to pull it up after struggling for a second, pulling the shirt into view and holding it in my two hands so I can get a good look at it.

My eyes are met with a white t-shirt that has three small daisies printed on it, each flower having the classic yellow in the center. The three flowers are all at different levels of growth. One small, the other medium, and the last one fully grown and big. Under the flowers, it says "bloom with grace" in a black messy font. I've seen this design before. It's not mine, though.

I try to recall who this shirt could belong to and how it could wind up in my laundry room. I start to picture different people in it, none of them fitting the vibe I associate with this design for whatever reason.

I bring it to my nose to smell it in hopes of a clue to who it belongs to, being met with a scent that hasn't grazed my nostrils in far too long. The smell alone makes tears form in my eyes, my hands clutching the shirt to hold it close to my body.