The rotten apple

During this holiday, I found out how it is to live without your best friend near. It was horrible. This is about that feeling.

"I could hear the rain falling heavily on that rusty tin roof over my head when it seemed to me that my old, torn armchair was holding me while my eyes delighted with the sight of my shabby apartment. The night was so mute this time and the rooms so empty, but I could not dare to say a word because I felt like my voice would disturb the stillness that was beginning to feel so perfect. The wooden floor felt so cold beneath my feet while I got up for the first time in a couple of hours. After putting on a dusty jazz record, I laid down on the caramel carpet thinking that I was lounging in a jazz-filled-god-forsaken place. A smile came across my face when I remembered how she always used to drop jelly-covered pancakes, which smell I could still feel, on the floor and then she would pretend to be very guilty so I could clean it all up. However, in just a second, my lips were trembling again and big tears were crossing my tired face. She had been my confident, my sister I could only dream on having when I was a small kid. Her death came like a heavy thunderbolt striking my head.
The white tulips on her grey grave gave an agreeable sense of macabre to that morning. Everyone was dressed in black: her parents, her stunningly rich relatives and our friends, all of them, except for me. Once, she told me that ,while we were watching a dreadful soap opera funeral, she would like it if I would come to her funeral dressed in green. Therefore, I did. I guess that this was the reason why all those people were staring at me. Fortunately for me, unfortunately for them, I simply did not cared.
At home, I could feel our graduation picture watching me whatever I did. I started to get tired. Headaches came and never left. That apartment and all those painful memories were tearing me apart, draining all the life I had in my body. I stopped listening to any music, seeing friends, watching movies. All I did was to go to work, sleep and eat. In the end, I forgot about food too.
After two months of experimenting the zombie-like lifestyle, I decided that I had to do something.
With tears streaming from my eyes, I packed all our photos, our books, our discs, our albums, scrapbooks, all of it. The boxes came out one by one. The walls that once were covered in paintings and that huge picture of a rotten apple she found on the floor when we moved in, were now empty. I was still able to feel the scent on her delicious cinnamon cupcakes, the burnt Saturday night pizza, the over-spiced pastas. With my vintage overcoat on, I took one last painful glimpse at the place where my whole youth was being folded like a letter hidden under the floor for someone in the future. Hiding an excruciating pain in my heart, I locked the door behind me.
It was time for me to move on.

One Comment

Monica said...

Ohhh I really like this one :D

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