These Days

Boxes, cardboard boxes, everywhere. Boxes piled higher than I ever imagined they could be. Lily looked out through the glass door, with one hand on the door handle and the other in her pants pocket. She wore those denim overalls and that black tank top, with that same messy bun on the top of her head. She bit her lip, while trying to keep her already glassy eyes from completely shattering. I never saw her like this.

That old Jeep ran just like it always did, I guess. It seemed foreign to me that day, like someone you cross the street with in the city. The only thing you have in common is your current location. That was the relationship I had with that old Jeep. I hated that Jeep. I was disgusted by the color, the style, and the interior of it. I always felt like a guest at a birthday party when I drove with my dad in that thing. I never knew which radio buttons to push or which temperature to set the seat warmer to. That Jeep was my dad’s best friend, my dad’s companion. They were a pair. I didn’t fit in there. Neither did Lily, nor my mother actually.

The boxes doubled in number, yet still perfectly fitting into that Jeep. The irony of it all made me chuckle under my breath. It was like the Jeep knew this day was coming. It seemed like the Jeep was preparing years in advance for this occasion. Maybe the Jeep saw all the signs pointing toward today. I know I did. I guess my dad could have warned the Jeep, since they spend every waking hour together. That could have been it.

I remember the days of swinging on the swings in the backyard or splashing around with our friends in the swimming pool. Everyday, the house was filled with afternoon sunshine and a slow drifting breeze. Opportunity and love filled the air, and no one dared to question it. My mother would prepare orange juice and oatmeal for Lily and me on the cold, frigid mornings. Those were my favorite mornings. In the summer, though, my mother would cut up fruit in the linoleum kitchen that kept the house smelling of watermelon and strawberries for days to come.

When did those days slip away and turn into “these days”? These days, fruit would go bad and the culprit to this act always needed to be found and punished. The pool was never clean and turned green, out of spite. The lawn looked terrible, almost as if a second grader was set loose on the tractor for a joy ride. Our home wasn’t bright anymore. Instead, it was a dark dungeon of angry souls.

I was tired of “these days”. I wanted the old days back. I had turned into someone I didn’t even recognize. I stood watching and examining my father as he schlepped box after box to the Jeep. Every once in a while, he stumbled on the sidewalk, but quickly regained his step. He would curse at the sidewalk, stating it was uneven and never ended up the way he would have liked. My father always had an excuse for everything, whether true or untrue. I focused on how his beard was trimmed in a perfect circular shape, but his eyes were fiery and intense. He cared most about all the things I was taught to put on the back burner. Appearance meant everything to him; even more than Lily and myself.

It was a warm day in June, but I still felt cold and uncomfortable. I leaned against the Jeep, wondering what it’d be like once it was truly gone. My hate for the dark blue vehicle resonated from my body, almost chipping away paint from its body. The dislike I have goes deeper than what the Jeep looks like or how its gadgets operate. I’m jealous of that Jeep and how it knows my father better than anyone. They are together all day, everyday. The Jeep knows my father’s every move and how he’ll react to situations. The vehicle never questions his motives or why my father is heading in a certain direction. The Jeep allows my dad to live the carefree, no-questions-asked life...the life he always seemed to want.

I focused in on my father, with a deep, heartless glare in my eyes. The day I hit my first home run, scored my first volleyball ace, received my first "A", called home with my first college story, and even had my first broken heart created a slide show throughout my mind. Those are days that I will never get back; the days when he wasn’t there. Big life moments weren’t his forte, obviously. He had more important "business" things to do, or so he said.

The Jeep’s hatchet was suddenly slammed closed and I was revived from my daydreaming. The motor started, with a brisk grumble. As quick as the driver’s door opened, the door closed loudly. Further and further the Jeep drifted from the house, catching a spot in the far distance.

The sky was blue, with not a cloud in the sky. I started to feel a breeze and even hear the singing of bluebirds in the backyard. Lily’s hand grasped my right hand, half holding on for dear life and the other half showing gratitude. Our eyes never left the direction that the old Jeep traveled in. I never truly knew that old Jeep and never would. Somehow, I feel like it never wanted anyone to really know it either.

Purple Tulips

I sat on the small white bench, with my legs stretched out and ankles crossed. I had the same pen in my hand and the same notebook on my lap for three hours now. I wanted to write, I had to write. My sanity depended on it. I needed to get back up on my feet. After five months of an idle column, it was time for me to write a small entry at least; about anything, just anything. I couldn’t stay focused, yet nothing my mind wandered to helped either. My sister was in Cancun and my mother had jury duty today. Big deal. I didn’t want to write about either of those things. I tried to force myself to think up a truly brilliant idea, but that just made me want to think even less. What is happening to me?

Throughout my daydreaming, I happened to glance down at my left freckled hand. I saw that ring; the Irish promise ring. If that ring could talk, what stories it would tell. Some of my best memories lay in that ring, including Brad. His strong arms that always protected me and the look of love in his eyes...that’s what I missed most. My mind drifted back to three years ago, when we were happy and alive; when we had everything under control.

The dark hunter grass was short and sharp. The smell of fresh cut grass swayed side to side from the slight breeze on that beautifully dim evening. Yellow, purple, pink, orange… the flowers were like small children at a play date. They all moved together and never drifted apart. Everywhere we turned, flowers were blooming and the scent of lilac would get caught in your nose. We walked along the path, with tiny earth-toned stones and pebbles under our toes. The sun was low, with the colors of the rainbow accompanying it in the sky.

We walked hand in hand, at a pace suitable for an old couple. Brad was in love with nature, just as I was with words. They understood him and explained the things he couldn’t find words for. His passion for nature was priceless and unforgettable, at that. Brad picked me a purple tulip; he always remembered they were my favorite. He whispered sweet nothings into my ear, as I giggled like a schoolgirl. The nature surrounding us did not speak, but the silence said it all. Brad and I found love in each other and thought things would last forever. Things would last just like bark on a tree that was hundreds of years old or flowers that spurt from the ground annually. We could count on each other, just as we could count on the plants’ arrival every year.

The sun started to set, as Brad and I rested on the crispy green grass. That day was coming to an end. It happens, I guess. I didn’t realize it at the time, but if I had, I would still explore the gardens all day with him. I would do it in a heartbeat. I liked his passion and how every flower sat comfortably and naturally between his fingers. I wish I would have never disposed of that precious and patient purple tulip. The distant memory of that purple tulip and day in paradise are all I have left to write about.