Amanda

I wake up on my living room floor. I don't know what time it is, but my apartment is darker and I'm still wearing my shoes and my brother's jacket. The sound of Arthur Rubenstein pours from the headphones that are still plugged into my phone jack. I find my phone sprawled beside me and  reach for it to find the time. 3 P.M. I've been laying here for hours since I've gotten home, though I'm not sure why the apartment seems so shadowed. It must be about to rain.

I press my cheek against the coolness of the floor, breathing in the scent of Pinesol as I remember what had happened at school and all of the events leading up to now. As soon as I got back, I locked my door and crawled into the living room before giving up and laying in the middle of the apartment, too fatigued to walk another step.

Even though I slept for most of the time, I'm still exhausted. I never did go shopping, either. I should still do that, at least, since I let myself wimp out of going to class. I need to do something, at least. I refuse to let myself lay here for the rest of the day. Ashton would be ashamed.

My mouth is dry as a bone and my cheeks are itchy and stiff from all of my crying. I squeeze my eyes shut for a minute before mustering the energy necessary to sit up. Scrubbing the back of my hand across my face, I use the other to reach slowly into my pockets to find my pack of cigarettes and Ashton's lighter. After this cancer stick, I only have one left before I'm out. I really will need to go to the store tonight, so I consider this crises as even more motivation to get up.

I sit in silence as I finish my cigarette, lifting my eyes to gaze out the window above the small sink in the kitchen. Besides the hall way that leads to the room that I sleep in and the bathroom, the rest of the apartment is open from the doorway to the kitchen and living room. The only thing separating the two major rooms are three wooden columns that stretch from the hardwood floor to the ceiling. Because I haven't bought a curtain for it yet, I can see the dull gray of the sky, and the dark clouds that sink low, full of baggage that they need to let go of. It looks like it will storm all night. Hopefully it will help me sleep for a while.

I manage to catch the ash from the end of my cigarette in my palm just in time, having momentarily forgotten about it. It makes me realize that it's finally time for me to get up to find an ash tray, and I also promise myself that I'll get ready to leave again when I do.  After grinding out the rest of the cigarette butt in a dirty, black tray, I take a long look at the stained and scratched table top that it rests on. I cast a glance to the living room, noting how little furniture there is in the appartment. A coffee table would be nice, and having something other than a ratty, broken recliner to sit and relax in wouldn't hurt, either. I should think about getting some book shelves, too, so Ashton's cookbooks have a home outside of a cardboard box. I can't help but feel like if I do buy furnishings, I'll begin to feel like I actually live here. If I feel like that, maybe this sense of incessant wandering will pass, and then I can think that I belong here. Maybe if I make this place a home, I'll believe that I can do this, even if Ashton isn't here. 

I almost go as far as to think about buying a television. Though I've never been much for watching it, I thought, for a moment, that it may be nice to have to entertain guests. A sudden, cruel sounding laugh crosses my lips at the thought, filling the kitchen. Guests? I can't even muster the courage to attend my classes, let alone to make any friends. Who would want to hang around me, any way? The only friends that I was ever able to make were friends of Ashton's, so they were never even really my friends. Everyone was drawn to every aspect of him, and I was just the girl who was always in his shadow. Ashton was always enough for me, so I didn't feel inclined to try widening my circle of companions. I regret it, now that I'm alone and have forgotten how to make normal conversation with people.

Tears begin to brim in my eyes, but I bite down on my lip and walk to the kitchen sink, angrily jerking the tap on. I splash the cold water onto my face, trying to wash my frustrations away. I swallow against the painful lump in my throat and sigh, drying my skin on a clean smelling hand towel.

Though my heart is pounding at the mere thought of going outside again, I push off of the sink and pick my phone up off of the floor, trying my hardest not to break down for the third time today. If I go outside, at least I won't cry. I never show tears to anyone. No one else but Ashton has ever seen them, and I plan to keep it that way. 

I check Ashton's pockets for my keys and wallet before opening my door and peeking out into the hallway. After looking both ways and confirming that no one else is there, I step out and shut the door behind me, fumbling to lock it as with my as I can. I put my headphones in as I walk to the elevator, looking down at the gross, ancient looking carpet that lines the center of the hallway. I wonder how long it's been since it's been properly cleaned. 

I'm grateful not to run in to any other tenants while on my way to the parking lot, and I unlock the drivers side door to the Pinto, jiggling the key three times inside of the lock before it unlatches. Then, while pushing my weight against the door and lifting slightly, I pull on the handle. It opens with a loud groan from the hinges, greeting me with the familiar scent of stale smoke and pine tree air freshener. I slide into the worn leather of the drivers seat, slamming the door closed behind me.

The engine turns over on the first try, despite having been sitting for a week without being driven. Ashton and I have always taken good care of this car, so it runs impeccably, despite its age. We nicknamed the old car Abilene when we first got her, and the name stuck throughout the years. I back out of the parking space and turn out of the lot, trying to recall the way to the store I went to once before. 

I get take a wrong turn at an intersection, and it leads me down town. Compared to the city life I used to live, the two lane road is hardly intimidating, but the shops are quaint. I take my time looking at some of them. There's a bakery, three or four restaurants, a shoe repair place, a bar and a bookshop, as well as a few boutique and clothing stores. There's an ice cream shop that looks closed for the season a bit down the road, just before a gas station that I recognize, and a lively coffee shop across the street from it. I take a left at the gas station, onto a familiar sounding road, and continue down it until I come to the shopping center. It's a big chain store, so shopping here is cheaper than going to the little mom and pop super market that's in town. Plus, they probably have book shelves and coffee table kits, though I have no real plan on buying anything other than groceries today. Since I wasn't able to go to class this morning, I decided that my punishment is going to be stocking my fridge and cupboards of everything that they're lacking. I feel exhausted, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in Abilene's window as I head for the store, I realize that I don't look much better than I feel. 

I scrub a sleeve across my face and run my fingers through my tangled locks, scooping them into a curly heap of a hairstyle, hoping for the best as the automatic doors part for me. I fight the urge to turn around and go back home, and force myself to walk  inside. I grab a cart from the indoor corral and avoid eye contact as I face my punishment with shaking hands and messy hair.  

I look at people's feet as I make my way down each isle, diligently avoiding the ones that have more than one pair of shoes occupying them. By the time I make myself look up to see where I am, I find rows of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. The colorful plastic reminds me of the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of my bedroom, and I reluctantly load the cheapest of the soaps into my cart. Though there is a laundry area in the basement of the apartment complex, I have yet to bother venturing out to try and use it. It's another activity to add to my mental to-do list.

After moving on, I pause at an aisle that has painting and craft supplies. I look down it, scanning the small, blank canvases and paintbrushes that line one of the shelves, scanning over the colorful oil paint tubes. My fingers twitch, and I keep walking.

As soon as I make it to the food section, even the people that stand near by are not enough to stop me from filling the basket of the cart with parishables. I don't think about the cost of each seasoning or of every vegetable that I find, as a list forms in my mind.

Ashton never cheaped out when it came to cooking, and I'm not poor yet, so I head to the meat section to continue filling the cart. I think of his cookbooks that sit on the chair at my apartment, and how they've gone unfairly ignored. A deep rumble in my stomach reminds me of how long it's been since I've had anything but coffee inside of it, and I suddenly look forward to making dinner.

It's been a while since I've felt the urge to cook.

I manage to finish shopping in one piece, and hand the cashier my total without completely panicking. After loading the groceries into Abeline's trunk and backseat, I sit for a long time in the worn leather of the driver's seat. As I stare out the windshield smoking the last cigarette of the old carton, I look up at the sky, wondering how it hasn't begun to rain yet. The clouds are dark gray and angry, and hide the late early evening light from the sun.

With a sigh, I tune in to the crackling classical station on Abeline's preset button, and begin to drive home, hoping that the weather holds up until I can get all of this into the apartment.

When I roll passed the cafè on main street, I find myself slowing the car to a crawl as I peer into the large picture windows of the shop. Despite to threatening weather, the place is well lit and full of jovial looking people. I look at a chalkboard sign that sits outside of the door to make out the neat writing scrawled onto it.

Poetry reading tonight!

A worker in a black apron steps out from the doorway to peek up at the sky, squinting his eyes, despite the lack of sunlight. He pulls the sign beneath the cafè's awning, just as the first splatters of rain fall into Abeline's windshield.

He looks out and sees me driving slowly past, and makes a waving motion towards himself, suggesting that I come in. He has a huge, friendly grin on his face that makes me swallow nervously.

The rain suddenly turns into a downpour, and I shake my head at him, incase he can still see me, before speeding up and driving away. Even if I really had wanted to go, there's no way that I could. It was way too crowded in there, and just the thought of being in such a tight space with that many people makes my chest tighten. Besides, I have groceries to get home, and no smile or cup of coffee can change that.