Eric Donahue:

It is awfully quiet in the park. I haven't been in here in three years but it still looks the same. The grass is so finely cut it pierces right through my shirt as I lie down on it. It tickles my skin and I think about all the times this prickling sensation barely registered because I was too absorbed in watching the suns sink into the horizon with Carla.

Her house is empty. It has a big wooden on sale sign on it, which means they have moved out. I want to know why and when and how but there is no way to. I don't even have her phone number.

When we moved from the city, back to our small town, Blue Field, I was certain we'd never come back. I thought I would never return to the city, I would never see Carla again. There would be no questions and I would have to give no answers. But here I am, sitting amid the tickling grass and the fresh tulips, shaking my head at the idiocy of my thirteen year old self.

They say you only say goodbye to the people you hope to see again. But the truth is, you don't know who you'll see again. Your paths can disentangle with someone, only for them to cross all over. In my case, this someone is the city.

When Uncle Roy died in a plane crash, situations back at home had become worse than I would have imagined. I was aware that Auntie Caroline would never keep us in her house after his death, but I didn't think she would ask us to leave immediately. It was all too rushed, too heartbreaking for my younger self. Plus, I was ashamed. I was ashamed of our pathetic financial condition and how Dad couldn't even afford to keep us in the city without his brother's assistance. I was ashamed of something that wasn't even my fault. And my foolish, adolescent self, wallowing in all that internalised guilt, left. I left without telling Carla.

It was in the dead of the night. With my suitcase in hand, I raised my shameful face to take a long, good glance at Carla's window. The lights were off, the drapes down. All that was visible was the flowery print on the polyester, stark against the translucent fabric. My vision blurred, the salt water slowly streaming down my cheeks. I had known as I was leaving that I'd never find a friend like her again. But there was nothing I could've done about. Climbing onto Dad's beaten up truck, I kept my gaze fixated on her window as the engine roared, the vehicle coming into action. And soon enough, the window was no longer visible, only its memory was alive in my mind as we left the city and arrived in Blue Field.

My phone buzzes, breaking me out of my reverie. My co-worker, Paul, is wondering why I still haven't arrived for my shift at the Barista's. Dabbing at my eyes, I give the park one last look as all the memories come rushing back, taking the form of a single tear that slides slowly down my cheek.

******

author's note: this chapter's a little short, but it was necessary to add so that i could fill you in on what happened in the past four years.

please let me know what you thought of 18 year old eric's POV in the comments. i'd really like to know if you could register a shift in tone from his younger self.

have a great wednesday, everyone!

-RZ