around. I can’t bear
to sell it and Damon seems to be okay with me keeping it as long as
I drive it often so it doesn’t just rot in the driveway. I’m still
trying to get Noni to rent the house; I’m thinking of throwing the
car in as part of the bargain.
Captain’s sensible Taurus sedan comes to life
with a contented purr. Driving his car makes me feel close to him.
I can still smell him in here. It smells like his awful, cheap,
bright blue aftershave; I know because he used to ask me to pick up
a bottle of it for him when he forgot to buy more. I’d bring it to
the store and he’d twist the cap off and douse it on. It smelled
like rubbing alcohol mixed with a bar of soap and I hated it. Now
I’m tempted to go to the store and buy a bottle just to smell it
when I want to. To remember that he was here. To remember that my
Captain was just that; mine. He was my family.
I spent seven years in his company and the only
thing that can steal that from me is time. I have memories; for
now. But they’ll fade, just like my memories of Maman and Papa.
After 16 years, my precious memories have faded so much so that I
strain to remember the sound of Maman’s voice when she would sing
to me. I have to close my eyes and concentrate hard to picture
Papa’s face smiling back at me.
My memories of Captain are still fresh. It’s
been over two months since he died and I still see him with my eyes
open. I still smell him in this car. I still hear him in my head.
But I know it won’t last; time will pass and rob me of more
memories. I’m so fucking tired of getting the short end of the
stick. I’m pissed off that I can’t be one of those lucky bitches
cruising through life with a stupid grin on my face and a pleasant
little life to show for it.
Without paying much attention, I’ve somehow
arrived back at the penthouse in one piece. I groan and park
Captain’s car and debate going inside or taking the car back to his
house first. I’m so damn overwhelmed and I just feel like hiding. I
don’t want to be strong and brave anymore. I want Damon to
magically get better already. I want my grief to miraculously
disappear. I want the store to renovate itself. All while I hide;
preferably in Damon’s arms. All of that shit is wishful thinking. I
have no choice but to get my shit together and to push through all
of this.
“One thing at a time. Tackle one thing at a
time. Damon first. Brian can always take the car back later,” I say
to myself and the steering wheel. I should call Grams. Talking to
her always makes me smile. I’ve bonded with that comical old bat
over the past two and a half months. I love her like crazy and I
have Damon to thank for bringing the two of us together. She and
Versan are singing the same damn tune, though, and it’s called sit
and wait. Be patient, they say every single time. I’m tired of this
song and dance. I’m close to losing my head over all of this.
I enter the penthouse expecting two things:
Hemingway to run up to greet me and to see Damon in his office,
either staring at that fucking cabinet or acknowledging me
dismissively from behind his computer screen. Same shit,
different day.
Damon is, surprisingly, not in his office. I
walk in and look around, but he’s nowhere to be found. Hemingway
and I go upstairs in search of him but still no luck. I peek into
the kitchen. “Not in here, Hemingway.” I check my cell phone to see
if he’s left me a message or anything. Nothing. I go back to
his office to see if, by some stroke of luck, he’s left a note. I
walk around his desk and snoop around. His desk is exceptionally
neat, no interesting papers scattered or anything. My hip bumps the
desk, causing his computer screen to light up. An email pops up and
my eyes struggle to focus on the screen. I have a seat in his chair
and take a closer look.
I know we fought last time we saw each
other, but I love you very much and I always will. I heard about
your girlfriend and I’m assuming
to sell it and Damon seems to be okay with me keeping it as long as
I drive it often so it doesn’t just rot in the driveway. I’m still
trying to get Noni to rent the house; I’m thinking of throwing the
car in as part of the bargain.
Captain’s sensible Taurus sedan comes to life
with a contented purr. Driving his car makes me feel close to him.
I can still smell him in here. It smells like his awful, cheap,
bright blue aftershave; I know because he used to ask me to pick up
a bottle of it for him when he forgot to buy more. I’d bring it to
the store and he’d twist the cap off and douse it on. It smelled
like rubbing alcohol mixed with a bar of soap and I hated it. Now
I’m tempted to go to the store and buy a bottle just to smell it
when I want to. To remember that he was here. To remember that my
Captain was just that; mine. He was my family.
I spent seven years in his company and the only
thing that can steal that from me is time. I have memories; for
now. But they’ll fade, just like my memories of Maman and Papa.
After 16 years, my precious memories have faded so much so that I
strain to remember the sound of Maman’s voice when she would sing
to me. I have to close my eyes and concentrate hard to picture
Papa’s face smiling back at me.
My memories of Captain are still fresh. It’s
been over two months since he died and I still see him with my eyes
open. I still smell him in this car. I still hear him in my head.
But I know it won’t last; time will pass and rob me of more
memories. I’m so fucking tired of getting the short end of the
stick. I’m pissed off that I can’t be one of those lucky bitches
cruising through life with a stupid grin on my face and a pleasant
little life to show for it.
Without paying much attention, I’ve somehow
arrived back at the penthouse in one piece. I groan and park
Captain’s car and debate going inside or taking the car back to his
house first. I’m so damn overwhelmed and I just feel like hiding. I
don’t want to be strong and brave anymore. I want Damon to
magically get better already. I want my grief to miraculously
disappear. I want the store to renovate itself. All while I hide;
preferably in Damon’s arms. All of that shit is wishful thinking. I
have no choice but to get my shit together and to push through all
of this.
“One thing at a time. Tackle one thing at a
time. Damon first. Brian can always take the car back later,” I say
to myself and the steering wheel. I should call Grams. Talking to
her always makes me smile. I’ve bonded with that comical old bat
over the past two and a half months. I love her like crazy and I
have Damon to thank for bringing the two of us together. She and
Versan are singing the same damn tune, though, and it’s called sit
and wait. Be patient, they say every single time. I’m tired of this
song and dance. I’m close to losing my head over all of this.
I enter the penthouse expecting two things:
Hemingway to run up to greet me and to see Damon in his office,
either staring at that fucking cabinet or acknowledging me
dismissively from behind his computer screen. Same shit,
different day.
Damon is, surprisingly, not in his office. I
walk in and look around, but he’s nowhere to be found. Hemingway
and I go upstairs in search of him but still no luck. I peek into
the kitchen. “Not in here, Hemingway.” I check my cell phone to see
if he’s left me a message or anything. Nothing. I go back to
his office to see if, by some stroke of luck, he’s left a note. I
walk around his desk and snoop around. His desk is exceptionally
neat, no interesting papers scattered or anything. My hip bumps the
desk, causing his computer screen to light up. An email pops up and
my eyes struggle to focus on the screen. I have a seat in his chair
and take a closer look.
I know we fought last time we saw each
other, but I love you very much and I always will. I heard about
your girlfriend and I’m assuming
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