--- epiphany, a lifetime too late
The window creaked, lowly. The curtains blew. The bed was made, the room was barren, cleaned. On a spot beside the door, there was a scribble in blue, a drawing from long ago. Beside the bed, bits of the old wallpaper were torn, as though by small fingers, and glued back. He’d stopped noticing these things long ago, but just this moment he can scarcely not.
He was ready. Everything he owned was packed. His own flat was waiting for him across the city, his own job as well.
But something felt missing. Something felt off. There was something he needed to do before leaving, but he couldn’t remember. He’d not realized he’d developed an attachment for this place until now.
‘When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.’ Bertram hefted his two bags over his shoulder, and left the room he grew up in.
There was the sound of rustling papers. Mrs. Aubrey, as he tended to refer to her in his mind, was here. She was in her office room, writing, maybe, signing papers, maybe, reading books, making arrangements on the phone. He stood before the closed door and thought of all the reasons he should not open it. She was very frustrated when bothered, while working. She yelled a lot when she was frustrated. He chewed on a mint. He opened the door.
She was writing. She was on her desk. It was messy. She wasn’t looking up. He stood, shifted his weight from foot to foot, adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder, coughed into his hand.
She looked up. Her eyes, blue as his own, took in the bags and the clothes and the look on his face. “Oh..” She muttered, “That was today?”
A smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah, it is.” He shrugged. “The big day.” He ran his hand through his messy hair. There was dirt on the tips of it. "Where is…?“
“Oh, he– he left early. For work.” She stood, walked around the desk and crossed the room. She stood in front of him for a moment. He tilted his head. This was strange. Mrs. Aubery didn’t stutter.
“Did– did you get everything?”
He smiled again. “Everything.” He said. “Even Panda’s old cork-bottle necklace.”
She smiled vaguely. That was also strange. “That’s nice… Your clothes, did you pack your pajamas as well? And warm socks? Do you know how to cook?” She paused. She patted down his large sweater. This was becoming too alien. Mrs. Aubery never asked him so many questions at once. “Your clothes are so– they’re covered in dirt, have you been playing in a field? You really think it’s alright to go out like–”
Bertram took a step back. He chuckled, nervously. “I– yes, I really think so! I mean. It’s fine, I packed – I packed everything.” Except maybe the socks. Bertram didn’t like socks very much, they were uncomfortable to wear.
She was acting strangely. Could she maybe be sick? It was unlucky for her, then. He thought of something nice to say before leaving. His eyes lit up, his smile bright. “Thank you for having me,“ he said. “I had a good time here.”
She stopped. She stopped talking, blinking, breathing. There was silence, and then she cried. The tears streamed down, and down, and she sobbed. It was an ugly sound, quiet at first, and then louder, as she fought the tears down. He took a step back, and then another. His eyes darted around the room. He didn’t know what to do. What was happening? He’d never seen her cry before. He hesitated, reached his hand out, then back. What do you do when the person whose house you lived in your whole life is crying so openly?
She sat down on the floor. He crouched before her. His hand hovered above her quivering shoulders, uncertain. She was saying something. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so–”
He stood back up, quickly. He didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Aubery was a strong foreboding figure. She was focused, stern, respected. What was she apologizing for? What did she do? What did he say?
He shook his head. He hefted his bags over his shoulder again, and left the apartment, quickly. He did not look back.
