Something. There was something about today that felt--the word could never come, unsure whether it something of importance that she was simply forgetting or drowning in anticipation. But Today. That was it. Today.
The young Murphy was trekking her usual Saturday routine, stepping onto the sidewalk from the coffeeshop she frequents multiple times a week. A waste of money, probably with a perfectly adequate coffee maker at home, but no one does it like Black & Brew. Iced coffee in her hand, bagel in her mouth, the blonde glided down the sidewalk near the waterfront on her way to pick up a few groceries. Just like every Saturday as routine was apparently incredibly vital in her day to day life (as was told by her grief counselor that she's had since she was a child). Being alone had become so normal after a certain age, after losing her grandparents at sixteen, nearing five years at this point, that it was hard to imagine anything different, which was what made today--off. Maybe it was something she should mention at a later session.
Trapped in her own mind for only just a second, she practically shoulder checks a man in a brown suit with graying white hair that doesn't match the age he seems, only noticing when he turns to apologize, though Ellie freezes in place the moment he turned to politely apologize. It's only a moment before she loses sight of the stranger, bagel falling to the ground. She's shaking, convinced it was merely an illusion or hell, even a hallucination. But--he--he looked--
Her head turned so sharply that it nearly caused whiplash, searching for the light hair as people continued to pass by. Heavy feet lift off the ground, breath trapped in her throat as she's nearly hyperventilating--dismissing any off looks from other passerby's.
"Dad?" She calls, bewildered and in shock as she's not fully certain that the word even comes out, pushing past a group of people more attached to their phones than the direction that they're going?
Running, she sees the back of his head at the end, tears brimming immediately. Was it always white? No--her photos--they're blonde--but--it's--him--it has to be.
"Dad!?" She calls a little louder, a broken shrill amidst the bustling life on the Florida street. A hand raises to reach him as she nears though he turns before she could touch him--face to face once again.
Her breath catches, feet faltering as she nearly collapses as a man she hadn't seen for 13 years finally--
Why didn't you pick me up from school? You left. We thought you were dead. Her first thought made her breath catch again, staring at his face as the features began to click again, blurred memories feeling a little more clearer.
"I'm...I'm sorry. Are you--" She pauses, waiting for his face to change--or fade--or whatever to prove that she was seeing something that truly wasn't there. "Are you...M-Marcus M-Murphy?"
