You’re not supposed to be here. The only reason she’s been here as long as she has is because you’re not supposed to be.
“I don’t even like it here,” she tells you as you watch her stuff her things into the assortment of mismatched suitcases opened up across the bed. “I stayed because it was the one place I knew you weren’t.”
“And now that I’m back?”
“I have to go anywhere else,” she says. “I stayed here all these years because you might be anywhere else, so staying put kept me safe from running into you. Now that this is where you are, anywhere else is where I have to be.”
You explain that you didn’t want to come back. Your dad left his movie theater to you in his will and now you have to decide whether to run it or sell it.
“Well when you decide, pass word along,” she says.
“To who?”
“Anyone,” she says. “First person you see on the sidewalk. Tell them and they’ll know how to get word to me.”
“So everyone in the whole town will know how to get in touch with you?”
She nods. “Everyone except you,” she says. She looks out the window and is suddenly all smiles.
“I can’t believe I finally get to go see the world now that I know you’re not in it!” she says. She jumps up with her arms outstretched and without thinking about it, falls into your embrace, where she seems to go limp. She’s unable to move now that she’s being held by you again. She’s unable to move in any direction except a little bit closer. A little bit closer. Her closets are empty and her passport’s in her pocket and all her bags are packed, but she can’t go anywhere in the world except for a little bit closer.
Happy She Started Packing Her Bags The Minute You Pulled Yours Out Of The Trunk Of Your Hyundai Day!
