My Turn

I pull over, and wait by a grey curb that has a tiny patch of yellow grass peeking out. I can’t remember the last time I came around here. I send a text, saying I’m here and try to take in a few full breaths to no avail. I don’t know why I feel this way today.

It’s windy, but surprisingly warm for December. Usually the city would be covered in snow this time of year, but I’m not complaining. I’ve been driving all day at this point to try to free my mind, I’m not even sure of what. 

I watch the overcast sky fade to black from the driver’s seat and roll down my window while I dig through my jacket pocket for my pack. When I open it up, I see three sad cigarettes staring back at me. I take out the crooked one, spark it, and take a long drag.

“Shit, this is probably why,” I tell myself, “Last pack before I quit.”

I give the butt a quick flick once I finish up and contemplate taking out another one, “I might as well finish them now.” 

But for some reason I decide against it. That’s when I finally see the garage door open up and illuminate the dim driveway.

I see her walk out in a grey sweater and black trousers that are not fit for the weather – she never was good at that. I stare for a bit before getting out of my car. How long has it been? Six months? Eight?

She stands there waiting, her long black hair getting caught in the breeze. I open my door and as I make my way over to her, I can feel myself start to sweat. The only thing running through my mind is that I hope I don’t smell.

I give my palms a quick swipe on my pants as I make it up to her and she smiles at me. When was  the last time she did that? Especially to me.

“How have you been?” She asks me.

“I’ve been good, how about you?” I reply

“Good,” she says with a slight laugh, “like actually this time.”

I laugh a little, “What did you want to give me?”

Without saying anything she hands me a thick blue envelope that looks like the ones you get when you buy a birthday card. 

“Here. I finally got them developed and I didn’t know what to do with them. I don’t want to keep them, but I don’t want to throw them away either since these are the only copies that exist,” she says.

I take it into my hands and begin flipping through moments I could barely recognize. Photos of us racing to the beach in the winter that time we went away. One of me smoking a cigarette from the first night we met. And another of us in our apartment when we moved away from the city. 

I feel a smile creep across my face. 

She always followed me no matter where I went. Every whim, new idea, or job that I just had to take. We had no money at that time and fought a lot because of it. But I do remember her telling me we’d miss these times when they were gone. 

How could I have forgotten until now?

“I don’t even know how old these are. At least two years right? But yeah. Whatever you decide to do with them I thought they’d be better with you than me,” she tells me.

I don’t say anything and honestly, I’m not exactly sure what to do with them either. But I stuff them into my jacket pocket anyways without putting them back into the envelope.

We stay there, just looking at each other for a while, both not knowing what to say. 

“I’m leaving you know?” 

I feel my stomach drop, but I try to keep my composure as I ask, “Oh, really? Where are you going?”

“New York,” she says with a sad smile, “It’s finally happening.”

I feel my heart swell for a moment and do my best to give her a smile back.

“I’m happy for you. You’ve always wanted to do it, I knew you would one day,” I say.

“Yeah, I guess it’s finally my turn,” she laughs.

We’re quiet again. I reach for the cigarettes, and without saying anything I offer her one.

“Oh wow. It’s like you saved it for me,” she teases.

I smile and light hers before my own.

“Just like the first time,” I say.

We give each other a sad look and I hold my breath, for a second. This is the closest I’ve felt to her in so long. 

The wind blows the smoke into our faces and her hair into hers. Instinctively, I brush it away and let my fingertips linger on her cold skin just a little bit.

When we finish up, she looks at me and gives me another smile, “Want to race? One more time?”

I smile and she takes my hand in hers, bringing us to the middle of the road. She counts down from three and I don't take my hand back. We run as fast as we can to the end of the street, past it, and keep going until we finally lose our breath. 

She drops onto the ground and I follow her this time. 

We’re both panting and laughing, wet from the moist street but we don’t care. When I finally look around I realize that the photos are scattered throughout the street, leaving a trail from where we first started. I get up but before I can start to pick them up, “Wait,” she says from the ground, “Don’t. Just leave them.”

I don’t protest and turn to help her up. Together, we walk past birthdays, anniversaries, holidays – bits and pieces of a life we don’t know anymore. I wonder what the neighbours will think. 

When we finally get back to my car, I can’t bring myself to get in so we stand there silent again. 

“Take care of yourself when you’re there,” I finally say.

“I will,” she replies.

We stare at each other for a long time, and I try to take in this moment as much as I can so I won’t forget it. Please, don’t let me forget it.

Finally, she holds my face in her right hand and says, “Thank you for everything.”

She walks off, giving me a final wave without turning back to look at me. She disappears and I stay there for a long time before finally getting in and driving home.