Tuesday, November 7, 2023

Saturday mornings used to be blissful. Brandon had enjoyed sitting on his apartment balcony, cup of tea in hand, watching people move about their day.

In the last ten years, though, it still didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t just that he lived in a different apartment block, and on the ground floor. It was the people. They were slower, quieter, as if afraid to make any sudden movements. Neighbors no longer shouted across the street. Drivers didn’t honk their horns at friends. Children held their mothers’ hands rather than running ahead.

He looked away from the street and to the poem he’d written the night before. The words rang through his head, like a siren. Brandon paled, the orange flavored tea turning over in his stomach. It was supposed to be good for nerves, but it didn’t stop his constant dread that something was going to go wrong. He pulled his gray jacket tighter over his shoulders.

The door next to his opened, and Angela, his neighbor, stepped out. She smiled at him, and sat down on their shared porch, leaning back in a chair to soak in the morning sun. Her dark, curly hair was pulled back with a colorful scarf, cerulean blue, lime green, and cherry red, as bright and cheerful as her face.

“Good morning.” She said, and Brandon whispered it back. They had both moved into this apartment block not long after the disaster. Friend, Brandon supposed, was a word for Angela, even if they didn’t talk much. Or at least, he didn’t.

“You used to give lectures at the University, right?” Angela asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“Yes, I did.” Brandon mumbled.

“What did you teach?” Angela sat up to look at him, her eyes getting that faint sparkle, as though Brandon was the most important person in the world.

“Mental wellbeing.” Brandon’s voice had gotten quieter. Why did Angela have to talk about this?

“Really? How interesting!” Angela pursed her lips, “that sounds like something we could use help with now, especially. Have you done any lecturing since…”

“No.” Brandon stiffened in his chair. He frowned, and murmured. “I have to go in.”

Angela didn’t seem to have heard his last words. “Why haven’t you done any more lectures?”

Brandon didn’t speak. He felt the sickening feeling rise in his stomach, like he was going to throw up. “I don’t know, Angela,” he breathed.

“What do you mean?” She asked quietly, gently touching his arm.

Brandon pulled away. “I don’t know how to move on. Everyone else has moved on, but I can’t figure it out.” He nearly shouted.

Angela gaped at him. Brandon’s stomach turned. She knew, now. Knew that he couldn’t keep going, that he was stuck. He shot out of his seat and marched inside, the door clicking behind him.