I rip my shirt over my head and fling it toward the lump of clothes atop my bed. I shuffle the hangers in my closet until I find my flouncy pink blouse and pull it over my head. “How about this one?” I ask my mom and do a slow twirl.
My mother is sitting on my bed and presses a finger tip to the middle of the page in her book before looking up. Her habit of being in my room while I get ready started ten-ish years ago on the day of my first high school dance. I was so nervous I thought I would puke. Her silent presence as she sat on my bed was enough to calm me, and now it’s become a ritual. But tonight I need her full attention. Patrick Connor is back in town for his grad school internship and it’s been years since I’ve seen him. Five, to be exact.
Yes, I know I am being unmanageably childish right now, but this is Patrick Connor. The literal boy-next-door, childhood-best-friend, everyone-assumed-we-would-get-married-one-day Patrick Conor. I need to look delicious.
“Very lovely,” my mom murmurs before her eyes fall back to her finger-marked page.
“Moooom, you didn’t even actually look,” I whine, ripping off the blouse. “I’m supposed to meet Patrick in twenty minutes, and I have nothing to wear!”
“The twelve shirts on your bed, beg to differ.” She looks up, the corner of her mouth twitching, and scrutinizes my crestfallen features. “Nina. Darling. What is all the fuss about? It’s Patrick. You’ve known him since you were babies. Unless, this is more than just a casual meet up?” She gives me a sly smile.
I frown at my reflection in the mirror and the new top that is clearly all wrong for tonight. “Mom. I’ve told you like a hundred times this is NOT a date.”
Obviously, I wouldn’t mind if it were a date, but I’m not about to admit that to my mother. Normally, my love life isn’t something I would hesitate to discuss with her, but things between Patrick and me are… complicated. I had thought him attending Boston University wouldn’t affect our friendship, but I had been eighteen at the time and quite naive.
Patrick and I used to be inseparable. Most of my formative years were spent by his side. So when he left for college and our daily text conversations dwindled, it stung. Then the video calls stopped, and all of a sudden it was two years, three, four without any communication, and it…it more than stung. It was a death by a thousand cuts.
But now he’s back in LA for a graduate internship, and part of me hopes something will finally spark between us. I’ve always had fleeting crushes on him throughout the years, but nothing more ever happened between us. Maybe it was poor timing, or maybe it was because I treasured his friendship too much.
My mother stands up from the bed, stretches, and walks toward me as I frown into the full-length mirror. She draws my attention away from the mirror and cups my face in her hands. Her face is a near replica of mine, except for our eyes and our age. She softens as she searches my face. “You always look beautiful no matter what you wear because the most beautiful thing about you, Nina, is the strength of your character.”
I roll my eyes. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.” She gives my nose a quick peck, and grabs her book off my bed. Before leaving the room, she calls over her shoulder, “Try to be back before too late. And please wear some actual pants. I can see half your ass in those shorts.”
My annoyance flares; she really knows how to ruin a perfectly good moment. “Now I’m definitely going to wear these shorts,” I grumble to myself.
Shit. The time on my phone tells me I have ten minutes before I’m supposed to meet Patrick. I rifle through the clothes on my bed and find the first top I tried on, a gauzy, cream tank top with a delicate peplum. I yank it on and locate my new espadrille wedges that help elongate my legs. Standing in front of the mirror, the small emerald on my necklace reflects the dark green of my eyes: the necklace was a gift from my mom, and my eyes the only gift from my dead father. Ignoring my familial baggage, I apply a pink lip gloss and double check that my shorts do, in fact, show the bottom part of my butt. Not that I’m trying to get Patrick’s attention or anything. Tossing my long, black hair over my shoulder, I give myself another once-over before opening the rideshare app.
-
I would have taken the train, I really would have, but I’m already late and public transit in Los Angeles takes longer than driving. I push away the guilt of contributing to smog, and let my thoughts drift to Patrick and the five year hiatus in our friendship. I could have planned a trip to visit him at some point, but I couldn’t allow myself to do that. He had left me, so he should be the one to visit me. Foolish? Prideful? Sure, but growing up the independent only child of a single mother had made me loathe to show I needed anyone.
My chest tightens as the car approaches downtown, and I almost stop breathing as the car rounds the corner to Weller Court in Little Tokyo. “You can let me out here,” I croak to the driver. Clearing my throat, I quietly thank him and shut the car door before it speeds off. The clear full moon catches my attention. A glowing pearl in the dark night sky. I take a steadying breath, then turn around. My eyes lock with a pale green pair.
“Fashionably late as always,” Patrick grins, eyes sparkling.
My stomach dips at the sight of him. His hair is a little shaggier than I remember, but it perfectly frames that pretty-boy face of his. He seems different. Older, I guess, but newer at the same time. I’m determined to play it cool with a breezy reply, and cock my head to the side. “What? You thought I would have magically changed in the last five years and arrive on time?”
The grin he gives me lands in the middle of my chest. It’s the one that starts at the left corner of his lips. The one that only appears when he’s immensely pleased by something. God, that smile. “I guess I should be used to your tardiness by now. Some things never change,” he says.
For a handful of seconds we stand there looking at each other. His smile falters a little, but his eyes never leave mine. I bite my lip to steady my nerves and force this moment to feel normal, but how do we start again after a five year gap? A not-so-small part of me wants to scream, Why? Why did you let go of our friendship? But I don’t.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Finally, Patrick holds up a paper bag. “I got your favorite.”
I smile. “Unagi roll with extra sauce? Should we eat it at our spot?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Buoyed by his small act remembrance, I walk toward him and he pulls me in for a side hug. A thrill runs from my heart to my stomach as his body presses against mine. This is normal, Nina. This is a normal thing for two friends to do after not seeing each other for so long. He drops his arm, his hand grazes my lower back, and we head toward the Japanese Village Plaza in the center of Little Tokyo. We stop at the corner to wait for the red light, and I find myself missing the warmth of his body. It is so much colder than I anticipated, and I begrudgingly wish I had worn long pants instead of the extremely short shorts I chose to mildly seduce Patrick.
We wait in silence, and pretend to study the buildings around us. If I want things to feel normal, I just have to make them normal. “So, how’s the internship?” I ask when the light turns green.
He shrugs and starts across the crosswalk. “It’s alright.”
I wait for him to continue, but there’s only silence. This is not like him. Before college we could fall into such easy conversation, but I guess this happens when you live in different states with years of no communication.
“So has community college been good?” He asks. A yes or no question.
I sigh. I hate talking about my lack of direction in life. “Yeah, I guess. I mean I’m glad I’m not racking up tons of debt with expensive tuition. I’m still not sure what I actually want to major in, or what I even care about, so yeah, I feel like this is the best path for me… for now anyway.” I feel my throat constrict, and I twirl my finger around my mother’s necklace.
He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. Light green eyes sliding to mine. “Oh Neen, you have no idea what your life has in store for you.”
I roll my eyes, and try to smile. “You sound like my mother.”
“How is she, by the way?”
Latching onto the subject change, my voice lightens. “Oh, you know her, she’s as vibrant as ever. Hosting book clubs, making homemade sourdough, continuing her reign as the queen of the Garden & Nursery Club. You should really stop by to see her while you’re in town.”
Patrick smiles in confirmation, but he seems lost in thought. His gaze is cemented on some distant, unseen point.
As we near Japanese Village Plaza the mass of pedestrians swell and the sea of bodies swallows us. The plaza is abuzz with activity and chatter, warm light glows from every shop. Weaving in and out of the clusters of people, we make our way through the square. I always love the electricity of the plaza and the density of locals and tourists all enjoying a night in Little Tokyo. I slow to peek into a shop window, but a faceless teen runs into my shoulder effortlessly knocking me off balance in my wedge shoes. I stumble sideways, but Patrick catches me around the waist, steadying me with one arm. “You alright?” He asks into my ear. I nod, but don’t pull away. He grabs my hand, and leads us out of the throng of people toward the exit at the other end of the plaza.
This is the Patrick I remember. A continuously steady presence in my life. Someone who was always watching out for me. Like the time he found me behind the bleachers crying over my first breakup. He missed an algebra exam so he could sit next to me while I sobbed. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t touch me, he just sat with me in my newfound heartbreak. His silent presence was a greater balm than any words could have been. When I finally hiccuped my last sob, he told me high school boys were dumb and didn’t deserve my tears. Red faced from crying, I choked a laugh and asked, “Even you?” He gave me a lopsided smile and nodded, “Even me.”
It’s this steadfastness that I so valued about his friendship. Maybe that’s why nothing more has ever happened between us because I would have been devastated to lose his friendship if a romantic relationship hadn’t worked out. I need him in my life. He’s a part of my family. But I guess in the end it only took a couple thousand miles to weaken our bond.
We cross the street toward the modern art museum. A cool breeze rolls between the buildings and lifts my hair away from my face. The night quiets, and we stop in front of the old magnolia tree, “our spot”. With our hands still clasped, I glance over at Patrick, and he gives me a reassuring smile and squeezes my hand.
“I’m so glad some idiot never petitioned to get this tree removed after so many years,” I say, looking up at our tree. “Did you know that magnolia trees are so ancient that beetles pollinated them before bees existed?”
Patrick checks the time on his phone and shoves it back into his pocket. “Come on, let's climb up.”
“Can we at least eat first?”
“Yeah, afterwards.” He drops our dinner at the base of the tree and starts to climb. “Come on, Neen, we have to. For old time’s sake.”
“But I’m in wedged heels!” I call up to him.
“Take them off!” is the disembodied reply.
Hungry and a little annoyed, I acquiesce. I place my shoes and purse next to the food, and begin to climb.
“What the…?” I hear him mutter from above.
Panting, I arrive at the first branch, but Patrick is already climbing higher. “I thought we’d stop at the first branch,” I grumble.
“I know, I know, but you gotta come see this, Neen! There is a giant hole in the trunk.”
“Cool. Some animal probably made a nice little house in there. Now come back so we can go down and eat,” I call from below.
“Nina, this thing is huge, I don’t think an animal made it. You have to come see it!”
“Fine.” Ascending to the next branch, I hug the tree and maneuver around it. As I get closer, I hear a faint whirring noise. Patrick grabs my arm and helps me up to his perch. My thighs hug the branch as I straighten and come face-to-face with a three foot wide tree hollow.
I am mesmerized. “What is this? Is that noise coming from the tree?”
“I’m not sure.” Patrick peers into the hole from behind me.
“I’m going to look inside.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Patrick, you can’t make me climb all the way up here to examine a weird hole and not expect me to actually examine it.”
“Fine. I can use my phone flashlight so you can see.” He pulls out his phone, and shines the light into the hole.
Gingerly, I rise up onto my knees. I grab the edge of the tree hollow, and shift my weight forward to peer inside. The whirring sound intensifies. The light from Patrick’s phone does nothing to help, it’s still pitch black.
“Lift your phone higher,” I call, “I can’t see anything.” I lean in farther, and the whirring thunders around me.
Without warning, I am pitched forward, my palms lose purchase on the edge of the hollow, and I choke on a scream as I’m sucked into deafening blackness.
I try to scream Patrick’s name, but my voice is ripped from my lungs. I can hear nothing but the thundering sound of a windstorm. It feels as if I am suspended in the middle of a vortex. The blind panic that seizes me leaves no room for rational thought. My vision blackens, and I begin to lose consciousness as pressure builds inside my body. The atmosphere bears down and condenses around me, and I’m slammed sideways before losing all awareness.
