“Nate?” “Shit …” “Nate, are you here? Nat-“ Nate stops packing as James bursts into his room. James’s eyes freeze on the large green suitcase, overflowing with creased and hastily thrown in clothing. “What are you doing?” “Why are you here, James?” “Ellie called me. Said I need to come asap. That you are going mad.” Nate cuts a short loud laugh. “That’s one way of describing it.” “What’s going on? Why are you packing?” Nate looks at James carefully. “Is that all she told you?” “Yes.” Nate sighs and lets his arms fall freely to his sides. “I’ve decided to move out.” “What, like … overnight?” Nate shrugs, tight-lipped. His gaze drops to the floor. “What happened, man?” James comes into the room and stands closer to Nate. “I’ve never seen you like this.” He tries to touch Nate’s shoulder in a comforting way, but Nate steps to the side, still avoiding his gaze. “Did something happen at the party last night?” Nate remains quiet, but his breathing fastens and his hands start jittering. He moves to the side of his room and starts taking objects from his desk, grabbing a book, grabbing a stapler, grabbing a framed picture of James, Ellie and himself smiling, grabbing a bunch of pencils, losing his grip, everything falling on the floor. “Nate.” James’s voice is stern now. He comes behind Nate and grabs his shoulders. “Stop panicking. Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s going to be okay. Just breathe.” He starts breathing aloud and slowly exhaling. Nate, still turned away from James, starts inhaling and exhaling following James’s breaths. After 30 seconds, a minute, he calms down. “That asshole Brett brought Jagermeister,” he says with an annoyed voice. James, sensing a change in tone, cackles. “Jagermeister will do it. Did you get absolutely smashed?” Nate, now calm and resigned, continues, “Yeah. Enough to remember things unfortunately.” “What happened, man?” Nate turns around. Still avoiding James’s gaze, looks through the window. “Ellie cornered me in the kitchen. Started pouring us both drinks. Started asking really intimate questions.” James steps a step back and looks at Nate. “Did you two hook up?” he asks. Nate opens his mouth but doesn’t respond. “I mean, I guess it’s okay,” James continues slowly. “We broke up ages ago. I just didn’t think … a one night stand, between the two of you …” His face gets screwed up. “No, no,” Nate jumps in. “We didn’t hook up. We didn’t even kiss.” James breathes out and his shoulders loosen a bit. Nate continues, words blabbering. “She is asking me things. Talking about how I am too secretive. Asking me about who I am into. Pouring me drink after drink. I’m telling her please stop. I tell her I don’t want to tell you. I’m telling her can you go away. I say to her I’m in love with you. And then I panic and close myself into the bathroom. I vomited and then locked myself in the room for the rest of the night.” The word vomit stops and Nate looks at James with a terrified look in his eyes. James looks back at him and his mouth slowly curls into a smile. After a second, her starts laughing. Nate still stares at him with an unsure look in his eyes. “Is that what it was? Oh god, I thought you’d killed someone, they way you were panicking.” Nate is still looking at him quietly, waiting for the inevitable. “So you’re in love with Ellie. That’s okay! Were you worried that I would react badly?” James continues, and hugs Nate. Nate looks confused. “What?” “You’re my favourite person to be with her - as long as she likes you back, of course,” James smiles. “I am not in love with Ellie.” “But you just said - …” “I’m in love with you.”

James’s eyes narrow and he steps back again. The look of confusion grows wider on his face. “I’m sorry?” Nate is now breathing normally. The truth is out and, like the proverbial toothpaste, he cannot squeeze it back in, so he might as well let it spread. “I’m in love with you. Have been for years.” “I … I had no idea.” “I know. I’m really good at pretending. As long as there is no Jagermeister.” James tries to smile, but his lips cannot move. “Why … why didn’t you tell me?” Nate shrugs. “Why would I? You’re straight. Would you have been interested?” James looks at him with a pained look in his eyes, but remains quiet. “I thought so. … And I didn’t want to lose you as a friend.” “You … you wouldn’t lose me. You won’t lose me.” “Are you sure? Are you sure it won’t get awkward?” James lets his breath out. “I don’t know. I hope not?” “I guess we’ll have to see,” says Nate. “Either way, I am packing. Not moving out necessarily. But going on a trip for a couple of weeks. Clear my head.”

He zips the suitcase, still messily overflowing with clothes, books and picture frames. He rolls it across the rooms and through the door, leaving a speechless James behind.

Mark: Dear diary! Today, dad drove me and Polkadot to grandma. I was so excited I couldn't sleep and I woke up very early. Polkadot was still snoring on my bed, so I didn't move and I read my book. I know he dislikes cars, so I wanted him to rest. When we arrived at grandmas, Jamie was these too because he knew we were coming. We had pancakes with jam, and afterwards Jamie, Polkadot and I went to the creek. The sun was very warm and we were chasing fishes in the pond. Polkadot caught one but got so excited about it he fell nose first into the water. Jamie and I laughed until I almost cried. Jamie is my best friend, I love him so much. He’s staying for a sleepover, we plan to build a pillow fort and watch a scary movie.

Polkadot: Wuf! Wuf! Zzzzzsss, snout, zzzzzss. Brrrumm, grrrrrrrr. Jamie wuf wuf wuf! Mmmm, aaaa, splash! Nom nom nom. Swish! Swash! Wuf wuf wuf! Zzzzzzzssss.

Dad: 12 April Make breakfast Feed the dog 9.30: Call Ms Petersen to confirm Jamie sleeping over 10am: Take Mark and dog to Mrs Janet Fill gas on the way back 2pm: meet Millie @ lawyers to sign the papers 4pm: Millie comes to collect her things Shop: milk, dog food, 3 bottles scotch whisky

Jamie: Mark came over to Mrs Janet today, I was so excited that I got there very early. I haven't stopped thinking of him since I last saw him last month. We had the best time then. Today was wonderful. The two of us and his dog went to a pond and swam and laughed until our bellies hurt and I couldn’t breathe. When we swam and I touched his arm under water, I also couldn't breathe. I am staying overnight and I am nervous. We are going to build a pillow fort in his small room and watch films on the tablet and I am afraid I am going to want to touch him again. I like him a lot.

Missy took a deep breath. it was the day to do it it. This had been going on for too long. it was the day to tell her best friend she is in love with her. Joanne with superb gaydar, with her dark eyes, with the stare that seemed like it saw directly into her mind and into her soul every time she looked at her. Missy shot another glance at herself in the mirror, fixed her bowtie, grabbed herschool back pack and ran to catch the bus. Nothing and no one will distract her this time.

There she was - standing next to her locker, surrounded by their group of chatty friends and laughing happily at a joke Jones had probably just made. Looking impossibly gorgeous with her brilliant smile, her poppy knots tied with bright yellow ties, her magnetic energy, Missy realised how much she was both envious of the effortlessness with which Joanie conmected with other people and radiated confidence, as well as how totally she was crushing on her. As usual, Joanie must have sensed her presence, as she turned her head towards the main entrance of the school, caught Missy’s eyes, smiled widely and waved. Missy felt her knees turn into soup, same soup that also filled her lungs and made it hard to breathe. She tried to calm herself down by briefly closing here eyes and taking a deep breath. “It’s all going to be fine. Just go there, ask her to the side, tell her you like her. It’s all going to be fine.” When she opened her eyes again, she saw Joanie’s standing only fingers in front of her, with a serious look on her face. Joanie’s gently grabbed her forearm. “Let’s go outside,” she said while pulling her back out. Missy was confused. What was happening? “Is everything okay?” “All good,” said Joanie while leading her, “I just need to tell you something.”

Missy started lowkey hyperventilating. Is Joanie going to tell her she loves her too? Did she fail an exam? Did someone die? Her still-soupy legs barely held her while she was trying to run behind Joanie who was leading her to the low cherry bushes growing to the left of the main entrance, their usual hiding spot they during free periods. Joanie pulled apart some branches and allowed Missy to sit in the flat, soft centre of the bush, joining her soon after. As every time in this spot, Missy’s brain became overwhelmed with thoughts of Joanie’s mouth on her mouth, her dark hands sensually moving down her back, her palm cupping her - … “Can you please stop your thoughts?” “What?” “Can you please just … stop thinking for a second?” The request was so random that Missy snapped out of her fantasies. “Is everything okay?” she asked again. “I need to tell you something,” responded Joanie. “So do I,” said Missy, but Joanie put her hand up. “Please let me go first.” Joanie took a deep breath and looked into Missy’s eyes. “Missy,” she started. “I know you like me.” Missy felt her blood freezing in her veins. Her heartbeat was in her throat, she could barely breathe. This was the moment of truth. Joanie either likes her back or she does not. “I know you like my yellow hair ties this morning. I also know you sing the alphabet to yourself when you’re bored.” Missy looked at her quizzically. Another random comment out of nowhere. “That is … true. How do you know about the alphabet?” “I am sorry. There is no easy way to say this.” Joanie gave her another intense look, but she seemed nervous. “I can read minds.”

Missy blinked. Then she exploded with laughter. This is why she loved Joanie. Her level of empathy always enabled her to do and say the right thing. In this case, she made a potentially intense situation lighter through humour. “Good one, Jo,” said Missy and patted back her skirt that had become disheveled. “I”m serious, Missy,” said Jo with a stern tone. “Try me.” “Fine,” said Missy, who would have preferred to go back to a different conversation, despite of how difficult it might be. “What am I thinking of now?” “About how annoyed you are with this conversation. But that was obvious. Do something else.” Missy rolled her eyes and thought of her favourite horse. “you’re thinking of Steven. And now of marshmallows. And now you’re singing the alphabet.” Joanie stopped. Missy was staring at her incredulously. “What is happening right now?” asked Missy almost angrily. Joanie, realising Missy is believing her, relaxed and made herself more comfortable. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been able to do this since as long as I can remember. It’s genetic, so my dad got me up to speed quite early, maybe around age 5. He’s trained me how to use it and i cam quite easily tune it out, like a radio station in the mall. Which is great because i don’t have to listen to all the hornballs that are the boys in our class.” Missy, who remained quiet, felt a hot flush up her cheeks as she remembered her own thoughts about Joanie’s body in this very bush. Joanie was looking her with a knowing gaze, but with a hint of a smile on her lips. “I don’t mind your thoughts. I quite enjoy them,” she said to Missy’s horrified look. “I am aware how much of an invasion of privacy this is. I am so sorry. Especially because i knew how you felt about me this entire time.” Missy felt confused. Angry about Joanie roaming around in her most private thoughts for her own amusement. And never reciprocating, which might mean just one. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you block me out? Do you enjoy feeling adored seeing me suffer? And also … why are you telling me now?”

Joanie seemed crestfallen. “I really am sorry. I did try to block you out. I know it’s no excuse, but your alphabet song during Geography brings me happiness. I love the feeling of freedom you feel when you’re riding Steven. I like how you react to colours. And yes, I like seeing how you are seeing me. I knew you tried to tell me how you feel a few times now, and i have prevented it because I didn’t want to have to tell you about me. I was afraid you would hate me or thought i was a freak. Today i saw how decided you were. That’s why i am telling you now. And also … because i really like you too.”

The autumn sun is sending Low golden rays through the scarcely leafy walnut tree that has been standing in front of my grandparents’ old house for as long as i can remember, and based on the old black and white photographs of my granddad as a young man, from before his time. The warm glow made the doorknob pleasantly warm to the touch. For a handle that has not been turned in years, the metal is still surprisingly shiny and clean. The same could not be said for the keyhole. The past 15 minutes has seen me sweatingly trying to jam in a large, chunky key. I almost resign and start considering breaking a dirty window when the keyhole finally surrenders and the old key turned. At a gentle push, the old wooden door creaks open and the musky smell of an unaired house overwhelms my senses.

A quick look around confirms everything is still in the place I remember since the last time I’ve been here, as a teenager. A small kitchen with a dining table to the right, a little living room with a fireplace, in front of which I used to leave my teddy bear so he wouldn’t get cold in the winter.

The survey of the downstairs reveals no major damage to the structure of the little house, and if any animals have since taken residence in it, they have been taking care of their new home well. I quickly look at my watch. I still have about half hour before my mum and uncle Paul arrive with the van, giving me time to go upstairs. The stairs are creaky and shaky, however, I remember them creaking and shaking every night I had to quietly go to the loo, even as a small eight year-old. The house was from a time toilets were still built on the outside, so I always had to leave the house and walk to the back of it to reach the little hole. I remember the time when one of this night loo trips resulted in me finding a batch of newly born puppies cuddled up into their mother’s fur in the warm corner of wheat that was being used to cover up the number twos.

By the time i safely reach the upper landing, I left behind the warmly sunlit downstairs. Fewer windows light up the upper floor, and they are closed shut with wooden panels. I use the torch on my phone to look around and try to retrace the rooms on this floor. There are only three rooms up here, but as a child, I only ever spent time in one. Quickly opening the first door on my right shows a room much tinier than I remember. If it weren’t for the little writing desk in the corner and the window looking at a field behind the house, I would not have remembered this being the room I had spent so many summer nights in. I know what I am looking for is not here, so I close the door again. I consider my other two choices - my grandparents’ room and what used to be uncle Paul’s room but was now used as a store room. I quickly walk past the staircase and reach the store room. Opening the door sends a pile of dust directly into my mouth. The room is pitch black, not just because of the shut windows but because of boxes, crates, disintegrating bags and other objects. I panic. It would take me days if not weeks to rummage through all of it to find it. Mum and Paul are on the way and I knew of their plan to load all of the boxes and bags into the van and take them directly to the tip without even opening them.

I think back to what my grandma whispered to me during my last visit, barely audible through the beeping of her breathing machine. “They’re important. They are wrapped and should still be whole. They’re in the red chest.” I look around the large store room again. Most of the paint from the wooden boxes has since peeled off, and in the dim light of my phone torch, even the colours still there look oddly distorted. I think again. Something that important would not be kept here, with boxes of old clothes, curtains, blacksmith tools and pots. I reverse my steps, go past the staircase again, past my old bedroom, and stand in front of my grandparents’ bedroom. Whilst I had never stepped in before, I remember standing in front of them many times, listening to sounds, from drunken arguments to whispers to prayers. I carefully try to open the door, but it hatches. My phone lights up with the text message from my mum letting me know that they are just pulling into the village. I turn sideways and crash into the door with my shoulder. The door breaks, but as the house is going to get torn down soon, I do not care. The window pane here is open, so the room is lit brightly. The room is almost empty. An old wardrobe on my left is smaller than me now. A tiny bed in the centre of the room still has sheets on them. It is remarkable how two adults who despised each other were able to sleep in such vicinity. A table with a basin on it is just under the window. And there, underneath the basin in the chest, still bearing the remnants of cherry-coloured paint.

I quickly make my way towards it. Bending down, I pull it from under the table. The size of a one-person ottoman, it is heavier than it looks. Hadn’t i known what I was looking for, I would have assumed it was just a boxy seat; now, knowing it holds something precious to my grandma, I carefully examine it and try to find the opening. All sides seem flat, like a perfectly square box. I close my eyes and instead try to focus on the feeling in my fingertips. Feeling the smooth sides of the box, my fingers finally latch on a couple of small holes, which, after pushing in, pop the top of the box. My excitement does not vane after I remove the top. To my surprise, I see folded white clothing, now eaten by moths, and underneath, a weaved basket. I know what this large basket is. It had been used by grandma during the war. She and other women from nearby villages would travel miles between towns on foot, through fields and forests, carrying produce and eggs on their had in woven baskets, and exchange them for fabric, soap, and coffee on the other end. Whilst some were caught by the militia, many successfully kept feeding families from these villages throughout the war. I get shivers down my spine thinking of stories my grandma told me. I realise how precious these objects are, but I still cannot see what grandma asked me for. Sliding my hand deeper into the contents of the box, I finally grab something that feels like a tin box. I carefully pull it out. It’s beautifully decorated, with black, red and silver flowers drawn on it. Just slightly larger than my palm, i open it and gasp. They’re wrapped in a plastic bag, but they are clearly letters. Dozens and dozens of letters. I carefully unwrap them and pull one out. The beautiful handwriting spells out my grandma’s maiden name. I can barely breathe whilst I open the envelope and pull out the yellowing piece of paper. My heart swells whilst my eyes read through beautiful lines that have been written to my grandmother over 70 years ago. The signature, “Yours forever, Katherina”, makes my eyes tear up. I almost miss the sound of the van pulling in front of the house. Carefully I put the letter back with the rest, and pack them all in my bag. Just before leaving the room, I take the weaved basket. Her history will not be forgotten.