I always start from the back of the store, then slowly make my way forward, because that’s the easiest path— direct, predictable, easy to know what’s in front of you. But lately i’ve found myself, rather than starting in the back for convince, gunning straight for the cinnamon rolls. These cinnamon rolls, just pillsbury dough, used to be maybe a bi-weekly, bi-monthly, even bi-annual purchase. A treat, a something-special. As I make my way directly to the back of the store, reach my hand out with the purpose of getting this one item, the most important thing on my list, the third time i’ve made this purchase within a single month, I come to the realization that the cinnamon roll is no longer the something special; he is.
When we had first been introduced to each other through mutual friends, he, like the cinnamon rolls, was nothing more than a bi-weekly, bi-monthly, bi-annual treat. We would meet in groups of friends, exchange smiles, maybe speak a few words to each other, and move on.
About a month ago I had had a bad day, and I found myself in the back of the store, typical, but compelled to get myself a something-special. It was late, and there was only one tube left. My tired eyes fixated on the prize before me, i reached out to grab it, and instead collided with another hand. A duet of “Oop, i’m sorry,” as our hands retracted, and i locked eyes with my competitor. I was too tired to register what was happening, until the man grinned unmistakably and burst out, “Allison?!”
I blinked, then regained focus and smiled. “Harry!”
Harry being Harry, he reached down and hugged me as if we had been best friends for decades. After the courteous small-talk, Harry got right down to it. “So what do you think you’re doing, trying to steal my cinnamon rolls from me?” He challenged with a faux grimace.
“Oh, your cinnamon rolls?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Yes, ma’am. They’re my favorite. I get them every week.”
I couldn’t tell how serious he was being, but i liked his answer. “Well you see, I’ve had a particularly rough day. My car broke down so i had to spend some hard earned cash on an overpriced Uber to get here, and my AC unit in my apartment completely broke. I could use a something-special.”
His charade faded. “A something-special?” He smiled, seeming to like my terminology. “I’ll tell you what. You can have those cinnamon rolls, on a few conditions.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“I give you a ride home and take a look at your AC. I’ve fixed a few in my time.”
I was shocked. “No, you really don’t have to, that’s so kind of you to offer but—“
“No, please, it’s my pleasure. What else are friends for? I’ll just get myself some cinnamon rolls next week, what’s one week without them?”
I couldn’t contain a smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll get these cinnamon rolls this week as a something-special, but make them for the both of us. As your own something-special for doing this for me.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
That was the first time I had bought him cinnamon rolls, the first time he had been in my apartment, the first time he and I hung out without other people.
And so he fixed my AC, and i made him and I the cinnamon rolls we had fought over. He told me that his mom used to make these on special days as a kid, and into adulthood it became the comfort food of choice. We got along unexpectedly well.
“Well I cant thank you enough for everything tonight,” i said to him as he began making his way out. “Seriously, if there is more I can do for you, let me know. I feel like cinnamon rolls won’t do it justice.”
“Hey, you’re totally fine. I love doing things for others. My love language is acts of service, and the service of letting me have some of your something-special was more than enough for me.”
I loved that he said this. Unexpectedly, I caught myself telling him that I was having a few friends over on Thursday after work, and told him he should join us. “There might be more something-specials there just for you.”
He smiled, and I never wanted him to stop.
My brother never hung out with the right crowd. high school it was the parties every week, the people nobody liked but everyone knew. College he joined a frat, nobody was surprised. He often disappeared for days, weeks at a time. but he always came back. I didn’t trust the man he called his best friend. Chad. i knew something wasn’t right, and i trusted Justin when he said someone might be following him. i didn’t know what kind of business they got into but i knew something wasn’t right. When he didn’t come back for a month, my parents were upset at him. I was scared.
It was a Thursday in April, the sun teasing to set, the streets empty except for me on my run. Our neighborhood is essentially a horror fan’s playground. The streets are long, windy, dark, surrounded by nothing but trees as far as the eye can see. I was calm and felt completely at peace, alone, until up ahead I spotted two figures. Men, around my age maybe. Backwards hat on one, messy brown hair on the other… Justin. And Chad. A wave of panic set over me, but I wasn’t entirely sure why. I didn’t want to be seen, so I crouched behind a bush and hid to let them pass. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but Justin sounded worried, turning around, looking behind him. They were almost past me.
But a branch snapped underneath my foot. I locked eyes with Chad.
Fear settled deep within me: a warm rock at the bottom of my stomach, a shockwave of electricity from my feet through my arms to my fingers, my heart either frozen or beating a million miles a minute. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew to be scared. I started to run past them.
Chad began to chase me.
We ran down the middle of the empty street, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go. But then, a car. As it barreled down the street, i couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t see our situation as suspicious. I needed that car to stop.
The driver slammed on the breaks, and the car spun out. something was wrong. Chad yelled out, cursing the driver. The car didn’t stop. It slammed into a tree on the side of the road, causing the front to be completely crumpled, and I lost any hope of help, let alone a witness. But then I noticed the trunk of the car had opened, and dirt spilled out everywhere. Chad was clearly upset, more about this than dealing with me. He turned back to Justin, who has been reluctantly behind the whole pursuit.
While the two boys were distracted, I made my way closer to the car, to see what was in there. The dirt had spread everywhere, and the trunk was still half-filled of it. But there was something else there… a sock… a pant… a leg. a hand. Knowing the risk of Chad noticing me, I moved closer still, all the way up to the car, tears in my eyes, and brushed the dirt aside. My heart stopped. A face. A girl. Her eyes were open. She was alive.
Chad noticed. He yelled at me to back away, hesitantly moving closer.
The girl sat up. Chad yelled, pure terror, vulnerable. But he dove towards me. I thought I was done for. In a moment of pure fear, pure panic, I squeezed my eyes shut, and anticipated the end.
A gunshot.
I opened my eyes. Chad fell to the ground, and I met the eyes of my brother, holding the gun. His face was hard to read: solemnity, shock, mourning, horror, relief, confusion. The girl behind me slowly started to get out of the car, and Justin’s eyes now reflected nothing but panic.
“Cassie,” he whispered. “You need to go home right now.”
Confused, I turned around, face to face with the corpse-like woman from the car. Her ice blue eyes looked glassy, a dead smile spread across her pale face.
“You killed my boyfriend, bitch.”
“Cassie, run!” Justin’s outburst stole her attention from me, and I had to listen. I knew I was leaving him behind, and I didn’t know what that meant for him. I was scared for my life. I was scared for my brother’s life. But in that moment, all I could do was trust my gut and run.
The water is still, not a reflection disturbed by a ripple of movement. the oasis of the pond, the serenity of the trees surrounding me, rocks upon which i sit on: cool, calm, still. i want to look everywhere else, but keep getting drawn back to the face reflected immediately below me. i know it to be mine— i recognize the coppery hair, the pale face with flushed round cheeks, the spray of freckles across the rounded nose, sat just above the pink and upturned lips. the eyes that were not quite green but not blue enough to be blue, almost like the water which stared back at me. sure enough, i was she who stared at me from below, yet felt no palpable connection to her. if i saw the same face from a year ago, three months ago, would i feel the same? same face, different mind. i look back up and take in the light. i feel more of a connection to the smooth rocks below my feet, under my hands supporting me. i feel more connection to the butterfly that floats past, teasing to land on my outstretched bare leg before fluttering off and out of my life again. the wildflowers blooming among the cracks of the rocks, the grass and dirt haphazardly infesting the perfectly imperfect natural garden. the bee that buzzes past my ear and sends my heart into a frenzy, the bird in the tree that sings without care, the trees that stand protecting the pond and hug each other, everything working together in perfect unison. even the light that warms my face feels more real to me than the face looking up at me. and yet i stare again. i stare because i can’t believe it’s real. i stare because i want to connect. i stare because if i stare long enough i might be able to feel like i am her and she is me.
a twig breaks near me. i may not be alone. an onlooker? i could be scared, but nothing compels me to be. i am in the moment, and the moment continues to be still.
and moments pass, and i still sit. the sun has moved, but i have not. i cannot. why would i want to go back to the world where i have responsibilities— a family, a job, a home to pay for, food to collect and buy, always moving, never free. here i am calm. here i am me.
i wonder if the girl i had seen on my way to the pond had made it back home. she kept her distance, shy to come up to me. i wasnt going to do anything, say anything, because i wanted to let her be. i didn’t know what she was doing, and i suspected neither did she. so i passed her without another glance, assuming that she would continue on her way. and yet i still heard her voice a few moments later, saying something about wishing to be noticed. perhaps she could use some time at the pond as well. better to notice yourself first than how can you expect to get any gratification from others?
perhaps that’s all we really need. perhaps all we want is to be noticed. to believe that anything we do here is worth doing.
why my life has gone from one task to another, and yet now that i think i know what path i’m meant to follow, i still feel so far removed from myself, from my purpose. what if i really am meant to sit here and think for the rest of my life? what if she was meant to be seen by just me? what good is our lives if we cannot live them for ourselves?
i intend to stay until i find out.
i hear a voice, a whisper. the sun is setting. i don’t look up. i hear it again, less clear this time. and once again. an echo.
a breeze begins to pick up as the light begins to fade. another echo whistles through the trees, past my ears. i can see my reflection only by the light of dusk and fireflies. i no longer recognize myself as me. i feel a part of nature, another flower by the pond, lost to the world around me.
