Chapter Six: Timeless by Rosaline Saul
Jayden continues to stare at the TV, watching an advertisement for a new miracle shampoo. The girl on the TV has the same hair as the girl he has loved for so long now. When the advert is finished, he sighs and glances back at Kieran. “I am glad you found her so easy.” Although he has known for some time where she is, he did not want Kieran to know his secret.
“These
days you can track anybody on the internet. All you have to do is Google it.”
“How
life has progressed.” Jayden changes his voice and mimics Shakespeare, “For the
better, or not for the better.”
“When
the cleaning lady comes, I think we must walk up to her house.”
“What
for?” Jayden says dismissively, “You’ll see her tomorrow at school.”
Kieran stares at the television. He asks abruptly, “Are you
really not going to try and make her choose you this time?”
Jayden smirks. “No competition from me this time, brother.
Just go for it. I am tired and I want this curse broken. You said you can find
anything on the internet, so find a way to keep her safe and you can live your
happily ever after, but please just get it right this time.”
Half-heartedly Kieran says, “You know if she chooses you,
the curse will automatically be broken.”
“Yeah,
but she keeps choosing you. I get the message loud and clear; it will never be
me. Just find a way to keep her safe or to break the curse when she chooses
you, so this can be over. I am not doing it again.”
“I
have a view of her house from my room.”
Without expression Jayden continues to stare at the TV. His eyes narrow briefly and then he sits up quickly when there is a knock on the door. “It’s the cleaning lady. Let’s go for a walk anyway while she is here, familiarize ourselves with the outlay of this town.”
The next morning, I wake up as usual until the memories from
the night before come rushing back. In a flash second, I relive the entire
episode.
Lethargically I get dressed for school. I shake my head in
self-denial when I pull on my checked, pleated school skirt. The hem comes
mid-way up my thigh. This is the old me, I think sadly. The me who believed in
love even if you disagreed with the one you loved. Admittedly, my mom and dad
could not agree on anything, and they disagreed on everything, but they were
still supposed to love each other. What happened to that love they had when
they met?
No! I will not mull over this again.
I rummage through my cupboard until I find a pair of
tattered jeans and an old T-shirt. I get dressed in this exclusive ensemble. I
pull a beanie over my messy hair, wrap a scarf around my neck and pull on a
bright pink puffy jacket. The hideous jacket my dad bought for me last
Christmas—eventually I will have to admit to myself the man just did not know
me.
At the moment, the fact he does not know me does not really
cause me any concern, what really bothers me about my mom and dad getting
divorced is—where did the love go?
I go downstairs and before I open the fridge to get a
yoghurt drink, I read the note on the fridge. “I had to go into work early.” I
notice it is still handwritten. She should Xerox them and save herself the
trouble every morning. It would surely be easier to just pull one out of a
large stack and hastily push it in under the pineapple fridge magnet than
actually having to scribble it down in pen every day.
I get the yoghurt drink and then open the kitchen drawer
under the cutlery drawer. I reach my hand in, until my fingers clutch around a
small wooden box pushed to the back, under a pile of dishcloths. I take it out
and then I pull the emergency credit card from its protective interior. I am in
need of emergency retail therapy.
I leave the house and pull the door until I hear the latch
catch. I turn the handle and push the door to make sure it is locked. I do this
only once because if I did it twice it could be construed as OCD.
I walk away from my house into the misty rain, and I follow
the road through the estate toward the main road. We live here on the outskirts
of Drogheda, County Louth on the lush green isle of Ireland. It is two miles
from my home to the centre of town, but I have walked this journey many times
and I need to clear my mind anyway.
I walk past the usual places, the pubs, the yoghurt factory, the houses with their quaint gardens while I listen to the music in my ears. The fine, misty precipitation does not wet me, and there are no actual drops of rain. I push my hands deep into the pockets of my shocking pink jacket.
When I get to the mall, I walk into my usual clothes store. I pick new pants, new shirts and a few dresses. I choose new jackets and for good measure, I buy some new underwear. Everything I select is in various shades of black.
After all, I am mourning the absence of love.
