242 - stew drop

il stood in front of the door, hesitant to place his knocks upon it. The letters "6B" were crookedly screwed into the well-worn slab of wood, gleaming gold against a backdrop of dull, chipping sky blue paint. Up until three weeks ago, he never really gave any of these things much consideration. They were constants in his life, almost as familiar as the entryway to his own apartment.

The memory of these familiar haunts must already be starting to fade, Gil thought. An imperceptible amount, but that's how forgetting begins. He started to think about other things embedded in his memory that he took for granted. Which drawer was the silverware drawer. Just the right amount of time to hold the toilet handle down so it would flush completely, yet not get stuck open. The wrinkles of her skin stretched across her knuckles.

Gil stopped then. He could work himself up into an emotional wreck later at home. This was neither the time nor the place. A deep breath, and an attempt to clear his mind preceded him finally placing three gentle knocks upon the door.

Jennifer only took a few seconds to open the door, but in that time, Gil felt a full rush of duality. Of, on the one hand, not wanting the door to open. Although they had prearranged the time, perhaps she had stepped out. He didn't want to go through with this, knowing how much emotion he felt by simply gazing upon her door. There was finality in this as well. After today, there were no more excuses to cause them to interact at all. This was, in all likelihood, the end.

On the other hand, he could not wait even for those few seconds, because there was nothing that he wanted more than to see her. If the door itself had caused him to nearly become a wreck, seeing her now in the doorway ran the risk of completely destroying him.

She looked like the same familiar Jennifer that he had grown to know so well over the past half a decade. The intervening three weeks of separation, though, had left her looking more beautiful in his eyes. At the same time, she looked more sullen than he was accustomed to, the dull-gray rings under her eyes told him that she had been getting as little sleep and doing as much crying as he had. In a way, this comforted him, though he felt guilty for even thinking so.

"Hey," she said, more muted than usual.

"Hey," he repeated back, matching her tone. "I brought back your stuff," he continued, slightly rattling the cardboard box in his hands upon mentioning it. "It's all there, I think, the things you mentioned and a few other odds and ends I found."

He handed the box to her awkwardly, trying not to draw too close. "Yeah, thanks," Jennifer said, casually glancing over the box's contents. "I'll go get your stuff, give me a second."

She disappeared back into her apartment. Gil stood there. He could imagine every nook and cranny of her place in his mind, but standing in the doorway he felt like an anonymous deliveryman waiting for his customer to return with some cash. Beyond what he could see from the partially-opened door would be a mystery to him, unknown forevermore.

Jennifer returned with a brown paper grocery bag. "Here you go," she said, outstretching her arms towards him. Gil took it, careful not to even slightly graze the flesh of her hands with his. He simply couldn't, he had decided.

The crinkling of the bag was the only noise in the otherwise painfully-silent hallway. Neither of them knew what to say.