Door slams shut. Striding along side the wrangler in my wedges, towards the walkway. Trying to avoid rocks and roots. The walkway appears, as does something, someone, else. You. Kneeling down by the civic, that I once rode in along side you, drilling out a rusted screw. My breath hitches, heartbeat skips. You glance at me from the corner of your eye, just for a split second. As if my being here disgusted you. No smile of familiarity, no asking hello. I was nothing more than a mere ghost in your memory. Though you’re probably laughing inside your head, seeing me walk past you, towards Matt. Thinking that I’ve settled for second best. Or maybe you think I’m trying to get back at you. Either way, your presence rattles me a bit. Ripping back memories of the summer. How we used to be tangled up together… I shut off my thoughts, and stride over to the sofa, as Matt hands me a beer. The air whooshes out as I crack it open. Matt stands to my right, talking about his truck, and what you’re doing to the civic. I stare past him, at you. You haven’t changed much at all. Maybe a bit rougher, stronger, paler from winter. I wanted to push past Matt, to run up to you, and make you talk to me. Acknowledge my presence. To explain what the hell happened. Though I know I’m not nearly that brave. So I refocus back on Matt. Talking about his old Jeep. How he drove it through the pond, and how much of an epic fail it was. Laughing along with his stories, drinking the beer, lighting up a cigarette. Trying not to remember that you’re less than 100 feet away. Which is just as hard as trying to stop your own breathing.