They always rendezvous’d at the canyon in the back of the apartment complex. It was one of the few spots where the air was crisp, removed from the smog of the city. So much so that a few families and couples started a community garden a few miles away from the canyon, ripe with fresh tomatoes, lettuce, green onions, peppers, potatoes. Someone tried to plant an orange tree hoping to extend the garden into a grove but it never grew.
She was one of his first friends in high school, a petit dark haired girl with olive eyes and a shy smile. They shared third period English literature and happened to sit next to one another, bonding over that one Luis Borges short story they both read. Since then they were inseparable, despite having different interests. She joined the art club and would later go to school for cinematography with the hope of directing and writing her own short film. He joined the debate team, eventually traveling with the school to nationals before attending university to study poly-sci only to drop out a few semesters later. They often spoke of how their differences kept things interesting.
He was the wingman to the first guy she dated and was there to console her when things ended junior year. She helped decide whether the chicks would look hot next to him, a medium built six foot something with dirty blonde curly hair and light freckles. He was a pretty boy who never had trouble pulling girls but seemed to always have problems keeping them. Sometimes she would literally help him avoid his short-lived romances, finding another spot in their school to hang out around.
They kept in touch relatively frequently even when they went to different colleges, vowing to live in the same city, or at least somewhere close after graduation. Neither of them expected to eventually become roommates, but life has a funny way of coming full circle. Now they’re sitting at the edge of one of the cliffs on the canyon, sipping seltzers and watching the sun rise behind the mountains. He had just ended things with a musician he dated and was processing the breakup. She listened, and by the end was rolling her eyes.
“Don’t give me that look again,” He jokes, pushing her playfully on the shoulder. “I know I still have commitment issues. But hey, almost made it a year. The most serious one so far.”
She exaggerates another eye roll and sighs.
“She was a musician, a really good one too! Ugh, you messed up this time. I liked her.”
“Yeah, I’m going to miss her voice. I hope she makes it. She encouraged me to get a motorcycle license and we didn’t even get to ride together.”
“What happened? I heard her sobbing when she left…I wanted to say bye but it didn’t seem like a good idea.”
He paused for a moment, replaying their last fight in his head as he gazed out at the gradient sun-scape. The canyon sometimes grew eerily quiet, and this time it became an echo chamber which magnified his anxieties. They’ve had similar veins of the kind of conversation they were about to have before, a seemingly inevitable point of contention. He thought about how complicated life can be sometimes.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but part of why we broke up was because of you.”
Now she paused with confusion on her face in the form of furrowed brows.
“Me? I thought we were cool! She showed me songs from her upcoming ep before you got to listen.”
“I still can’t get over that haha. She also thought you were cool. But her issue was with our closeness.”
She sighed, shaking her head. Now she was watching the vastness of the canyon, playing memories in her head. They shared many silences before and most times they were comfortable. History has that effect on people. Even if it wasn’t outwardly expressed, this one was filled with head noise. She wanted to ask more, but something stopped her. Instead, she tried to think about how the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference.
“I thought we talked everything out that night. Guess not.” She finally replies before getting up.
“I have to get ready for work. Oh, can you get pears from the market? Think I’m going to make some pie today.”
“Alright, but only if I get a slice.”
“Ha! Why even ask? You’re going to take a bite either way.” He laughed too, this time from his chest.
Neither of them were able to focus at work. They were both sleep deprived, laden with unspoken emotions. How strange it is that the heavier the thoughts, the more time seems to approach a standstill. He replayed the same conversations over and over, as if wanting to holding onto figments of moments he knew could not be recreated. The distance between the inner machinations of his mind and the reality before him was difficult to articulate.
He recalls a line from one of Borges’ short stories on the way back from the store. That “for every sensible line of straightforward statement, there are leagues of senseless cacophonies, verbal jumbles and incoherences.” He begins to speed up. There weren’t many cars on the highway and he wanted to zoom. As if flying could somehow dissolve the recalcitrance of memories that continued to live rent free in his head. Then out of nowhere a car makes a right turn into his lane. He tries to slow down but wasn’t far enough to veer away or rather, he wasn’t able to bring himself to the present reality quickly enough. His bike slams into trunk and he lets go, desperately trying to cushion his landing in any way as he falls to the side. He feels a jolt of pain somewhere near his nose, along with the sound of another car screeching to a halt behind him. The owner of the vehicle in front gets out and scrambles towards him.
“Yo, you alright?” The owner asks, lifting his baggy wide-legged denims before crouching closer. He was in too much pain to answer, trying to get a glimpse of the owner’s face. From the corner of his eye he sees the custom license plate that reads MIRO in mustard yellow. The owner of the car behind gets out too.
“Omg, he’s bleeding. I’m calling 911. I think his nose is broken. Hang in there, let me see if I have tissues in the car.” Came a higher pitched voice of what sounded like a panicked young woman.
“I can’t believe this is happening. My insurance is gonna go off the roof with this one. The fuck were you thinking, bruh?” The owner shouts, wearing the look of a concerned father.
Cars around him began to slow down, curious to see the spectacle as they squashed a plastic container of spinach, the bag of parsley and a couple strawberries. He said nothing as he continued to hold his nose. Though his head was throbbing while his nose dripped with blood, the only thing he could think about was how he forgot the pears.