Summers Past

 It was the feeling of things coming to an end.

Every summer in my adult life, I used to go to Arild. It is a picturesque village where I usually spent my time in the attic of my grandparents abandoned old house. Listening to music, going down to the sea to have a bath and just enjoy the time being on my own. Since I had been together with Linda for the last three summers, it had been only natural that we spent them there together. This summer, after the break up, would turn out to be quite different. I had packed my things and made my way over there, getting ready to spend the summer there on my own, once again.

The garden, the flowers and the air had the melancholic feeling of autumn around it.

But when I arrived at the house and made my way up to the attic, it turned out that Linda was already there. This surprised me, as this was my place and not hers. I found her things lying around and among them was a police report about her. The report read that she was under suspicion of some sort, that she was unhealthily skinny and had been found wandering around and sleeping in inappropriate, public places. There seemed to be a general worry about her health. I looked up from the report and saw her sitting further up in the attic. Naturally, I wanted to go over and ask her how she was, but as I did, I noticed someone by the door. I knew, without a doubt, who it was. Her new man. He had probably had a swim in the sea and was now opening the lock.

I was struck by sadness and discomfort and as he opened the door to come in to the room I quickly grabbed my things and got out through a side door, before I was even able to properly see him. He might have seen my back as I left, though.

Just outside, almost hidden in the bushes, I had a desktop computer, standing against a wired fence. The branches of the bushes had grown around the steel wires, the computer and the screen, making it barely visible unless you stood right next to it. I decided to put some music on and just be on my own for a little while. However, before I was able to, a song started booming out of the attic. Linda's new guy had put on Butterfly by Jason Mraz, a song I clearly associate with myself as I often had sung it while out on tour.

It felt so symbolic. I had been replaced. Utterly and completely. She had taken over the places that were mine and started sharing them with him instead. Even the songs that were mine or ours now belonged to someone else. I started to feel really sad and abandoned, and wanted to go back in there without knowing really what to do or say. But I was brusquely torn from my feelings of regret as children started stumbling into the garden. They were clearly nursery or kindergarteners, climbing on the stone steps, playing around the bushes and the metal fences.

I went down the stone steps, past several boys and girls with their mouths full of berries, burdock seeds and random plants and flowers they had found in the garden. As it turned out, the rest of the house below had been rebuilt into a kindergarten and nursery and somehow the children had managed to get through the gate leading up into the wildly overgrown garden. I came out of the garden and down to the nursery, where I saw some teachers, chatting idly. As I told them about the children, they grew pale and quickly started running over to the gate and the garden.

There was a skip in time, and after all the children had been brought back safely and collected by their parents, I heard the teachers saying that it was lucky that no one had eaten anything poisonous. However, some children had fallen on the stone steps or bumped into the fences, so there were some broken teeth they were bound to hear about later. They talked about how over excited the children had been from "escaping" the nursery and that apparently some immigrant children had been the ones taking the lead.

I left them standing there and started making my way back up towards the attic. As I did, a car was starting to leave the nursery parking lot. In it I saw Linda's new boyfriend, surprisingly enough sitting with his ex-girlfriend in his lap. He had chosen to leave Linda in favour of his ex, and she was probably still up in the attic, alone. At first it gave me something of a sad relief. I suppose because I no longer had to feel bad myself for being so easily discarded. Pretty soon, however, I started to worry. Especially considering how the police report from before painted an unsettling picture of how Linda seemed to have lapsed somewhat in both her mental and physical health. 

The garden, the flowers and the air had the melancholic feeling of autumn around it.

I found Linda up in the attic, just sitting around. I just stood there, quiet for a while. Then, even though I knew the answer, I asked her if her boyfriend was still there. She looked at me then, very sadly, and answered:

"He's not coming back, darling".