Eighteen Days

Merisa Kacamakovic

by Merisa Kacamakovic

Story

She sat down on the edge of her bed, staring at the smooth fabric from a distance. Many conversations and memories had been erased by her brain, for safety, or blocked out by herself. If she remembered every single detail, she would have gone mad a long time ago. Things he said, things he never said. Whatever she did and, especially, what she didn’t do. It would all haunt her until eternity. However, four and a half minutes into her gaze upon the relics from not so ancient times, it hit her. Not slightly, not indirectly. It hit her like the water balloon at the neighbor’s kid’s summer birthday bash many years ago. Harshly against her head, bursting onto her ear and leaving her with a nauseating feeling right afterward. Eighteen days. The realization sent waves of shock, electricity and panic through her body. As a last resort, she got up, her eyes searching for her phone. On the desk, the bed, in her bag, nothing. Or everything but that small object of her desire. In the hallway, she remembered leaving it in the kitchen to charge. And there it was, waiting for her to check the calendar and drop onto the kitchen chair by the table. Erasing the little glimpse of hope she had of mixing up the dates, not remembering correctly, when, deep down, she had known and been on edge since the year started. No, her brain did not do any tricks on her. It was eighteen days until the day she just couldn’t wait for back then. You know when they say that the first instinct you have is the one you should listen to? Ayla found that to be true. 

Amidst the small crowds that gathered in front of the paintings and sculptures, there was Ayla, suddenly unable to move. She felt like in those artsy video clips, where a person is standing still in the middle, while people are walking past in a time-lapse, creating streams of colors. It had been a while since she walked through these halls, but nothing really changed. The artwork was the same, the benches offered seating for the tired and bored in the middle, and people were coming from all over to see the exhibits. Only Ayla had changed. When you look at her, you will notice she got her dark hair cut right above the shoulders and decided on messy curtain bangs. It had given her a fresh sense of self, like all her pain and sorrow went away as soon as the hairdresser flipped the scissors around her head. Her style had become more modest, less flowery. Today, she chose black office pants, a white dress shirt and her new gray wool vest over it. White sneakers and a red handbag were her final picks, and after having spent the last two nights raiding her wardrobe, this was her look for returning to this particular museum.

The giggles of a couple in their early twenties brought her back to reality, and her eyes wandered over to them. They had accidentally bumped into a guide who was currently discussing the nuances in the Vermeer painting “Girl Reading A Letter at an Open Window”, when he turned around, instantly annoyed by them. At second glance, however, he saw that they were genuinely apologizing and not in some corrupted state, softened his posture and turned back to his group. The girl and the guy apologized once more, before quickly moving away with their heads down, suppressing their laughter and nudging each other. Ayla felt a powerful dèja-vu coming in, scenes starting to play in her head, but blinked a few times to shake it off and decided to focus on the painting in front of her instead. 

© Merisa Kacamakovic 2024-04-01

Genres
Novels & Stories
Moods
Emotional, Sad, Reflective, Hopeful
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