Slouched on the brown leather sofa in his parents’ flat, Tom is having a silent conversation with Maeve, who’s sitting on the floor in front of him. They never really need to talk: Tom always knows what Maeve thinks, Maeve always knows what Tom thinks. Nonetheless, they have frequent conversations like this one. It might just look like Tom is staring into the nothingness in front of him but there, he sees Maeve: short, messy, blonde hair, thin glasses and round face, just like the last time they met. Still sixteen, bright green eyes. In his memories, she has stopped ageing since their last encounter, at a mutual friend’s house party.
They had grown up together, in Oxford, and had gone to school together since kindergarten. Unfortunately, after the first year of high school, Tom had moved to London with his parents, and he and Maeve had lost contact. Even after running into each other at that party, while Tom was back in Oxford visiting his friends, things were never the same again. When Tom found out about Maeve’s death, one year later, his mind went back to that night and too many ‘if onlys’ crowded his mind.
Tom can hear his mum cooking dinner in the kitchen, with the radio on. Next to him, Fred, his dad, is typing at the computer, absorbed in getting all the work done for the usual Monday morning meeting. Both Fred and his wife Hannah are unaware of the girl seated on their living room’s floor.
“Tom? You okay?” Why do people ask you if you’re okay? Do they really expect an honest answer?
“Yes, dad.”
“You’ve been quiet for a while now. What are you thinking about?”
“Maeve.”
Silence falls inside the room. Even the sound of the radio seems more distant and fainter. Fred won’t talk about it. Of course, he won’t. Tom said it mainly to make him feel uncomfortable.
Maeve smiles, she likes when Tom sees her and recently, it’s happened more and more often. She looks at Fred, bent over his computer, typing frantically. He squeezes his eyes to see the screen, too proud to put on the reading glasses the doctor has prescribed him. Now, he is conscious of Maeve’s presence, too. Tonight, in bed with his wife, he will tell her about his conversation with Tom, that their son still thinks about that girl Maeve. It’s nothing serious, they’ll say, he will forget, eventually.
“I should’ve stayed on campus.” Tom tells Maeve. “I should’ve stayed on campus…”
Maeve raises an eyebrow. “What happened to: home with mum and dad is better than being alone in my room all weekend? Your words.”
“I was wrong.”
Maeve lies down on the wood floor with a deep breath.
© Silvia Ricevuti 2023-08-30