“Phlegm was already taken.”
It had been easy to fall asleep at night when you had no more questions. With Ollie, everything was going to be okay, even if I didn’t have the answer to everything. Next to Ollie, space and time were non-existent, and I’d slip into a coma of warmth without worry.
And though he wasn’t sleeping with me now, the dreams of our time together held me over.
I woke up before Diane entered this time and looked out the window.
Ollie was there, standing against the silver hatchback on the curb with a Dunkin cup in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. He must have felt my eyes on him, and his head tilted to catch me staring. What time did he get here? There was at least fifty feet, a window, and a tree branch between us, but his eyes found mine against the obstacles. Straightening his posture, he smiled, and his hand withdrew from the pocket and lifted in a small wave.
I waved back.
He held up a finger, sat his coffee over the top of the car, and opened the driver-side door.
His back was to me, and I took the opportunity to fix my hair. My pillow-head only made my left side decent, and a large Champion sweatshirt hung from my shoulders. My arms dropped to my sides as Ollie faced me again, holding up a second coffee cup in the air as an offering.
I shook my head.
He held up a finger again.
Then a white paper bag appeared from behind his back, and he gave it a little shake in front of him.
I laughed lightly, hoping the distance, tree, and glass of the window gave the illusion I wasn’t blushing or completely taken by his determination.
Ollie held up his palm in the air as in to say, give-me-something-here.
I shook my head, and he hung his.
A few beats later, he’d sat my coffee beside his and disappeared inside the car again, grabbing a backpack. I’d watched from the window as he balanced the backpack over his knee, unzipped, and dropped the white paper bag inside, I’m sure filled with croissants and pastries, before closing it back up. Ollie grabbed my coffee off the car and walked under the window and toward the front door, disappearing from my view.
When he walked back to the car, his hands were empty.
He’d left it all waiting for me.
Ollie paused before he got back inside the hatchback, car door half-ajar, shielding half his body. He looked up once more, his eyes saying everything I needed to know: I’ll be here tomorrow, I’ll do this forever, but hurry up because you’re killing me. And before he got inside and closed the door, the last look in his eyes said the very thing I needed to hear, taste, and feel instead. I love you, Mia.
I’d spent yesterday’s brisk morning walking up and down the hills of Bushkill with the camera Ollie left me from the backpack, which also held some old clothes, a new pair of Converse, and a few simple shirts he purchased, knowing he had everything I’d left at Dolor.
Bushkill, Pennsylvania was picture perfect during the changing seasons, and dead the rest of the year, known for the waterfalls and Pocono mountains. There wasn’t nightlife here, secluded with reserves, hiking trails, parks, and museums. We’d moved here after my mom died from Allentown, which was busier, noisier, and suffocating for my dad. I didn’t remember Allentown much, only the ice skating rink I used to visit on Saturdays with Miley and Charlotte.
I’d went through two rolls of film, and remembered the way I felt behind a camera. Powerful and in control. I could give any illusion I wanted. Make anything beautiful. Even a gum wrapper carried by the wind amongst the leaves, I’d clicked and captured trash, a mint blue star dancing across brown hues.
From the busy day before, Ollie had beat me to the front door.
We stood on opposite sides, completely still and staring at one another, and I shivered from the cold-front seeping through the breezeway and into the house. Ollie had more layers on this morning with a beanie, the temperature in the high thirties or low forties. Though his feet were rooted in place, the rest of him was alive, ready to pounce if I’d let him. “You all right?”
He stood in front of me, him on the doormat and me inside the entryway of the house, and I forced my head to nod to keep myself from caving. Here, I felt more in control of the situation. Here, I trusted myself. But with Ollie here, no distance was safe.
Ollie’s chin dropped to his chest. “I won’t keep you, but I went into town yesterday and got you a phone with international service. I want to make sure you have a way to reach me,” he pulled out a phone from his front pocket and held it between us, “the young chap said the camera is the best feature, and I set it up for you last night, programmed my number. I also downloaded a few apps I think you’ll like. Mostly picture apps where you can choose filters and distort images …”
Ollie continued to ramble nervously, and I reached for the phone.
“Nah-uh-uh,” he pulled the iPhone away and held it over our heads, clouds from our breaths pillowing between us, “I want something from you in return.”
I shifted, leaning my hip against the doorframe in a pair of his joggers he’d packed me and his shirt that read, MAKE LOVE NOT WAR. He knew I loved this shirt, not because of the saying, but because it was his favorite. “What do you want?”
“If I give you this phone, you have to message me. And I’m going to watch you send me that first message now so I know you know how to use it.”
The phone lowered between us, and I held out my palm for him to drop it in. “I know how to use a phone, Ollie.”
“You’d be surprised how much has changed in two years.”
Shaking my head, I fumbled with the buttons to change the black screen to something different. The home button was gone. Ollie smirked but offered no assistance.
Finally, I figured it out tapped the green icon. “What’s your number?”
“It’s already in your contacts,” his hand jolted inside his pocket, “the only number in there, love.”
I backed out of the messages and went to contacts. “Ollie” was listed, something so simple, but seeing his name across a screen made my heart grow wings and fly. I smiled, texting him.
Ollie’s phone pinged in his other pocket. He took out his phone and dropped his head, his fingers working the screen to open the message, which simply read, “I love you.” His shoulders visibly relaxed, an exhale left him, and his gaze dragged from the screen until green eyes met mine. “I needed that.”
The late morning sun filtered through the lace curtains, heating the side of my face. All night, I’d tossed and turned, unable to get warm or comfortable. My throat burned, and my insides felt as if I’d been thrown into an inferno. An annoyed Diane pounded on the door, announcing Ollie’s arrival, but there was no way I could get out of bed.
For the first time, in a long time, I was sick.
Groaning, I blindly patted for the phone inside the covers to text him.
The phone was dead.
“Diane?” I desperately called out, hoping she’d understand me through the animalistic sound that came out. My voice was gone. “Diane!” I tried again, this time pushing through the lodge inside my throat.
Fully dressed in yoga pants, Nikes, and Michael Kors black puffer jacket, hair and make-up perfectly in place, Diane entered the guest bedroom with her bag slung over her shoulder, pink yoga mat peeking out.