I get to my own feet. “Sounds good. I got to run inside and grab something and then I’ll meet you guys by the truck.”
We part ways and I go into the house, not to get anything like I said, but to do something I’m not sure I should be doing. I don’t even know what compels me to do it. I’ve had people come and go through my life, over and over again. Hardly any of them I can remember. Some are just ghost memories. And I’ve completely forgotten most. I’m not sure that I’ll ever forget Avery completely. I’m not sure whether it’s because of the crazy stuff that happened or because for a moment it seemed like we shared a moment.
So I go into the kitchen and find a pen someone left on one of the counters, probably used for measuring. Then I open one of the lower cupboards below the kitchen sink and crouch down in front of it. I know I could get into deep shit for doing this if anyone found out, but I’ve never been one to fear getting into trouble.
I lean into the cupboard and press the pen to the side of it, pausing before I write.
Avery,
I’m not sure if you’re okay, but I hope so. I know this is probably weird, some guy you met for like two seconds writing on your kitchen cupboard, but I just wanted to say that I hope you find the place where you can breathe, to where your soul can thrive again, to where you can be free, to where you can live again.… I never really did see the rest of the tattoo so I’m not sure. Maybe you already have. I hope so.
It was nice meeting you. Hopefully one day our paths will cross again.
Tristan.
aka the pretty boy