When you look me in the eyes

DIANE “Siri, stop music, please?” Diane’s voice cut through the hum of the car's engine as she kept her eyes peeled for familiar signs, her hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. “I can’t believe I’m back here. Why does everything look so different and yet... still the same,” she muttered under her breath, a shiver running down her spine. She never intended on being back here and if it weren’t for her father’s lawyer insisting he meet and talk with her in person, she’d never have set foot in this old, forsaken town again. That’s a little harsh, she thought to herself. Bad memories create a sour taste in her mouth and, unfortunately, being here does that. The road stretched ahead, twisting through streets that felt both familiar and alien. Finally, a 7/11 sign appeared in the distance, and Diane let out a quiet sigh of relief. She was grateful for the stop—both for directions and for a chance to gather her nerves. It had been ten years since she’d last walked these streets, yet the memory of every corner, every tree-lined sidewalk, lingered faintly, like a shadow she couldn’t fully shake. She pulled into the station, feeling the weight of nostalgia press against her chest as she filled the tank and grabbed a snack. The hours of driving had left her drained, but the unknown stretch ahead still held a mix of anticipation and unease. Diane approached the counter, hoping the clerk might offer guidance. After some persistent pleading, he finally pointed her in the right direction. She thanked him, paid, and eased back onto the road, the hum of the engine suddenly feeling louder in the silence of her thoughts. Five minutes later, Diane reached the first street that would lead her to her father’s house. In an instant, the memories she’d buried for a decade surged back, vivid and relentless. The houses, the neighborhood, even the air felt like a living relic of her past. This place that once held such beautiful memories, now had given her nightmares—not out of fear, but because of what it displays. It was saturated with echoes of happiness and heartbreak alike, the kind that had once made her heart soar and then shatter. And now, she was here. Her father’s home stood exactly as she remembered it, every brick and window painstakingly familiar. Yet what caught her eye first was the tire swing dangling from the large oak in the front yard. Diane’s breath caught, and she got out of the car without a second thought. Why was this still here? Her fingers brushed the worn rope. The memories of childhood laughter, scraped knees, and endless summer days rushed back almost instantly. She smiled, a bittersweet curl of lips. She couldn’t believe her father had kept it all these years. Years that she was certain would erase any scent of her and yet, if this was a reminder of what’s to come — Diane had better get it together and fast. “Excuse me, you can’t—” a small voice called from behind her. Diane turned sharply to see a figure approaching, squinting against the afternoon sun. Recognition slowly dawned on the elderly woman’s face. “Diane? Is that you?” She stepped closer, hand on the fence as if this was normal. “Yes, hi Mrs. Kaepernick,” Diane said, moving toward the familiar lady. The woman hesitated for a moment, then broke into a wide smile. Diane enveloped her in a warm hug, feeling the unexpected comfort of familiarity. “Oh my, I can’t believe it’s you! How are you, dear?” “I’m well, thank you. How are you?” “I’m good, dear. I’m so sorry about your father,” she twitched a little, unsure of what to say next. “I know it's been a while since you’ve been back here,” Diane’s lips twitched, forcing back a scoff, rolling her keys in her hand to keep her steady. “It’s been a long time,” “And how’s your mother?” Mrs. Kaepernick asked, eyes gleaming. She remembered how fond of her Mrs Kaepernick was. “Is she well?” “She is. We both are.” Diane felt a twinge in her heart, she forgot that her mother also left a life here. “Still moving and shaking, as best she can,” Diane tried to force a smile. “I’m just here to sort through my father’s affairs,” “Ahh, I’m so glad to hear Dolores is doing well. Please pass on my warm greetings and wishes of well,” Mrs. Kaepernick turned her head back towards her own house. “I did speak to your aunt last week while she was here. She’s a busy woman, I tell ya,” Diane knew her aunty all too well and Mrs Kaepernick was not wrong. If the lawyer didn’t request Diane specifically, her aunt would’ve taken care of everything here. “That she is,” Diane laughed half-heartedly. “I'd better get settled in, I think this is going to be a long week ahead,” “Oh yes, I can imagine. Well, if you need anything, just knock on my door. It’s so good to see you again.” She waved and turned back toward her house, leaving Diane to her own thoughts. One thing she was certain of — no one ever leaves small towns. Diane’s gaze followed her until she disappeared back into her own house, walked over to the shrub by the front door, knelt down and found the spare key her aunt had left her. The lock turned with that all too familiar click Diane knew so well. The scent of her father’s home lingered, unchanged. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, frozen in time, it almost made her queasy. She walked through the living room and into the kitchen. It seems her father had been doing some renovations. As she peeked through the kitchen window to the outdoors, Diane could see a pergola that was not there ten years prior with a beautiful little fountain surrounded by a very well-kept garden. It made her heart a little happy to see that her father hadn’t lost himself completely. He was very much an outdoor man, doing things with his hands. A lot of her childhood was spent outside in the garden, and it dawned on her that things could have been different had she stayed. Diane shook the thought and headed upstairs. Upon entering her father’s room, the bed was made and clearly remained untouched. Diane had never really taken notice of her parents' room when she was younger, it definitely wasn’t anything to think about or seemed special. She can’t remember a single fond memory. Anything she remembers was filled with her parents arguing behind closed doors. And Diane had learned to faze that out over the years. She was certain it haunted her mother, especially since she'd had to come back here, but if only her mother could see this place now. The rest of the room had been reduced to neatly stacked boxes ready to be shipped. Her aunt clearly went to work after the funeral because everything here, other than the bed, was packed into these boxes. On top of one, a note from her aunt said: "Di baby, I’ve packed up all of your father’s belongings and arranged for pickup the Friday you arrive. I only packed his things, the remainder of the house I have left for you. Do with it as you please. Call me if you have any problems. Love you…” Diane dropped the note back onto the box, somewhat perplexed by it, and walked around his room, which had also been upgraded in some way or another. It felt strange to be standing here without him. Well, without anyone really. It almost feels illegal. Almost. He’d made changes; a new coat of paint, curtains instead of a blind, which was something her parents argued over and now that she thinks back on it - it was a really stupid thing to be arguing over; even his ensuite is newly furnished and cleaned by her aunt nonetheless. It seemed her father had moved on with life quite nicely, and it struck her odd why he never fought to keep her. In the ten years she had been gone, not once did she hear of her father’s contact. Maybe he did, and her mother refused, or maybe he didn’t care enough. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw pain written all over her face. Why is this giving her grief? And why now? It didn’t bother her in the ten years she had been away, so why was it such a big deal to her now? Bethany. Diane was baffled that in the entire hour she had been there, she hadn’t thought of her daughter. She had been so consumed by her own thoughts and memories that she’d forgotten about Bethany. And how she would have loved being here with what would’ve been her grandfather. She would’ve loved everything about this house. The tire swing especially. Had her father known she was pregnant, maybe he would’ve fought more to have her stay. Had she not jumped at the opportunity to get out, in her own pain and heartbreak, she could’ve been happy here with her Dad. Maybe here wasn't just about sorting through her father’s affairs. Maybe it was time to confront her past; confront the very thing that had held her back for so many years. Diane took a mental note of the date her aunt had organized for the boxes and walked out. She was beginning to feel things and this is not what she needed right at that moment. The next room was the one she had been dreading the most, but as she opened the door, it was as if she was stepping back into her 16-year-old self again. She revealed a perfectly preserved room: the single bed, a fully covered desk with knick-knacks and notebooks, her old stereo, and even the stuffed bears she hadn’t thought about in years. As she scanned the room, she was hit with a wave of emotions. Her eyes fell on an old photo on the bedside table, it was nicely framed. She remembered the exact day it was taken and her chest tightened—there she was, smiling directly at the camera in all 4 shots, wrapped in the arms of what used to be her safe space. She breathed a little too hard and it made her shutter. Diane picked up the photo frame and ran a finger over the glass, dust gathered on her fingertip. She noticed how happy she was and the way he was looking at her, like nobody could love someone as deeply as he did. Before she could stop it, a teardrop plopped onto the glass, smearing it just a little. Diane dropped the photo frame onto her old bed, wiping away at the tears that betrayed her. And just as pain hit her, fury bit back just as hard. Betrayal. Disappointment. Broken promises that time clearly did not heal. He might as well have stabbed her openly in the heart. She couldn’t be too angry at him. He warned her. He told her that he wasn’t good. And yet. “Let it go,” Diane whispered. Unsure why. “Just. Let. it. Go,” she squeezed her eyes shut for a minute to recollect what dignity and strength she had left. She walked straight out of the room, slamming the door with such force that the walls rattled. Is this what this next week is going to be like? Can she even keep it together enough to get through all that she needs to do? Diane strode down the stairs in strides, leaping two at a time. She walked back into the kitchen to see what her aunt had left, if she left anything at all. The cupboards were bare, but the fridge had at least milk and butter. Diane felt her stomach grumble at the sight of the almost empty fridge. Maybe a trip to the supermarket might be a good start. This is going to be a long week.