aarthi08

[aarthi08]

three

“What’s this?” 

Callum is puzzled at the piece of paper being handed to him by his gruff landlord, Henry.

“It’s your eviction notice. Get out in two weeks.” 

Callum’s mouth drops open. “Why are you kicking me out?”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He leaves.

Callum stands by the door, mouth as wide open as the door itself. When the initial shock passes, he closes the door and goes back into his apartment. He sits at the kitchen counter and starts reading through the paper that fated his doom. 

From New Girl, Season 7, Episode: Engram Pattersky

EVICTION NOTICE

Dear Tenant,

This notice is to inform you that you must move out of your current accommodation in the next two weeks, by law. This is due to your failure to pay your rent on time for the past six months. You must pay the outstanding amount by 31st December, 2020. Failure to comply with the terms of this notice is a breach of the law and can therefore result in you having to present yourself in a court of law. 

Apologies for any inconvenience caused.

Housing Board

He slams the piece of paper on the table and holds his head in his hands. How could this have happened? It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford the rent. He just forgot to pay. And Henry never reminded him either. Two weeks was too late to find a new place. There was only one place to go.

Three days later

Callum stands outside a large house, surrounded by suitcases and boxes, and a large backpack rests on his shoulders. He rings the bell. It takes a few moments, but finally someone answers. A short, white haired lady with the most beautiful smile. Her face lights up when she sees him.

“Callum, my baby! W-what are you doing here? This isn’t your weekend off, is it?” She peers behind him and her eyes widen. “What’s with all this stuff?"

“Hey, Mom. I’ll explain everything. Can I just come in first?”

She nods vigorously and ushers him in. He turns around for the boxes, but she pushes him into the house. Once inside, Callum immediately drops his bags on the floor, and leisurely makes his way to the couch, into which he collapses and closes his eyes.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” The deep voice startles him and he sits up straight.

“Dad. Look, I can explain. I forgot to pay the rent on my apartment and I got kicked out. So I had to leave.”

His dad looks at him sternly, arms crossed and feet shoulder’s length apart. “You forgot? How did you manage that?”

“Well, you see, work is busy and -”

“Save it. This is just like you, to leave the moment things get hard.”

Callum stands up. “You have no right to say that to me.”

His dad raises an eyebrow. “Is that right? Hmm. So then you can tell me how long you were given to move out.”

“Just two weeks.” 

“Just two weeks? Boy, you could move to a whole new country in two weeks, and you’re telling me you couldn’t even find temporary accommodation before you got a proper place.”

Callum moves closer to him. “You don’t understand. I -”

The older man raises a hand to stop him from talking. “Well, guess what. You’re not staying here a second longer than two weeks either.” He walks away, and Callum just stands there.

How I imagined Callum’s father looking at him 

(Source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/284008320238751716/)

[aarthi08]

two

Loosely inspired by The Waiting Room from Dance Moms (below).

26th February, 2018

Dad’s sick. He collapsed at home all of a sudden. I didn’t even think to call an ambulance. I just put him in my car and drove to the hospital. One of the scariest days of my life. They still don’t know what’s wrong with him, but they’re doing tests and keeping me updated. Mom is devastated. I wish Mia was here to calm her down. She always seemed to know how to help. God, if you’re somehow reading this, please save Dad.

27th February, 2018

It’s cancer. Liver cancer. Bet he regrets all those poker nights now. They say they can deal with it because it hasn’t progressed too far. I hope that’s true. 

18th August, 2018

It’s been a hectic few months, but here I am, finally with a chance to write. Dad’s been going to chemotherapy for about four months now, and he already seems healthier and stronger. He’s up on his own, walking and talking. I know he’s okay because he’s constantly making fun of Mom. She’s relieved too, and she’s smiling much more even though she’s exhausted.

25th December, 2018

Dad’s favourite holiday is Christmas. But he didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as I thought he would. He sat in a corner in his favourite chair, occasionally laughing at the jokes we told. There was a sadness in his eyes for which I couldn’t quite tell the reason. Christmas was Mia’s favourite too. Maybe he was thinking about her. I can’t ask. He doesn’t ‘do feelings’.

27th February, 2019

Today marks a year since Dad’s diagnosis. We got him a T-shirt that read “I kicked cancer’s ass!” He was thrilled to say in the least. He seems to be back to normal since the new year started.

The T-shirt (Source: https://www.cafepress.com/+i-kicked-cancers-ass+t-shirts)

8th June, 2019

I asked Dad point-blank today if he was okay. He stared at me for a few seconds, then scoffed, turned his head and swatted me away like I was a fly. Still, I asked again. He looked at me again, but this time I saw his eyes brimming with tears. Then, we sat together in complete silence on the porch for the next half an hour, staring at the sunset. When it was time to go back inside, he wiped his face and patted me on the back. And that was that.

31st July, 2019

The cancer is back. They’re about to operate but they say there’s a chance he might not wake up. Dad pulled me aside and said that if he didn’t wake up in two weeks, I should tell them to remove him from life support. 

6th August, 2019

One week post-operation. He’s not awake. 

13th August, 2019

Today was the two week mark. Mom and I stood there as they turned off all the machines. She cried into my shoulder and I held her. He was in pain but he isn’t anymore. 

Goodbye, Dad. We’ll miss you. I bet Mia’s waiting for you up there. She was your favourite, after all. God, if you’re somehow reading this, please take care of Dad.     

[aarthi08]

one

Weddings. White dresses. Something old, new, blue, borrowed. Dancing. Singing. Laughing. Kissing. Enjoying. 

So why is it that I can’t be happy at a wedding?

The simple answer is that I was left at the altar two years ago. The complicated answer is… well, the same thing but with all my added trauma and abandonment issues. Fun. 

I don’t think about weddings that often, because they cause me to start crying uncontrollably and eat everything that was even remotely sweet in my fridge. I was doing a great job of not thinking about it, honestly. And then the phone rang.

From Grey’s Anatomy, Season 3, Episode: Didn’t We Almost Have It All?

“Hello?” An all-too familiar voice reached out from the other side of the phone. My windows were closed but it felt like a gush of ice-cold air had swept in and washed all over my body. I froze. There was silence for a few seconds before he called out, “Anna? It’s-”

“Brian.” Saying his name made me throw up a little in my mouth.

“Anna. I’m so glad you answered. How have you been?”

How have I been? Emotionally stunted, thanks to you. “Fine.” I said. He didn’t need to know any more.

He sighed. “Come on. You’ve got to give me a little more than that.” To that, rolled my eyes. I wish he could have seen that.

“I don’t have to give you anything. Why are you calling me?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s something important I need to tell you.” He paused, as if waiting for me to react.

Stupidly, my heart skipped a beat. In the pause, that wretched pause, I hoped. I hoped that he was going to say the words. Anna, I want you back. I need you. I miss you. I love you. 

Vanessa Carlton, A Thousand Miles (inspired Anna’s thoughts)

Two years of progress down the drain faster than middle schoolers running out at the sound of the bell. In that hope, a small smile made its way across my lips. And I said, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I’m, um, getting married.”

Smile? Gone. Hope? Crushed. Heart? Stupid.

“You’re what?”

“Getting married. Her name’s Stacey. She’s a great girl. You’ll love her. I think-”

“Let me stop you right there, Brian. You’re seriously calling me, the girl you left at the altar because  of your own messed up issues, to tell me you’re getting married?”

“Listen, I thought I -”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“In two weeks.”

A silence ensued between the two of us. I didn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel. Because I didn’t know what I had the right to say, think or feel. He left me. We weren’t together anymore. Was I entitled to feel any sort of way about this? He isn’t my property. So why was I feeling everything?

“Um, well, congratulations. I guess.” What more could I say without sounding like a poor, heartbroken girl?

“Thanks. I guess. And I’m sorry.”