The gloomy fall day
was a perfect indicator for how she felt on the inside. Some saw
beauty in the falling leaves, the ever changing scenery, a soft
breeze that felt like a cold kiss on the cheek. Others couldn’t
understand why anyone would consider it to be their favorite season.
As it turned out, autumn and Evangeline had more in common than she
thought.
She stepped inside
the old Victorian house that she called home, and gently closed the
door behind her. The door latched closed behind her, placing her
white leather purse on the oak dining room table. The marble floors
screamed success, and the walls brandished dozens of self made
portraits. She never believed she was talented enough to sell them,
so she created her own personal art gallery.
She was a gorgeous
girl, mid-twenties standing five foot even with flowing blonde hair
that danced on her shoulders with the slightest burst of wind. A
friend of hers would always say she was a handful, making a joke
about her small stature. Once, she hinted at him being correct,
remarking that it depended whose palm was holding her.
Perhaps it was more
about her wanting to open up about every horrible thing she’d been
through, and by the same token, what she had put herself through.
Undoubtedly rough on herself, like a tour through boot camp, except
the drill instructor was none other than Evangeline. All she wanted
in this life was to feel safe, and she was unsure why she wasn’t
happy with what she had now.
If she had to
describe herself, she’d liken herself to someone who colored
outside the lines. She knew she was talented, special and destined
for something bigger than whatever this was, but it was hard not to
dwell on the past at times. It was for this reason that she kept a
shoe box of photographs that she’d dig into for whenever she felt
like the gray sky she glanced at through the window.
As she strolled
through the living room and towards a door off to the left, next to
her entertainment stand, she pushed the door open and quickly closed
it behind her. The walls were decorated with all kinds of flowers.
Art made from roses, tulips, violets. It was her own personal space
away from everything that could possibly bring her down. Part of the
reason she chose to put flowers all over the walls was because she
felt that it was the one thing she could never draw as she wanted. It
bothered her, but she was beginning to understand that she loved her
imperfections.
They were important.
For everybody treats
the girl who seems perfect as exactly that, and nobody took the time
to get to know the real her. She was more than just a pretty girl,
she was layered, with hidden depths that ran as deep as the vacation
coves you see on television. The ones that would be exclusively
explored with a film crew and a million dollar budget. There were
only a handful of people who cared enough to actually know that.
“That word again,”
she thought to herself and chuckled. Handful. She never thought a
word - that word would encapsulate everything she was and is so
nicely. It felt like it wrapped her in a bow and put her under the
tree.
Reaching for a
stepping stool, she placed it down and stepped n top of it, grabbing
for the shoebox. She pulled it down and sat down on the stool,
placing the box in her lap. As she took the lid off and placed it
next to her on the floor, she pulled out a stack of photographs from
behind a white cardboard divider. Thumbing through them, her emotions
were mixed. Some of these memories were great, things she never
wanted to forget. Things that changed her forever, and nights that
she had since forgotten.
A smile overcame her
when she found a picture of who she still believed was her first and
only true love. She still blamed herself, but began to accept it more
knowing that he was happy. She always had a different outlook on love
than most, but she knew for a fact that if you really cared about
somebody, all you want is them to be happy. He was, and she took
solace in this.
One photo after
another, being placed behind the next. Next was a picture of her and
a group of friends hanging around a campfire. She wrote on the back,
Florida, 2014. She missed her friends, and she often felt alone, but
she knew it was vital to be accepting of yourself before you could
ever be accepting of anyone else.
Evangeline placed
the pictures back in the box and reached from the other side of the
divider. Again, taking out a handful of pictures, she had them in her
hands and began to cry. Tears streamed down her face and onto the
pictures, causing her to let out a muffled, “fuck.” before wiping
her eyes and standing up, doing a quick pace around the room.
She sifted through
one more time, the first photo being her old style Victorian house
with a glowing green lawn, and sunflowers planted in her garden out
front. The next, was Evangeline, in her backyard, playing with her
daughter as her husband cooked on the grill. A massive above ground
pool was seen in the near distance.
She began tearing up
once more, and decided this was enough for today. She put the photos
back in the box, and flipped over the divider card face up. It read,
“The Future I Want, by Evangeline Carter.”
