Snapshots

Memories

I don't even know how long ago I wrote this. Never much cared to flesh it out because the emotions in this scene were all that interested me. Warning for alluding to past underage sexual abuse.

Mitch feels more than hears Scott sit down a few feet away from him on the same pew. Scott doesn't speak, and he doesn't get close. He's waiting for Mitch to say something, and Mitch isn't sure he wants to break the silence.

He does, though, after a while. He says, "He's not here anymore, you know."

"I heard that," Scott replies. He never went to this church, but news travels in their social circles—or, more accurately, their parents' social circles.

"You don't have to worry about me," Mitch tells him. "I'm fine."

He hears Scott sigh heavily. "I thought you might wanna talk."

"I don't."

"Okay."

A few moments pass. It must be boring for Scott, to sit here with him in silence.

"Does Kirstie know?" Scott asks.

Mitch's gaze slides over the white and pink bouquets, the silk ribbons. The wedding decorations aren't the only thing that makes this place feel different. It's that he's gone—and that Mitch is an adult, capable of making his own choices, able to leave whenever he wants.

He shakes his head. "I never told her."

"Did you tell anyone?"

Mitch licks his lips and takes a quick breath. "Just you."

"She wouldn't have the wedding here if she knew."

"It's fine, Scott."

"I don't like the thought of you being back here."

"Scott. It's fine." He shrugs. "This is her dream wedding. She's been planning it since she was about eight. I'm not going to mess that up."

"Are you really okay? Being here, I mean. For tomorrow?"

"He's not here anymore," Mitch says. "He hasn't been for years. It feels... different. It's safe now."

Scott gets to his feet and comes over to stand next to Mitch. Their knees bump. Scott puts out his hand. "Come on, Mitchy, let's go."

"I don't—"

"I'm not about to let you sit here alone and dwell on it."

"I'm not dwelling on anything."

"Mitch, please. I don't know what's going on in your head now, but I remember how you were in middle school, and if you turn into a moody pre-teen overnight, Kirstie's going to be mad you ruined her wedding. Let's get out of here."

"I'm not going to ruin Kirstie's wedding."

Scott bends to take Mitch's hand, and when he pulls, Mitch lets Scott stand him up and march him toward the end of the row.

"Was I really that moody?" he asks.

"You have PTSD or something. Yeah, you were that moody. I'm not gonna let it happen again. You wanna think about this shit, you do it with someone. Me or a therapist or your parents, or someone, okay? I'm no doctor, but I know it's not healthy for you to sit in an empty church all alone and think about shit that happened to you when you were eight."

"It wasn't when I was eight."

"Whatever. You were too young. That's all I know."

Scott's heard the full story. He knows more than his frustrated distraction allows him to voice. He's right, though. Mitch probably shouldn't be here alone, surrounded by the ache of past memories tied up in the pretty bows of Kirstie's future. Mitch lets Scott lead him into the lobby and finally out to the sidewalk. He breathes in a deep, cleansing breath. Scott's right; he shouldn't dwell on it.