This Town Called Nowhere

Chapter 28: The Last Thing

A/N: This would be the last chapter of This Town Called Nowhere. Like what Neil always say, I can only hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Anyway, I'd like to thank you all for making it to the end.

28

Leaving is unimaginable until it's done. It's like everything is holding you back until you finally leave. It's as if you just have to take the first step back and everyone will follow, taking a step behind another until they're nothing but dots in the background. That's what she felt leaving. She told me in her letter. As much as I don't want to admit, it's like that to the ones she left too. Day by day, the longer it gets, the smaller she becomes in our lives. To others, probably. To me, tell that to the portraits of her in my sketchbook.

A week after she left, it starts to snow. It's the same week I received the acceptance letter from Harvard. Mom's ecstatic, my friends too. But my mother's happiness is short-lived when I tell her I'm taking architecture. Grayson and Derek don't mind. Grayson's taking a degree in business administration, something he's been preparing his whole life. Derek, journalism, and although he didn't get into Harvard, he's rooting for the both of us. Cassey's happy for all of us, but mostly happy for her brother because it's the same day Henry got out of jail. 

I don't follow Mom as much as I followed her back then. She's loosing up. We had a sleepover at my place when there was a project we had to do for English. She stayed in her study the whole time my friends were there. And although, she's still the firm and rigid authoritarian of my childhood, she's not that authoritative anymore. I'm free to do things I haven't done before. And I'm free to do things I did with Art before. I hang out with my friends whenever I want to after school. I go to Nowhere, socialize with the others, or just rest in the cabin. I still help the community people clean the alleys and plant trees. And I finally drive my own car, Neil O'Donnell.

The Mercedes is one of the things she left me. The other things are the cabin, Jerry and her family, and the monkeys. The other animals she gave away to my grandparents because I can't take care of them at the same time go to school, she said in her second letter.

Contrary to what she once said, she can't seem to picture me as a tiny dot in the background. She keeps sending me letters, telling me her adventures, the changes she's made to herself, and photographs of her, the people she met, and the places she went. The last letter came last month from Colorado, my grandparents's address. In her handwriting, she told me she's been there for a couple of weeks now. She's liking the place. The rural life. I can go to her if I want to, but I don't. I watched her from the photographs she sent me. She looked good. Better. Then, after ogling at her picture, I drew her.

The next letter doesn't come until a month later. Mom and Dad are away for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary in Las Vegas, Mom's decision obviously. Derek, Grayson, and Cassey come over and hang. At first, we stay in the living room, picking movies they brought and watching them. There are 4 of us scattered in the room, but before Derek and I know it, Grayson and Cassey are already where heaven knows they are.

"I told you," Derek murmurs to me just in time the doorbell rings. "Just hope they're not in your room."

"Disgusting." I throw him a pillow and walk to the door. Derek laughs. I ignore him when I open the door and the mailman greets me with a box. My eyebrows cross at the package, but I take it anyway and sign the space the mailman tells me to.

When I try to climb up the stairs quietly, Derek notices me and calls me out. "Who's it from?"

"Art, probably," I say absently while checking the box for a name. I don't see hers.

Derek looks at me strangely, sighs, and shakes his head. "Did you even break up?"

"We didn't." But we're not in a relationship either. We're contented in what we have. Whatever it is. I don't mind. I like her sending me letters though I can't send her something because her address is always changing. She likes it that way as well.

In my room, it's her face that welcomes me on my desk. It's the latest photograph she took of herself in the farm and sent to me. It's the portrait I'm working on these days. I lay the box on my bed, open it, and take everything out. Inside the box is another box, and on top of it, there's the usual letter and an envelope full of photographs. In the box, she sends me my drone, and taped on it, is a note telling me she's named it after herself. I smile. I miss her so much. If it wouldn't make her mad and make me sacrifice my studies, I would have already drove to the farm and leave with her. It's absurd. I do it anyway.

After I read her letter and see the photographs, I know exactly where to go.

The night is freezing in winter, and with the Mercedes going as fast as it can, it becomes colder although I'm inside the vehicle. As I ride through half-deserted streets in the night, I remember the same road I lay dead on as I drive near it. When I pull over, the road is not as deserted as I think it is.

On the side of the road, the same red, Chevy pickup is parked. Art isn't inside. She's in the middle of the highway, standing, under the moon like the goddess she is, waiting for a vehicle to pass by and run her over when what she's really doing is looking at me, waiting for me to get out of the car and meet her. As I walk near her, I can't help but think how many days, weeks, or months it has been since we stood like this in front of each other. It's been long, that's for sure.

"Welcome to Our World, Armstrong," she grins at me, looks up, and looks at me. I follow where her eyes went and they dart at the same old, rusty sign of Nowhere.

I walk to her closer, but illusions come into play as she steps back until she's too far to reach. I keep walking, keep stepping forward, until we're only a foot apart. Illusions are nothing but illusions. They're not real. What's real is what's in front of me and what's in front of her. This is real. She's leaving for real. The letter told me it's the last. It told me to meet her for the last time. She has a plane to catch, a mother to go back to, and a life to straighten out and live. All I can do is to obey.

This is the last. The last little thing.

She clicks her camera and the flash blinds my eyes. If I could make her stay, I would. She's smiling when she holds the camera down. She's smiling at me with a genuine smile, not a regret on her lips. She's not regretting anything. I'm not regretting anything. If this is the last, then so be it.

"Are you coming back?" I ask. The question makes a smile lift up her lips. I don't know what that means. It can mean a lot of things, a whole lot of things I can only imagine what.

"We can only hope, Neil."

"I'll take that as a yes."

She smiles. I smile.

It's a yes.