by Mo-Nighean-Donn
"Do you ever miss the pieces of who you used to be? Ever see something that, for a blinding moment, takes you back to a time and place that you can't get back, and just—ache?"
James stared at his phone screen, where he'd pulled up his Facebook for the first time in ages. The post was gone. Remus had sent him the screenshot only minutes earlier, but when James went looking for the original, it wasn't there. Had already been deleted. The poster thought better of their words, or was scared to be that vulnerable and removed that piece of themselves from public view.
James opened Remus' text thread. "Are you sure Lily posted that?"
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared. "*sigh* Yes, James. You can see it's her in the screenshot."
"But it's gone now?!"
"I don't know what to tell you, Prongs. You should just text her yourself."
James didn't respond. Remus knew why James couldn't text Lily.
Another ping. "Her number hasn't changed."
James clicked his phone off and tossed it onto the rumpled quilt beside him in frustration. The light had gone while he was obsessing over his ex, and now it felt too late to do anything but crawl under the covers and try to sleep. But he couldn't; he had work to do. He reached down beside him, fumbling to pull his laptop out from its perpetual hiding place under the bed. He should move to his desk, he really should. He just couldn't make himself do it.
Damn Remus for sending that screenshot! He knew it would likely derail James for at least a day. Any encounter with Lily did, no matter how many degrees of separation. It was why James hadn't used his facebook since the split.
It hadn't been a conscious decision, but in the painful process of dividing a life so entangled it wasn't ever supposed to come apart, they had also divided their online presence. It was easier to avoid common spaces than to ask their friends, nearly all mutual, to take sides, or to walk on eggshells. Eliminate the conflict before it becomes one.
As a full time content creator, James retained custody of YouTube. He assumed Lily still used the app, but she had only ever observed, never maintained a channel. He had also gotten Instagram, while Lily took Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr. James missed Tumblr. But he supposed it made sense. He was all about images, visual media, telling stories with no words, making people feel things that couldn't be expressed verbally.
Lily—Lily was all about words. Sometimes he thought she had more than her share, and had taken most of his too. She overflowed with words, spilling them like water from a fountain. She used them, molded them, crafted them, spent them, breathed them. And at the end, that was all there was between them: her words, and his silence.
Thinking about Lily, about what they had, what he wished so fucking much that they could've held onto, only leaves him feeling empty. Drained. After three years, it still feels like yesterday. They had been together for eight years. Through school and university and finding their way into the wonderful and terrifying world of adulthood. Through jobs turning into careers and trying to decide what they really wanted out of life. They had been engaged for Christ's sake! How had so much love fallen apart?
James tried to focus, he really did. He needed his next video at least cobbled together by tomorrow, so he could still have a couple days to fine tune. But he couldn't find the story. He reviewed the footage he had already shot and the story he though he was telling just wasn't there.
"Pieces of who you used to be..." she had said. It didn't sound like her. His Lily didn't do regret, or even nostalgia. She didn't look back.
"Screw it," he muttered, minimizing he editor and opening a web browser. His password was still saved, and in minutes he was scrolling through Lily's wall, mostly her own posts, her own words, or links to her latest tweet or tumblr post. The odd picture.
Wait.
James scrolled back up. That was his. Not the picture, his travel mug. He been wondering for three years where it went. Now he knew.
He checked the timestamp. Then he grabbed his phone and found the pic from Remus. She had posted the picture, an aesthetic shot of his mug sitting on the edge of a bench in early morning light, a slight wisp of steam curling from it, an hour after the pensive text post. Why? And why leave the picture, but not the thoughts? Presumably, she felt the picture was safer, never imagining that the only person who would understand the meaning of the two together, the only person on earth who could make that connection, would ever see.
But he had, thanks to Remus. And he did understand. Because seeing that travel mug, with the faded logo at the bottom and the worn spot where he rubbed his thumb over a dent too many times to count, sent him right back to a place and time—a version of himself—he longed to recapture.
There had been a gas station and convenience store a five minute walk from their dorms. They went there all the time, not just him and Lily, but the whole gang of them. "Anyone up for a Mac's run?", or even just, "Mac's run?", was the most commonly asked question among them for four years. Mac's meant midnight milkshakes and munchie mix. It meant being young, carefree, and capable of consuming intimidating quantities of junk food without a second thought.
And after school, when it was him and Lily together, between their frequent road trips and early work hours, Mac's stayed with them. James remembered buying that exact travel cup from the one nearest their first crappy apartment, because with the amount of coffee he was drinking, the free refills every seventh cup paid off. A Mac's run was one of the last things they could do together without fighting near the end. That, and sex.
James started crying. Alone, in the dark, sitting on a bed that felt empty no matter how many pillows he added, he wept. For who he had been, who he had become, the mistakes he made along the way, and for how sorry he was that he hadn't figured a few things out sooner. He cried for the life he could have had if he had been stronger, kinder, more compassionate back then. If he had really truly listened to what Lily was saying behind all the words. Why hadn't he listened? And why hadn't he tried harder to find the words to say back? He thought in pictures, yes, and articulating those took time and effort, but for Lily, for the sake of promises made, he should have found a way.
When the tears slowed, James reached for his phone. Remus said her number hadn't changed. He could text her, ask about the photo, ask her why.
Or he could tell a story. This time, with words. Suddenly energized, electrified, he leapt off the bed and frantically grabbed some basic camera gear. Did he have time to reshoot and start over from scratch? Not at all. Was he going to anyway? Absolutely. There was a Mac's across the park, and he found himself in need of a coffee.
Over the next few days, James struggled to craft the story in his head. Normally his videos were short, three to five minutes, never with any dialogue. Maybe some instrumental music, but more often than not he only used the ambient noise of the story itself. His goal, after all, was to invite viewers into a moment, and let them decide what to take away from it.
This one was different. This was for her. And for her, he needed words.
He worked like a madman, barely pausing for food or sleep. But on day three, it was complete. It was the best thing he'd ever done. He only hoped it was enough. He made the upload public, and closed his laptop.
His phone ringing woke him hours later. He answered without looking, eyes barely open. "Hello?"
"James?" she sniffled.
"You saw it?" James sat up slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded.
"Un-huh. Did you—did you really...?" she trailed off.
"You have my mug."
She laughed, a weak, wet thing, but a laugh. "I didn't know I had it, promise. But I was going through some boxes, and I found it, and I just—"
"It was a piece of you that maybe wasn't as in the past as you thought?" he offered. He had been thinking a lot while editing.
"Or one that felt so far away I couldn't ever find it again."
Silence settled over the call.
"You deleted your post about it though," he said at last.
"Yeah, how did you see that anyway?" Lily asked.
"Remus."
"Of course, the sneak."
"But you left the picture," James prodded. Now that she was here, he had to know.
He could hear her shrug, picture the self conscious lift and fall of her thin shoulders. "The picture said it all, I guess. It felt, like, I don't know, but the words were too much. And not enough."
"I know," he said softly. "I know what you mean."
Silence again, but this time James could tell she was working up to something. He let her take her time.
"You used words. You don't do that."
"You watch my videos?" That genuinely surprised him. They were something he had started after their breakup, a form of catharsis, he supposed.
"James, I watch every single one. Subscribed and ring the bell for notifications and all that. How do you think I found this one so fast?"
James was stunned. "I dunno, I figured Remus would meddle in the opposite direction, maybe send it to you?"
"Did you not want me to see it?" she sounded worried.
"Lily, if I didn't want you to see it, I wouldn't have posted it."
Lily took a deep breath, the shuddery, post-cry kind. "I saw it. And—and I've spent the last three hours trying to decide what you meant by it, because I knew right away you had seen my post even though I deleted it. You quoted it, James," she cried. "You quoted me. Why?"
"Same reason you chose the photo over the text. Sometimes, what we have on our own—it's just not enough."
"I would say it's not enough most of the time," she sighed.
"Lily?"
"Yes?"
"I meant it, you know. The video. I miss who I was, but, more than that, I miss who we were. I miss—" he throat tightened; he could feel the tears pushing at the backs of his eyes. "I miss who you made me," he managed.
"We made each other crazy," she protested.
"We made each other better."
Lily was quiet for a moment. "I miss you too, James. I miss you so much. Nobody..." she didn't finish that though, but James knew what she meant. Nobody else had ever just gotten him the way she had. Nobody else made life better simply by existing.
"What happened between us?" she asked.
What indeed. It was a question neither of them could have asked three years ago, let alone answer. But now, here, in this moment, this time/place/identity, James thought he could make a start.
"I felt like I wasn't enough," he admitted. "You had so much more to give than I did, like giving came naturally to you, with your words, and I was constantly trying to keep up with you. You always know what to say, what to do. I couldn't compete."
Lily burst into sobs. "God, James, I never know what to say! I talk until I figure it out. You're the one who always had yourself together—"
"Are you kidding? All I have are pictures, Lil. That's it. I can't articulate them. I can't share who I am as effortlessly as you can."
She snuffled back tears, pulling herself together. "Haven't you ever heard that a picture is worth a thousand words? I talk and write because sometimes I feel like words are all I have to offer, and they aren't worth much so I pile them up hoping they'll make something worth hearing."
James felt all the air leave his lungs in a rush, leaving a vacuum in its place. This. This was what they should have been saying three years ago. But three years ago, they weren't the people they needed to be to have this conversation. And wasn't that the whole point of growing up? Becoming who you needed to be, and letting go of the bad stuff, while hanging onto the old pieces that served you, that added value?
"No, Lily, the way you communicate, it's—amazing." He stopped, gasping for air. "What a mess," he said finally, his voice wavering between laughing and crying.
"Totally," Lily agreed. "Completely. One hundred percent. But—"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we could ever, well, try again? And this time, leave a bit more—space—for each other?"
James knew he would do anything she asked for the chance to be the one she spent her lovely words on. For her, he would find words for all his pictures, and if they worked together, they could learn to speak the same language, blending to form a beautiful story that was enough in every moment. Always enough.
"Lily?"
"Yes?"
"Want to do a Mac's run?"