Late December
I used to love Saturdays.
I used to love the hope of that one-day in particular, when I would steadily wake with warmth in my heart knowing that Saturdays were marked for adventure.
When Noah was still here, I would hold those precious Saturdays tightly and relish every second spent doing whatever the hell we wanted. From exploring the jagged coves in Hillside to the our own in Pesmo, with hands wound together and smiles spread so wide that everything else was eclipsed.
I used to love them.
Now... Well I don't love them so much, not since he left. The fondness of endless days spent laughing and kissing feels removed, memories that are slowly fading with the turn of each winter tide.
Wash, rinse and reflect.
Because surprisingly, I actually still quite enjoy them and even though I still have too many thoughts for company, they are no longer my worst enemy and the freedom I found, both with and without him is something to now be grateful for.
Since Noah left, early on that Friday morning to catch a flight to his new home, I'd noticed a change that I hadn't quite expected. For all my late night tears when we had said goodbye out on the lawn, when I woke in the morning my fear of feeling empty was unfounded.
I didn't want to pull the covers back up and sleep for an eternity. The sunshine that spilled through the blinds didn't make me want to run or hide, or curse the town for the guilt I'd first felt for not feeling as happy as I should.
Even when thoughts of Noah waving goodbye to The Allen's and Pesmo that day appeared, I held it together.
And that was just the beginning.
When the hours, turned into days and those into weeks, I found that I got stronger and more positive by the day. Because even if he was hundreds of miles away, walking on different shores and into different waves I knew that the time would come again when I would see his smiling face, someday.
I threw myself into work, taking on extra hours and expanding my clientele list with the help of Poppy, of course who had been my constant anchor. When Noah had left that night, and the tears seemed to last forever she had sat with me out on the porch and told me everything was going to be okay.
For the first time, I believed her. Letting the sadness flow free until it did feel, well okay and bearable.
"Keep busy." she had told me.
And I had, each and every day.
Just as I had done so with Noah, I continued to spend Thursday evenings in the company of The Allen's and their home cooking. On the weekends when the sun would shine and give us heat, I would take Lily to the beach and make turkey and pickles sandwiches and cartwheel across the sand.
She still asked a lot of questions, which made me understand a little better why Poppy had always been off with me - being like an old sister was hard work but rewarding too.
"Do you miss him?" Lily would ask, whilst we dined on milkshakes and fries.
"Are you going to get married?"
"Are you going to have babies?" she would giggle, whilst we darted about on the sand, our legs flying up and over.
I'd been honest, especially about missing him, because I did. There weren't many moments that went by where I wouldn't think of him.
But in only the way he could, Noah had made it hard to miss him constantly because not a day would pass where I wouldn't hear his voice or receive one of his letters.
True to his word, every Saturday I would walk to the mailbox to find a brown envelope with my name on it, written in Scarlet red ink. Inside I would read with eagerness about how he was getting on.
Noah would tell me about the lack of adventures he was having without me, but how he was enjoying being close to the ocean and how he'd found a beautiful beach and cliffs to explore, just that they weren't the same without me.
The small studio he was sharing was apparently nice enough and his flatmate was just as studious and interested in the stars and science as he was.
He's still no way near as fun as you though. Nowhere near as pretty either, Scar he would write in his best handwriting, letting me still feel as if I was part of his new life and still as important.
On the days when the mailbox would stay empty, I would receive calls at night with instructions to go sit outside, so we could both hear the waves crashing on the shore and watch the same stars.
Noah would point out the brightest star he could see and I would pretend I was gazing at the same one. Sometimes when it wasn't so dark in the evenings, I would cycle down to the boardwalk and find a quiet spot on the beach so when he called we could pretend again that we were together. Listening to the same ocean and crashing waves, even with distance wedged between us.
"You want me to play something for you?" Noah would ask, his voice just as magnificent and warming as before. "No one else in San Diego seems to appreciate my take on the classics, especially not my neighbours." he'd joke as I would lay my head down, eyes closed to listen to the faint sound of strumming coming from a world a way.
"Encore." I would insist, not wanting for it to stop.
Hanging up was the worst, snapping back to reality again but somehow I managed. Those late night serenades and letters gave me the strength to hold my head up and keep it above water.
And Poppy helped me keep it there, when sometimes the X's marked on my calendar left me feeling frustrated.
The Friday's when Noah and I would usually pitch up to the Diner and eat our way through the menu had become Poppy's and mines opportunity to share stories, over milkshakes and greasy burgers.
"You should start drawing again Scar." she would tell me in between mouthfuls of fries. "You were always the most creative one."
I'd laugh and disagree, noting just how well she was doing with her crafting and all the orders she had received that had landed in our bungalow, birds and bows, bunting and boxes covering every available surface. Still it kept life lively, and colourful.
"Have you thought about going to college, you know like Noah?" she would ask.
"A little." I'd reply, knowing that she had watched me so many evenings, researching vacancies in San Diego even if they were far beyond what I was qualified for. Which wasn't anything, yet still I sent off applications and resumes. Hopeful that I could figure out a way to get there, no matter how unlikely it seemed.
It was during these dinners, in the same booth Noah and I once occupied that Poppy started to test out how I felt about her selling the bungalow and moving in with her boyfriend, Henry who I had finally met a month after Noah's departure.
He wasn't what I had expected, with the memory of Poppy's sweetheart turned hard faced ex husband still fresh in my mind. By contrast Henry was a little older and wore smart suits that complimented his light grey streaked hair and warm, friendly smile.
It was nice to see Poppy clearly so happy and content, and that's why when she told me, a week into December that she had accepted his offer of moving in with him I didn't begrudge it. Not even when she quietly told me that it would mean selling our grandparents home sooner so she could pack her bags for San Francisco where Henry was relocating to for his job.
If anything it made me work harder, and gave me more focus for my future.
Whatever direction it took me in.
"It won't be until after the holidays, because it's going to be hard to shift that bloody bungalow." Poppy had told me reassuringly. "We can spend Christmas together at least and of course for when Noah's back."
I was happy and safe in the knowledge that even if the winter chill had begun to settle into our bones, my heart was warm knowing that Noah would be coming back, to spend the holidays with The Allen's in Pesmo.
"And you." he had said during another a late night call, when I told him about Poppy selling the bungalow.
It was also when I'd confessed to thinking seriously about what to do with the rest of my life.
"So you're coming to San Diego right?" Noah asked, as if the simplicity of just saying it could make it happen.
"If I could, I would."
"It's not that difficult, come live with me. Admittedly that may not actually be that enticing having to put up with me twenty four seven but it would mean that I could kiss you whilst I serenade you, instead of kissing my phone."
"You'd have to live with me, which is probably worse." I had whispered back.
"True, you are a little... chaotic when it comes to organisation but I can work around that."
I told him how I'd been sketching again, and how I'd dug out my old pad and pens from the garage, to see if there was any spark left.
"And was there?"
"I don't know, I'll let you be the judge." I'd teased, knowing that the delicate pen drawing of the Scarlett Begonia plant he had given me so many months ago was currently making it's way to him, in another letter.
It hadn't taken long for me to receive the answer. Poppy had one morning come through my bedroom door, waving a large package. I could tell by the way my name was written it was from him.
And in only the way Noah could, inside it I found a leather bound sketchpad, the paper textured under my thumb, along with carefully selected fine tipped pens in the colour of my name and those of the sea, the sky and the sand.
The note tied around them inspired me to sit up by the window seal, next to the begonia plant and white napkin lily, Noah's cassette player on and draw some more.
Someday soon, things are going to start working out when cant's turn into cans, and dreams into plans - N x
With every new drawing, and with every encouragement, call or letter I felt as if his words came alive.
How he could make me feel that way, being what felt like a million miles away was testament to just how special he was. Noah made it easier when life threatened to become hard again, or when it seemed like someday was never going to happen.
When the bright lights begun to adorn the tall trees that lined the streets, and miniature versions started to pop up in neighbours front yards or lounges, I felt the real spring in my step start to return.
Because finally, so was Noah.
. . .
With my tummy full on the anticipation of marking off the last day on my worn calendar before I was again able to kiss Noah's soft lips and feel his hair between my fingertips, I waited for his call. To say he was home.
But it never came.
Until I received one from Mrs Allen, as the minutes ticked by into hours of worry.
"I'm so sorry Scarlett." she had said softly. "They've messed up his flight back, it's looking like he won't be able to get on one until after the holidays."
Breath in. Breath out.
"We've told him we'd help pay for a different flight but everything is fully booked - what with it being Christmas Eve. Gabe's trying to work out how else we can help now." she had explained as my hopes and excitement sank at the prospect of not being able to do any of the things I had spent dreaming about with every waking moment.
"We were all really excited to have him back."
"Me too."
"He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry, and that he will call you once he's left the airport. He sounded awfully upset Scarlett."
"Me too."
"Oh sweetheart, these things usually have a way of working out. I'm hoping they'll sort out a seat for him, so he can come back as promised."
"Me too." I whispered back, my own hopes sinking with every minute that passed.
And that they did, as the lights dimmed in the street and darkness filled the town, all waiting with baited breath for the morning to bring joy and cheer, presents and loved ones.
While I waited, hoping that Noah would find a way.
Wish, wait and repeat.
. . .