Prologue

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        I had taken my last photo for the day and was ready to head home. Just to make sure I got a good picture, I looked down at my camera to see the picture I had just taken. All seemed good except for one person in the back. He was looking straight at the camera with a surprised expression on his face. I mean come on! This is New York City! People take pictures on the streets all the time! I zoomed into his face to see if maybe I recognized him, and almost dropped my camera when I realized who he was, his green eyes and blond hair all too familiar. I looked up and saw him walking towards me, and in an effort to avoid conversation I packed my bag up two times as fast, hurrying down the street before he could catch up to me.

         I managed to walk half way home before someone grabbed my arm, a familiar scent over washing my senses. I tried to break free but his grab was too strong. He willed me to look at him after two minutes of struggling, I finally gave in. I turned to face a very familiar face that was defined by his sharp nose and chiseled jaw. His lips and eyes were as inviting and exciting as before, but they held sadness and bitterness that I knew I had caused. As soon as I turned around he let go of my arm and I took this opportunity to run away from him towards the last left turn before my building.

         I could hear him yelling my name but I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t. How was I supposed to face him after what I did to him sixteen years ago? We could have been married with a sixteen-year-old child if I hadn’t been such a coward. He would never forgive me if he found out. I couldn’t let him know. I ran all the way to my building and slipped into the already full elevator when I saw him enter the lobby making eye contact with me before the elevator closed. As soon as I stepped into my apartment, memories washed over me, making me sag to the floor against the door.

 

 

 

         Twinkle lights illuminated the whole dance floor as couples hung on to each other swaying slowly to the music. Some of the single people hung around by the big punch bowl mixing in liquor when no teacher was watching.

         It was the night of my senior prom.

         The night was perfect.

         Almost.

         After the dancing was over and people headed out to various after parties, my date took me to a special after party for two. We went to a hotel uptown that had a big glass fountain in the lobby and smelt of expensive perfume and luggage carts.

         At midnight I got out of bed to go to the bathroom, wrapping my naked body in one of the hotel bathrobes they give. When I returned, the smell of candles and roses had completely taking over the room. The floor was almost completely covered in rose petals and candles flickered all over the place. I felt like I was in a movie with my man standing in the middle of everything with a small box in his hand. Was this what I thought it was? I wasn’t ready to get married, especially not to my high school sweetheart. I mean that stuff only happens in the movies and the books. I had a whole life in front of me and I didn't picture it with him.

         I mustered up the courage to walk to him and as soon as I reached him, he dropped to one knee, opening the box to reveal a simple diamond ring. “Will you do the honor of becoming my girl for life?” I started tearing up, because I knew it would break him to hear my answer.

         He took it the wrong way. “I knew it. I just knew we were meant to be.”

         I gave him a confused look before clearing up what my tears meant. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept.”

         “But why not?”

         “I’m not ready yet… I never imagined getting married to my high school boyfriend… I’m sorry… I’ll call you when I’m ready… I’m really sorry…” I put on my dress and shoes before grabbing my purse and running out of the room, without taking a second look at his crestfallen face. I couldn’t sleep that night, guilt creeping into every one of my thoughts. How did I not see this coming? Did he talk about marriage before? Will he ever forgive me? This last one ate away at stomach for most of the night. Well this and the prom food.

         The next day I woke up with the urge to throw up and practically ran to the bathroom to avoid ruining the carpet in my room. So much for safe prom food. Or maybe it was all that punch I drank? I knew it was spiked. I hurled something nasty that smelt like food that had been left open for months and looked like something churned in an incinerator, before returning to my lavender scented bedroom that smelt even better than before.

         For the two weeks that were left in school till summer, I avoided him as much as possible. A few times he waved at me from across the cafeteria or from the back of the class, but all I did was turn my head towards the floor avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. After a few days, he gave up and things returned to a slightly normal state.

         It was day after summer break started I realized I was five days late. My mind as usual thought of the worst possible scenario, but in this case it didn’t seem to implausible. I left the house early the next morning, before anybody was awake, and went to a pharmacy to buy the most dreaded thing as an eighteen-year-old high school graduate. A pregnancy test. I drove home with trembling hands, and took the test with a knot of fear growing in my stomach.

         The strip was bright pink.

         I couldn’t believe it.

         That one mistake could ruin my entire life.

 

 

 

         My thoughts about the past all came to a close when I realized I was crying. For sixteen years I didn’t have to deal with that part of my life, and suddenly all because of one photo, it was coming to bite me in the back.

         The next morning, I stepped into a cafe, taking in the smell of fresh coffee that escaped out from behind the counter. It wasn’t a very big cafe, located right in between a Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts, and yet, it was the best coffee I could find for a mile around my apartment building. The outside of was painted a light pink and had old rusted windows. Inside, the walls were painted a sunshine yellow with an oil lamp hanging here and there. Old Man Froth, the fifty-five-year-old barista, greeted me with a gold toothed smile, “Hey there Aria! I’m assuming the usual for you?”

         “Not today Old Man,” I replied with a tired smile, “I’m in the mood for something sweeter.”

         “Aw poor you. Something happened honey?”

         “No! Why would you think that?” I said trying force a bigger smile with all my teeth showing.

         “I’ve been working in this cafe for very long. I know when somebody is upset or disturbed.”

         “Yeah? How so?”

         “Well…They ask for something sweeter than their usual drink and they have very fake smiles on their faces,” he said slyly, “It’s very hard to fool a barista who has been serving you coffee for ten years, you know…”

         “I know. You’re right, I am a bit unsettled.”

         “And why may I ask?”                                   

         “Well, there’s this part of my past I thought I’d never had to deal with again, and suddenly it’s all come back.”

         “Well that’s life!” he gave a small laugh, “Let me see what I can make for you.”

         “Thank you so much.” I one of my free coffee coupons near the register and went to sit in a comfy chair by the window. Outside I could see people walking up and down the streets minding their own business, not having a care in the world for anyone around them. These were the kind of things that amazed me. It was what inspired most of my photography and yet I couldn't quite figure out why people were like this. How is it that everyone went around their own business without worrying that the person next to them might be suffering from cancer or had just lost their husband to a car accident.

         My day a tiny bit better when I smelt the strong smell of cinnamon. I knew that Old Man Froth had whipped up a very special drink for me. I turned to face my drink, but it came with a person. The same person I had avoided for sixteen years and yesterday. He was standing in line looking up at the menu, so I took my golden opportunity to slip out of the cafe, right before his head turned to where I had one been sitting.