Welcome by Becca Wyant
“I remember feeling lost instantly after feeling loved”
Fiction by Becca Wyant
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I know this place.
I’ve read these walls.
I’ve held this floor.
The faces that I knew here are partially remembered, partially forgotten, but they will forever be a part of these doors. I remember this place. I remember the pain that escaped into us. The memories that we invented. I think we drank them all away. I think we rotted our taste. I think we ignored the warning signs and danced out whatever energy we had left. I think we didn’t care enough till it was gone. And we wasted away our time and watched our skin become pale. And while Rachel and Jack would swap stories about the distant lands they longed to travel to, we’d sit on the couch and blow smoke rings into the air. Losing ourselves in the clouds, feeling the heavens looking down on us and sighing. It filled the room and we fell into dust. Embraced the warmth that surrounded us and became connected. I loved that.
I remember the fights here.
The wars that began and ended here.
The screams of broken trust.
The lies that created hurt.
The lies that covered up hurt.
The truth that made the hurt sting.
The breaking up, making up, and the starts of new. Rachel would play matchmaker, having everyone play games to get two out of the million together. Jack would create rules that would have severe consequences when not followed. And you and I would try to get that stray dog from the street to come join our party.
People came and went.
Kent and John moved in downstairs and put on good music that never got old. And we would shake out our troubles any time we felt the right song spoke to us.
I remember losing a sense of time here.
Feeling like nothing else mattered.
Feeling like this was all that needed to exist.
I remember feeling lost instantly after feeling loved. I remember Rachel telling me it’s okay to not know. We were all each other's problem. Trying to be each other's solution. And would hold each other when we could.
I remember sleeping on this couch. I remember waking up on this floor. I remember being carried to bed and tucked in like a child.
Jack gave me his favorite sunglasses because he knew I pulled them off better than he did. Kent gave me a mix of his favorites. We finished all the gin in the back pantry on a Tuesday afternoon and then went around and stole construction signs off the streets. I remember you shaking your head when it was my turn for charades.
I remember you kissing me for the first time here. You said it was because you just had to. And I said nothing. And you weren’t sure what that meant. But I felt like flying.
I remember sitting on the roof, looking at you, and realizing you meant more to me than I to you.
I remember not being enough.
And hating myself for it.
I remember drinking too much with John in the garage while we tried to remember all the lyrics to American Pie. You came in and laughed. But then joined in.
I remember things you told me that would seem insignificant to anyone else. I remember feeling like you were everything. I remember watching the carpet slowly become more and more deformed, and us trying to step on the bubbles to even it out.
I remember standing here.
I remember being foolish.
I remember you saying you weren’t worth the tears. But I cried them anyway.
And you held me and said you were sorry.
And that changed nothing.
And I fought hard not to love you. I tried to pull you from my memory. I got rid of your name, but your face wouldn’t leave. And I tore apart any feelings I had of feeling connected. I emptied myself of your warmth.
And then this place said welcome home.
Kent gave me a new mix. Jack created a rule of this place over love. We covered the walls with saran wrap and had a paintball battle. You and I were the last two standing. I lost. You felt guilty for winning. It took us weeks to finally clean up that mess. And we couldn’t get the stains off of the ceiling. I remember us not being so smart. Wildly immature. I remember forgiving each other while standing in the kitchen. And acknowledging the carelessness of our mistakes. And we raised our cups to the future.
And eventually you and I were just two people.
And I would miss you. And you knew. And then John was there.
And you forgot about me.
And I tried to hold on to you. This place told me that it would pass. That here is only a fraction of what we’ll experience in our lives. But everything I’ve seen here has made me blind to a real world. Everything we loved seemed to quickly die. And all we wanted to be was a mystery.
We were lost here.
We drank here.
Were found here.
Cheered here.
We were damned from the beginning. And we repeated it time and time again.
I was a part of something here. I had a name here.
And you were beautiful here.
We all knew how we wished to be remembered. And knew what was misunderstood by others. This floor fit the forms of our feet and befriended us. How I know this place. I thought that I had shut this away long ago. I thought it was behind me. I thought it wouldn’t recognize me if I returned. I thought this place forgot about those who stumbled down the stairs when they broke free. But now I tremble as it welcomes me home again.
And it tells me it’s not worth the tears.
But I cry them anyway.
This place gave us life when we had none. It walked us home at night. It sang us to sleep. It was our shelter. Protected us from what should have broken us. It wrapped us so tight we couldn’t breathe. And this place will soon be a memory. Buried deep with the blacked out times of regret. Nothing we can revisit. Nothing that can fully be cherished. Nothing that will tell us stories of when we roamed the world and claimed the town. Nothing that can be felt again. Nothing anyone will understand but us. This place held us so high. It crumbled below our feet. It sunk us to hell. And brought us to heaven.
Now all I can do is say that I’m sorry.
For reasons that were never described or considered. For the words that bounced off these walls and pierced us. The bruises that never healed. The hearts that were never filled. The rest that never came.
I did love you here.
I did love this place. I loved these blank faces that will soon be released into the air.
I hope this was enough.
And all of this will escape and fill the bodies of those it loved just the same. And will be welcomed as something.
Something that’ll be more than this.
Something that won’t be forgotten all at once.
With the goodbye we never thought we’d need to say.
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If you enjoyed reading this piece, then you might also enjoy "The Pull to Keep Going" by Holly Goodman, here.
Becca Wyant was born and raised in Seattle, and is now attempting to settle in the Bay Area. She is a photographer/graphic designer by day and a writer/mixologist by night, exploring every aspect of storytelling that she can. Some of her work has been published in the Calliope Literary Arts Magazine at the University of the Pacific, and many of her plays and monologues have been performed on stage. She’s inspired by connections made, bitter truths, broken dialog, and lingering imaginary scenarios. As she endeavors the patterns of communication, she hopes to piece together her wandering mind and create something that can speak to everyone—whether that be a path, a memory, a face, or just words that people think look good together.
[Image Credit: Becca Wyant]