The smell of hot cider drifts up from the table, and I sip from my cup, staring down at the blank pages of my notebook. Outside I see a Jeep, fire-engine red with a black canopy. The skin tightens around my scalp as I stare out the window. No, it's not his Jeep, the dents are different, and no 4x4 club sticker. The Jeep drives past, and the street is momentarily empty.
Leaves fall softly to the ground like first snow.
Warm reds and yellows, shielding the earth from cold grey skies. My pen meets the page. The memories broke through when I was eleven. I felt the Vaseline on my doorknob when I woke that morning and everything flooded back. I remember seeing you stare through my window at night.