twenty one

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My car rumbled and hissed to a stop against the cold pavement. My breath was visible as I slammed the car door shut, opening the trunk. The weather was perfect for early December, at least in my mind. My cold fingers wrapped around a canvas painting, a particularly sad one. I shut the trunk and locked my doors manually with my free hand, struggling to balance the painting on my knee as I twisted the metal key. I walked up to the door, saddened by the various flowers being displayed from inside the house. Flowers are beautiful and everything, but once there's a meaning behind them, they change faster than people. A woman in a gray, dull sweater opened the door and wiped a few tears with a ripped tissue. Inside, about 10 other adults and children sat around a larger table in the kitchen, holding hands in silence.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," I sighed, reaching my free arm around to hug the mourning woman.
"I'm glad you could come, thank you so much, again."
I followed the woman into the kitchen and she started to speak to the rest of the people. I soon presented the painting, which was of Maya, laughing in a field with bright spring flowers. Like dominos, the rest of the family started to cry. Kat hugged me again, and I silently read the sheet of paper taped on the fridge while she sobbed into my shirt.
"On November 18, Maya lost her fight with cancer."
There was a verse from the bible which was too small to read, along with a baby picture attached. I looked around at everyone once Kat backed away. Everyone was crying, or praying. I felt sad, too. The only difference was I didn't know Maya like they did, although I felt like I did. This time, I refused to take the payment Kat had offered for my painting.
Once at home, after all the previous crying, I was greeted by Marcus eating a candybar on my couch. "What are you doing here?" I laughed and shut the door behind me, kicking my shoes off. "Waiting for you," He said quickly. He continued to eat his candybar in record speed. "Let's go to dinner. That coffee shop we went to on our first-" Marcus paused to gesture air quotations, while the candybar wrapper dropped from his hand and fluttered to the floor, "date. Let's go there."
I agreed to his plan.
So, we ventured outside into the cold winter air, and I realized something as I was holding his hand. I should have realized this a long time ago, especially because of my relationship with him. It doesn't matter who, but anyone can be your source of energy. I could almost feel the electricity from his palms coursing into every bone in my hand and body. I was lucky enough to have met Marcus. We depended on eachother more than anything, like the way some electronics fail to function without two batteries.

A few short months later and it has officially been a year since Marcus moved into the neighborhood. A new summer was just starting to unfold. Luckily, the winter didn't bear too many depressing times like often shown in novels. Not a lot has changed except our ages, and I don't know if it ever will. He still likes his coffee black in the morning, and he still takes all the covers. He's starting to let stubble grow on his face, which makes him look a lot more sophisticated. He's also starting a new job as a children's aid at a preschool. As for myself, I still paint for money and donate some profit to cancer research in honor of Maya. Both of us also make sure Brunette stays in jail where she belongs, and we also show plenty of PDA around Marcus's mother just to tick her off. Dominic started to sell drugs and fell into a toxic black hole, occasionaly texting me messages of desperation to which I never reply. My parents sometimes awkwardly invite themselves over for dinner, bringing up the topic of adoption in hopes we will fulfill their wish of grandchildren. However, when push comes to shove, I wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

The End.

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