Shoot Down The Stars (The Stars Duet 1)
14
David
Iopen the door and step onto old hardwood flooring. I look back at Emily. She’s smiling. I glance around the room and find some minor flaws: spots on the walls and ceiling that need to be repainted, stains on the aging hardwoods which have been shoddily hidden with cheap throw rugs, and the appliances are functional but old.
“Well?” says a gruff voice behind me.
I had nearly forgotten about her presence.
“I’ll take it!”
I turn to face the landlady. The key dangles around her pointer finger. She is tall and lanky and her brown hair is straw-like with gray roots. She coughs dryly—a constant reminder of years of smoking—and spins the key a few times as she eyes me for a moment.
“Ok. Just read and sign this lease agreement and put it in my mailbox by Sunday. You’re free to move in anytime after.”
She passes the sloppily folded lease agreement to me. It has a yellow tinge to it. She places the silver key on top of the nicotine-stained paperwork. With a tight-lipped smile, she shakes my hand.
“You and your roommate both have to sign the lease before you move in.”
I nod, she nods, and she walks me out of the two-bedroom apartment.
* * *
Emily
I can hardly containmy excitement as we move into our new place together. We’re roommates! Even though we’ve been theoretical roommates for years, it’s finally just the two of us. This is a fresh start.
My mother gave me her living room set because she felt it was time to get a new one anyway. The leather furniture wraps around the small living room and faces a flat screen TV on a wooden stand. Two different gaming consoles take up room on the shelves of the stand.
David pushes the door with his foot, causing it to slam against the wall.
“Em, can you help, please?”
He stumbles through the doorway with a tall, wooden dresser. I grab a corner and help him carry it into his bedroom.
He stands upright after placing the dresser against the farthest wall and wipes the sweat from his brow. His breathing is labored, and he leans against the dresser for a moment. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. I stare at him and my mind races with thoughts of what this could mean for us.
* * *
David
My room is barren.I had so few things of my own at Em's mom's house, even though I’ve lived there for quite some time. My posters find a new home on my walls. I line my closet with clothes I wore when I used to care more about how I looked—or rather, how others looked at me. My dresser drawers overflow with faded tees, boxers, and ragged jeans that are getting too big for me now.
My full size mattress rests on a flimsy metal frame. I have no head-board or foot-board, and my bed squeaks with any movement because of its wonky wheels on the hardwood floor. My mattress is aging, making it lumpy in the well-used areas. It’s covered with mismatched bedding, mostly whatever fit from Deidre's linen closet. The sports-themed comforter is the only other thing I have that suits my taste.
I lie on my bed and look up at the ceiling. A creaky fan spins overhead as I fall into a well-earned sleep.
* * *
Emily
David snoresin the next room. The walls are thin, but I’m not surprised. I look around my new bedroom and a blissful feeling consumes me.
On my dresser and desk are reminders of my father. The plaque stating his name and career recognitions hangs on my wall. His obituary and a framed photo of us are on my nightstand behind a small glass urn. His wallet lies on my desk. I reach over and grab it, bring it up to my nose, and inhale deeply. It still smells just like him. Tears fall down my cheeks without a sound, and I wipe them away before they reach my chin.
My queen bed is covered in deep blue Egyptian cotton bedding and a grand Sherpa comforter. The mattress is new, airy, and firm. My pillows are big and downy, and they always remember me.
My eyes grow heavy, and I begin to slip into a well-earned sleep. A knock at the door urges me awake.
“Em, it's me.”
As if it could be someone else.
David walks in and pauses for a moment, taking in the layout of my room. I positioned my things opposite of how he positioned his. He smiles at the tributes to my father, running his hand along each piece of memorabilia. He sits on the bed and kicks his shoes off before lying beside me. He looks up at my wobbly and hurried ceiling fan.
“It must be nice to have all this stuff.”
He doesn't see the baffled glare I aim in his direction.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Have you seen my room? My shit? Hell, I can't even remember the last time I had a new mattress. Or new sheets. You just have everything from Deidre and—”
I sit up and raise my hand to cut him off. “And what? I have an attentive mother, yes, but I also lost my father and you know that meant mom was overcompensating for it. Hell, it made her feel better to take care of me. I appreciate all she did for me. And you!”
David shakes his head. “I have nothing nice. I lost my mother, my father might as well be dead, and I don’t own anything of value.”
I take a deep breath, unable to find his self-pity bullshit attractive. “You do have a family. You have me and my mother. She has loved you and cared for you since you were… what? Sixteen? Have some fucking respect, dude.” I climb out of bed and leave David by himself to calm down.
* * *