You Never Wondered

No sooner had her eyes opened, than Emilia knew that another seemingly endless day lay in front of her. Even when all was still, and the only sound was the constant rapture of her own heartbeat. Even in these hours before the morning had begun, was this apparent. It was, in fact, in these quiet moments each morning when her heart sunk lower and lower, never during the course of the day to be raised. With each passing moment, her spirits were forcefully pressed deeper into the depths, until one day she feared they would disappear completely.

As she pulled herself upwards, her long mane of strawberry blonde curls bounced joyfully around her face, welcoming the day as they knew the rest of her never would. Remnants of mascara from the previous day speckled Emilia’s ghostly skin. Though well into her forties, she still radiated the youthfulness of a rebellious teen, although the small lines framing her emerald eyes told about years of angst. Extracting into her fingertips the top half of her hair, she butterfly clipped those back, and with a mere swipe of chapstick, she was apparently satisfied with the appearance of her face for the remainder of the day. Adding a pair of ratty bell bottoms, reminiscent of the 80’s, underneath her oversized tee-shirt, her outfit was complete. Emilia exited her bedroom, and proceeded to glide down the uneven staircase in a regal sort of manor. It wasn’t her purpose to walk in such a way, nor was it for arrogance. Instead, she simply dazed off, and let the natural poise of her long, thin legs guide her.

Thrusting open the cabinets with her bony arms, Emilia wrapped her pencil-like fingers around a single, ancient coffee mug, then another. Peering around with utter pain, she saw the remainder of her home, which had lay unchanged for years. The farmhouse was obviously dated, and a miniscule speck of a residence in comparison to it’s neighboring homes. Despite this, and the fact that she had a noticable excess of money, Emilia Luxton felt that she needed nothing more than exactly this. A dilapidated house, surrounded for miles with only barren land, for a woman that was faling apart on the inside, with no one close enough to save her.
She closed her eyes in a failed attempt at a moments worth of peace, but even the thought in itself was completely absurd. Emilia sighed, the weight of her own depression resting heavily upon her frail body. She went on to set two cups of black coffee down on the small, oaken dining table, along with two bowls of dry, stale popcorn. Such was her ritual each breakfast. She didn’t own a microwave, she saw no need, since anything she would need to eat could be grown on her farm, and cooked by the heat of the fire. And, on this day, faithfully as ever the blazes from the stone fireplace errupted the popcorn by the crackling flames. Upon sinking into the firm chair, Emilia sucked down both portions of coffee, but only ate a few pieces of popcorn. She wasn’t very hungry, actually, she never was. She thought about him, as she did every morning when the thought crept into her mind, but as quickly as the notion had come, so did it vanish.

Later that day, Emilia stood at the checkout desk of the local Didley’s Supermarket, with exactly 4 bags of groceries in tow. Each one contained exactly 3 bags of pre-ground coffee, and 2 water bottles.

On each Wednesday such as this one, she drove her 1960’s mustang, pulled it into the same spot- two lanes over from the front entrance. The items she was currently purchasing were the only ones she ever bought. Anything else she would grow with her crops, not because she had to, or even because it was sensible money-wise, the only reason, in fact, that she did this was to earn her solitude. The torture life had burdened her with left her in such a deep state of agony, that the distraction of giving her hands something to do appealed very much to her. Plus, it kept her out of the public eye.

She gave an ever so slight smile, actually more an upward curl of the lips, and nodded in a casual ‘hello’ fashion to the cashier. He tipped his hat at her, and grinned.

“Ya dun’t talk much, now do ya?” The man at the register who’s nametag read ‘Deri’ pryed.

Emilia was uncertain how to answer this. It was true, of course, but the remark in itself carried a sort of insulting vibe, if such a thing were possible.

“Yes, I suppose I don’t.” Her lips instinctively pursed themselves together, and not knowing what to say, she allowed her voice to taper off slowly.

“S’pose ya ever wanted te talk, wells I’d be right please-ed te take ya out’ta coffee.” He then eyes her bags and chuckled a bit, “ Ors I could jess com’over te yer place!”

“Yes, well. I must be going.” Emilia stammered. It had been a long while since anyone had shown an interest. She laughed silently to herself, thinking about how here, in the middle of nowhere Iowa, the birds spoke with more clarity than the people. She recalled her days in LA, in London, in Paris. At one time, she had been quite worldly. But what had that brought her, nothing. No satisfaction, no love, nothing to take with her when she came to her senses. Just hurt.

“Es no pro’lem. Ya got a hubby. S’okay.” Deri’s nearly transparent blue eyes sparkled, as if daring her to say what he seemed to already have assumed.

“Oh, no…” Emilia began in an explanitory fashion, “I’m not married, you see. I just, well, I have a lot on my mind.”

This wasn’t a lie. There had been plenty on her mind for nearly twenty years. And although she wanted to, she could not bring herself to extend her heart outside it’s comfort zone. Even a simple coffee meeting, in this vulnerable state she lingered in, was something which she could not permit of herself.

“I must be going, really.” Emilia politely said goodbye.

“Aiight, ya know where’da fine me if ya change yer mind. g’day!” He dismissed her, running his hands through his thick, curly brunette hair.

As Emilia walked gracefully out to her car, she smilied an honest, toothy smile that she hadn’t smiled in many years. She looked back one more time through the massive glass windows, watching Deri’s head bob up and down as he checked out the next coustomer. She opened the door to her '66 pale blue convertible, and sped off down the road, bumping along and leaving a cloud of golden brown dust behind her.