PRESENT DAY

The bell above the door rang as it was opened, announcing the entrances all day.
Eddie walked in.

Wait.

Eddie?

What was she doing here?
Of all the places, Eddie shows up at our laundromat. It's the first I've seen of her in 2 years.

She looks good. Clean. Healthy.

Where has she been? The city is not that big.

I can't help but stare. Does she remember me at all?
Would I want her to?

She moves to a machine, back turned, her hair is now short, a bob of sorts. It's also an auburn that looks natural to her. Might even be her original hair color now that I think of it.
How much do I not know about her?

She doesn't look at me and I think I should leave, but the deja vu is overwhelming. She's even wearing the same coat. It's not ratty anymore though.

She opens her bag. The same bag she used to do her laundry in. She's a creature of habit, always has been. And once her laundry's loaded, and the detergent poured, she closes the door, tapping it twice before it turns on.
She's always done that, like the way the delivery drivers do in the movies, tapping the side of the truck twice to signal the driver to go.

One tap, two taps, it sounds familiar and foreign all at once. She's still Eddie, she just looks different less tired, and more alive.

She turns and rests her bag on the floor by her Doc Martens-clad feet. She leans against the machine, crossing one foot over another, and takes a phone out of her pocket. That's new.

Eddie used to hate phones.
"Government trackers that will be our downfall," were her exact words. A lot has changed I guess.

She types on it, biting her lip in concentration. I want to know what she's doing. Maybe she's writing an email for work? Playing a game? Texting someone? Like a boyfriend?
Jesus, the thought of her with someone else makes me want to punch something. And I consider myself a rather nonviolent individual.

I know we never said that we were dating or anything like that, but it felt like we had an unspoken expectation that we were together that way.
We never discussed it, we just did and said what felt right and natural to us both.

There was a tenderness and familiarity in all that we did together. I like to believe that means it was love.

So, Eddie has changed. That's for sure, and here I am observing her from a distance once again as I always do.

There is a softness to her now. She has lost her sharp edges and has been rounded by love. She is different yet all the same. And I still love her, no matter the amount of time.

She stands there, and I watch, lost in my thoughts.
She must have felt my gaze because she looks around.
I watch her, begging her to look at me and at the same time, hoping she doesn't. Her gaze passes over me, and she looks down at her phone again.

I guess she doesn't remember me.
Maybe I've been mistaken.
I'm just flattering myself with this situation, aren't I? She stayed at my apartment for a single winter.
That's all.
I was just a warm place to sleep and a cooked meal. It's silly to believe that I was more than a single stitch in the tapestry of her life.

But, she looks up again, her nose scrunches in confusion and it takes me back to the day we met.

We meet eyes, and to my relief, recognition flickers to life behind those eyes.

And here we are once again, two people staring at each other in a laundromat.