A Flower in a Field of Weeds

Joe's Point of View
The airport was too crowded. I was often able to tolerate it because Amity was by my side, smiling and wriggling her body to her metal music in that funny way she did. She made it hard to notice anyone else. I mean, other than he fact that I loved her and she was stunning, the fact that she looked like a mentally handicapped kid when she listened to her screamo drew attention to her as well.

Now, I was forced to be highly aware of these people; these strangers. They walked along, some alone like me and, some, whom I envied immensely, held hands with a significant other, almost half as happy as I was with Amity. Some of the couples looked exactly as I now assumed Amity and I looked: a happy man and a suppressed girl. At least Amity can follow her real dreams now. At least I am no longer that ignorant man.

I quickly realized that walking and examining happy strangers at the same time was not a good idea. I slammed directly into another person- a warm person. Immediately, I recognized her voice. "Sorry!" she cried and I watched her hands quickly gather up her notebooks and luggage. On her finger, was a wedding ring. More specifically, it was Amity's.

I didn't look up. I just watched her hands move gracefully over the familiar journals. I was confused, Amity rarely brought her notebooks around with her- she often wrote lyrics on her arms or on sticky notes that hung from her pockets. Why would she have them with her now? Why would she even be out in public? I concluded that it couldn't be her. It couldn't. Still, I refused to look up. I didn't want it to be her. What was I expected to do if it was? Smile and walk away with the hospitality of a stranger?

Suddenly, her hands stopped moving and I was forced to look up and meet her gaze. She stared, eyes equally as wide as mine were. She didn't speak and neither did I. We just looked at each other. She still looked the same. Then again, how much could she really change over the time-span of a month? It felt like years but, still, it was only a month. The abysmal orbs of green were still green, the long, dark hair was still the same, the distinct cheekbones- it was all there. Now, however, there was something new- Two things, actually.

She didn't have those invisible chains holding her down anymore. She looked free. That innocence she held was now replaced with slightly lavender bags under her eyes that no one but me would have noticed and a slight look of comfort in her skin that gave her a pinker pigment. She looked free but, still, not happy. After all that has happened, she was still unhappy.

That was the second thing. Her unhappiness wasn't new but the extent of her unhappiness was. Those violet bags under her eyes signified late nights with alcohol or late nights crying and, judging by the glossy color of those green eyes, I assumed it could have been both. Her hair was still long and dark but messier, as if she didn't care anymore to put it up and take care of it. There was dirt under her nails and her eyeliner was carelessly tracing her eyes. More importantly, she had new accessories.

She was wearing arm warmers. I was terrified to know that I could see a long, vague and discolored scar directly underneath the length of her right arm warmer. My blood froze at the thought.

She made a slight choking sound and whispered, "You look.. as Joe as ever.."