Rekindle

By Jillian Schedneck

Andrew. Andrew, her ex from Boston. He was stopped at the light across the street. What was he doing in this European city where Elise was on holiday?

He crossed toward her, the crowd parting like a current, their faces blurring past as if someone had turned the resolution down. Just as he arrived, Elise was knocked to the ground. Stunned, she took the hand that reached out to her and sprang back up without so much as a bruise. “Elise?” The voice behind the hand. The face was obscured by the sun, but she’d know the voice anywhere.

Elise shielded her eyes. “Resh? What are you...?” She rubbed her hip, finding no pain. Resh hadn’t let go of her hand and her heart beat quicker. She hadn’t seen him since they’d lost touch after their study abroad fling. 

“Hey, Elise,” came a chorus of two voices. There stood Andrew and Omar. 

Omar took her hand and ushered her away from the crossing, where tourists streamed past in a steady loop. He was always doing that when they were together. She could never decide if he was chivalrous or bossy. He let go of her hand when they reached the front of a bookstore in the shade of the awning. All three of her exes stared at her. 

“Whoa,” came another voice, followed by a tall body butting into the circle surrounding Elise. Of course it was Marco. “Can I join the party?”

His accent grated, and that relentless cheerfulness had always worn on her, though she felt guilty about it. She always wished he was someone else — deeper, more thoughtful. It hadn’t been fair on him. 

Elise heard Omar say, “The more the merrier, buddy,” and slapped him on the shoulder. Omar was like that, casually familiar in a way she always admired, until he’d been too familiar with her sister’s best friend. 

The men were talking among themselves, jostling for position in this bizarre reunion, and the light around them seemed to thrum.  

That’s when Elise knew something was wrong: she wasn’t on holiday at all.

Her breath sped up and Resh stepped in to put a hand on her shoulder. “You had quite a fall there. Sorry I banged into you. This sun,” he said, as if explaining something obvious. They all looked behind them, directly at the sun. It didn’t hurt her eyes. 

“It’s just like that time in Vietnam,” Resh continued, softly so that only she could hear. It was as if he was whispering in her ear but he had come no closer. “Remember when that roving street vendor knocked you over and we ushered you to the hospital?” 

“A broken toe,” Elise laughed, although she’d been so disappointed to be waylaid on that trip with Resh and their other study abroad friends. She had thought it would mean Resh would leave her to hang out with the others, but he’d stayed, let her hold onto him while she hobbled down the busy streets of Hanoi for the rest of that wonderful week. 

“Resh?” She tried to whisper just to him, as he had done, but all her exes gazed at her as if their lives depended on her next words. “What are you all doing here?”

“Depends on what you mean by here.” Andrew grinned. Psychology student. Older than her. Intellectual until she found him pompous. 

Omar tilted his head at her in concern. “Do you think she’s ok?” He would do that. Talk about her with others when she was right beside him.

“Of course she’s fine.” Marco smiled at her. “My Elise is always fine.” 

They stared for an uncomfortable couple of minutes, or hours, for all she could tell.

She couldn’t move, she realised, not until these exes dispersed, went back to wherever they came from. There was a way, she understood, a way to make them leave, to make it all disappear, but she couldn’t remember. As she racked her brain, the exes flickered, glitching in and out. She looked down at her hand. They were doing the same.

“Resh?” She said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“What you’ve done ninety-nine times already. Just pick. One more time, and it will all be over.”

But it seemed like she’d been here forever, on this street corner in this vaguely European simulation, looking at these exes, having these memories over and over.

Andrew and Omar folded their arms over their chests, Andrew’s small and slight, Omar’s broad. She remembered the feel of Omar’s arms wrapped around her as they’d watched an outdoor play in a park. Andrew’s hand holding hers as they walked down Newbury Street. It seemed so long ago. 

Marco grinned at her, took her hand and patted it, his curls falling over his forehead in that dashing way. 

Ugh. These men. They were infuriating. 

And Resh, those big brown eyes, looking into the distance, his hands clasped together tightly. Nerves, she thought, over who Elise would pick. Didn’t he know? Didn’t she always choose him?

The world around her fell like tiles.

***

Elise stood in her kitchen gazing at her phone, the Rekindle app open, glowing 98% beside Resh’s photo.

About the Author

Jillian Schedneck has published a memoir with PanMacmillan.

Her stories and essays have been published in Tahoma Literary Review, Brevity, Redivider and elsewhere.

She lives in Canberra, Australia, with her partner and two children.

Her website is <https://jillianschedneck.com>