I smiled to myself as I approached the apartment door. When did I ever start thinking like an old man? I remembered Max's promise of summer fun and decided there and then as I was pulling the heavy suitcase up the stairs to the second floor that I would enjoy this holiday and be the twenty-six-year-old I was.
But first, I would have to walk into the apartment that had been my home for the first eight years of my life.
The apartment wasn't much different from the last time I had been here. The layout was the same, not that much could be changed in such a small space, anyway. It had a kitchen that opened into the living room and then to a balcony of the same width, one bathroom, one master bedroom that had been my parents’ room, and a smaller room that had been mine.
I loved my room because, despite the smaller size, it also had a small balcony that faced directly toward the apartment building opposite mine, David's apartment. He lived there with his mom when we were young. I hadn't kept in touch, so I was unsure if David still lived there or even in Caparica for that matter. Paula, David's mom, died of cancer eleven years ago when we were only fifteen. I remembered Mom being so upset about the death of her best friend at such a young age. When Paula received the diagnosis, Mom struggled with the distance, and as the last days approached, she came back to Portugal to care for her best friend and was at her side when she finally passed away.
I wanted to come with her, but at the time, I had exams at school and wasn't allowed to miss any classes. I ended up spending that summer with my grandmother as she became progressively unwell. It was a great summer, and I loved spending it in the Hamptons with her. Despite her frail health, she still had a devilish side to her and encouraged me to pursue a summer romance with another boy who lived nearby. Not that anything had happened then. I’d still missed David terribly, so that boy became the friend I would always see when I stayed with my grandmother and was also the first person outside my family I told I was gay.
I went to my old room, rolled the shutters up to allow in the afternoon sun, and opened the balcony door and looked out onto the street.
Some of the shops were different, but the look of the buildings on the outside remained the same, just older and more worn.
I looked at the balcony across from mine. The shutters were all the way down, so it was impossible to see if someone even lived in the apartment. I couldn't remember how many evenings I’d spent on this balcony chatting with David about our favorite superheroes until one or both of our moms reminded us it was time for bed. Later, whenever I was back home in the summer, we used to carry on with our conversations but using mobile phones long into the night. One thing never changed. The balcony doors always remained open as though by breathing the same crisp summer air, we were both in the same space rather than our individual rooms separated by the street below.
So many memories in such a short span of time wore me out. Of course, that could also be a result of the long flight and very little sleep, so I decided to take a shower and get some rest before joining the family for dinner.
