Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)

by Liz Tomforde

The box is filled with every mixtape and CD I made for him over the years, each given to him on my birthday. All of them, from ages eleven to nineteen, which include the two I gave him before we started meeting up on the roof, they’re all in here. And it’s evident they’ve been played endlessly over the years. They’re each in their individual cases, which are all cracked in one place or another. Some of the hinges are broken from overuse, from being opened and closed too many times. It suddenly feels impossible to breathe. I cannot believe he kept these. Judging by the look of betrayal on his face the last time I saw him, I assumed the first thing he did was get rid of these. Burned them. Shattered them. Something dramatic to match how hurt he was. But he kept them. The only other thing in this box is an old piece of embroidery thread, which doesn’t really make sense. I pull it out to take a closer look. It’s almost unrecognizable, tattered, discolored, and worn. It takes a moment until it clicks, for me to realize what this is. It’s that old friendship bracelet I made him on my thirteenth birthday. The one he wore on his wrist and never took off until it withered away and fell off on its own sometime after he had left for college. It broke off without him realizing. I assumed it was long gone by now. Something so small. So seemingly unimportant. But it wasn’t. None of it was.