I Loved Her

By ChrisJenya

I loved her, I thought. She stood there, tall and proud, as this clarity broke into my mind. It crushes every sense I seem to have as nostalgia eats away my vision. I saw her 3 years ago. She was in a deep silver sweater, almost gray, maybe black. It was short; I remember her mother yelling at her about it. I don’t remember the pants. I only remember her face. I remember her smile, blurry but defined in the memory. A smile I could never forget in any lifetime. Her laugh, though, made my lips pull upward into a soft grin, like I saw her after a war. Like my heart gained its love when it heard her voice. It was like every barrier I put up came crashing down, so many emotions left to grow: love, comfort, a sweet honey poisoning my future. I hear her voice now here, at the wedding. The soft hushed whispers of “thank you”.  She’s walking her way down the aisle, her hair a burnt copper against the white dress. I look at the groom. I remember the wedding I‘m attending then, my brother’s. I feel my eyes water, like I’m so proud of my brother for getting such a beautiful woman. I am proud, though. I’m proud he got a soul so kind and loving, a soul that stays after every emotional wreckage to repair the damage, no matter the mess. I turn back to her, and every broken moment, covered with her comfort, intrudes on my mind like death. I rip my eyes from the love that emits from her like waves and turn instead to my brother. 

It’s then that my eyes start to drip, a dam cracking before a flood. I feel them run  hot against my cheek as I am overwhelmed with grief. If only I had known earlier. My brain raises a lie, as I imagine them years later, laughing together. She smiled at something he said, like she always would. Their hands intertwined almost as tangled together as their souls. The way she’ll look at him and smile. I smile through the pain of imagining them. If it hurts this much now, what would it have been like living it? Watching them as they lived the happy life of a married couple? My eyes fall as I look back at the crowd. I smile, though it seems like I can’t find anything happy. She’s reaching him now, and I sneak a glance back at my brother. 

My brother is standing in a place I once imagined myself. Regret takes a hold of my thoughts. Each one seems to dig deep, replacing my heart with black tar. I want to run, and feel relief with the wind soothing the shame burning in the black liquid. Another thought attacks me, clawing its way to the front of my mind, begging to be seen. My brother wants me here. It hits me with reluctant clarity. A whisper of belief. I had missed every important event leading to this. Blocked his number, telling him I needed to study. Ignored every elaborate way my mother tried to tell me. But my brother looked for me. He found me and asked, no, begged me to be here. I haven’t been in his life now at all, and he still wanted me here. My heart is a mess of pain and intense realization. I try to focus, try to grasp little words as they exchange vows. It is a new pain, though, watching as your brother slips on a ring to the one hand that comforted you on the roughest night. To tie the knot between his heart and the heart you so wished you could have cherished. I smile through it all, wondering what I would have felt if I stood at the altar.

I still remember the night. The moon hid into dark shadows, as if sensing the despair yet to come. My friend, my companion. Almost dead. I was sitting in those waiting chairs near the front, hoping the doctor would call us. How my shoulders shook, as if it were an earthquake of its own. My eyes were dry yet my heart seemed to drown in sorrow. I would have slammed my fist if it meant I could feel something. But then her hand. Slow, comforting circles in my back. Never had I felt so real, had she not done that.

I watch as they lean in and look at the priest instead. I loved her. My brother loves her. He’s married to her. But I, I loved her. How she’d respond to every call or text I sent her. Then, as the guests clapped and laughed, I remembered the moment when it fell apart. It was her house. We were studying, laughing about something stupid. I remember her getting a text and going to the kitchen . I sat in the silence of her absence, but  she was still present in her tiny doodles on my paper. It was a couple of minutes before I walked to the kitchen. It was early afternoon when I saw them. I saw her.Leaning back into his chest. His arms had looped around her, like a ribbon for a devastating gift. I remember his voice. His voice sneered at me in the memory, though he wasn’t. I wonder why I didn’t put it together now. They were so in love it should have been named by them. It was my brother that day, and it was he now. It won’t ever be me, will it? Maybe in every lifetime, we’re like this. I want her, but she wants the person closest to me; She wants anyone but me. I don’t let my mind linger on the thought as I shake her hand. She doesn’t remember me the way I wish she would, and I don't rember her the way she thinks I do. Like the ocean and sky. So close yet never touching. Once together in a deep, endless blue.

By ChrisJenya