I find it sad that I’m the only one in Bray’s life who understands that.
Yes, I will die for her. Yes, I will die with her. Still to this day, and every day after it. But it’s different when it’s brought on by love and devotion than when it’s caused by depression and mental illness.
I turn my back to Rian and cross my arms.
“She said she’d come home with me,” Rian says.
I hold back my need to lash out at her. I hate her right now. I hate her for not listening. I feel like all she cares about is what she thinks is best while disregarding anything else.
“If Brayelle says she doesn’t want to, then I’ll bring her to your place myself. All I’m asking is for you to keep your distance and not interfere. This is what she wants, and you should respect that.” I hear her sip her coffee and then place the mug back upon the table.
Finally I turn around to look at her. I start to speak, but the words stick in the back of my throat, and I swallow them down.
The screen door shuts hard behind me as I storm out of the house and down the concrete steps.
* * *
“Damn, man, that’s f**ked up,” Mitchell says several days later. We’re sitting in the living room of his apartment. I stopped by to visit him after work this evening and told him only the basics, nothing too personal. “I remember when we were all in eighth grade, Rian picked Bray up one afternoon from school.” I nodded, and he went on. “They were fighting about something and I heard Rian tell Bray that she wished she’d just kill herself and get it over with.”
My brows draw inward.
“Never really thought anything of it,” he goes on. “Brothers and sisters say shit like that all the time.”
I nod, agreeing, but it makes me sick to know Rian had ever said something like that to Bray, even if she had no idea what kind of impact saying that might’ve had on her.
“So what are you going to do?” Mitchell asks, pushing his bangs away from his face.
I shake my head and then rest it against the back of the love seat cushion. I look upward at the ceiling fan as it spins around and the little pull string on the light taps against the glass globe. “I’m going to give Bray what she wants. As much as I hate it, I don’t want to come between her and her sister, especially if Rian’s trying to make an effort to be there for her. A lot late, but better late than never, I guess.
“Besides, it’s not like Rian would be able to keep Bray away from me if Bray wanted to see me. She can kick Rian’s ass, so I’m not worried about Rian holding her prisoner in the house or anything.”
Mitchell laughs. “Yeah, I have to say that about Bray; she always was mean.”
I laugh lightly, thinking about it. “Yeah, I guess she was.”
“Well, you want my advice?” Mitchell asks.
I don’t really want the advice of a former meth-head-slash-asshole, but he is a good friend on the mend, so I accept it anyway.
“Tell that warped sister of hers to go f**k herself and you drag Bray’s ass home with you. That’s my opinion.” He nods sharply and takes a big gulp of soda.
Yeah, thanks for the advice, Mitch, but as much as I’d love to take it, I think I’ll go the adult route. I don’t respond to him out loud.
“So, when did you say she’s getting out?” Mitchell asks.
“Two more days,” I answer. “They pushed the date back four days, or she’d already be out.”
Mitchell purses his lips contemplatively. “That’s weird they’d do that.”
“Not really,” I say, but I don’t know my reasoning for believing that.
“Well, sure,” Mitchell says, “they might extend someone’s sentence for f**kin’ up in there or something, but usually it’s longer than four days for something like that. It just seems odd to me.”
I think about what he said, and, I admit, I agree with him for the most part. But over the years I’ve learned not to put too much stock in what Mitchell says.
I leave Mitchell’s house and head home just before dark, and all I can think about is Bray. I park my car in the front of my apartment and turn off the engine. It’s a hot July night, so I turn the key and slide the windows down. The lights in the dashboard fade after I pull the key out and drop it on my lap. The back of my head falls against the headrest, and I close my eyes and let the warm breeze filter through the opened windows and brush against my face. The crickets and frogs start to come alive as the night falls, their song all around me is clamorous yet relaxing. Nothing can beat a Southern summer. Bray and I grew up in them together, loving the heat and humidity, the noisy nature at night and the birds that always woke up before the sun in the morning. We loved fishing and wading in the creeks catching crawdads and chasing the fireflies in the pasture.
Always the fireflies.
Two more days and Bray will be free. She’ll be free to live her life, to start over with me and to find the happiness she’s always sought, always fought for. The happiness she deserves. I picture her face, that bright smile that I’ve always seen in everything good. And for a long time, sitting with my back pressed against the seat in my car, my shirt beginning to soak with sweat, I get lost in the memory of her face, that bright smile she always charmed me with. The way the wind always blew her hair across the softness of her cheeks, the glistening of her blue eyes, the innocence of them. Every moment of our life together drifts through my mind like an old film with little imperfections and tiny blips and discolorations on the screen. I hear the constant clicking of the reel, but no voices. Bray runs ahead of me through the pasture, her dark hair whipping up behind her in the wind. She looks back with her bright smiling face and laughs and shrieks as I close in on her from behind.
I catch up to her and grab her around the waist. We fall to the ground amid the tall, prickling yellowed grass. I’m on top of her, staring down into her big beautiful blue eyes. Her chest rises and falls beneath mine as she tries to catch her breath.
And we just stare at each other, not saying a word. I want to kiss her and deep down I know she wants me to. We were fourteen and fifteen when this happened. Maybe if I had kissed her that day, the time when I knew more than anything that I wanted her for myself and the day when I was going to tell her that. But we were both dating other people. Maybe if I had given in, everything would’ve turned out differently. If I had just given in…
So I do. This time I do it. I wash everything else out of my mind. I push out the song of the crickets and the frogs, the feel of the wind on my face, and I make this moment real.