experience.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ You don’t understand. When I say Stacy will always be just my little sister, I mean she can never be anything else. She can’t grow up, go to school, date, have a family. She’s in a lot of pain, and probably doesn’t understand why. All she knows is me, or some kind of routine that represents me and the physical comfort I can provide.” Brian looks right in my eyes now, but it’s hard to hold his gaze because my tears keep blurring it.
“In the beginning, I did work harder to get out more, get to know people, and you’re right, at first, people act like they want to help. Women, in particular, seemed understanding that I couldn’t drop everything for a date, or that we might have to hang out at my place.”
“So what happened, Brian? Please, please, explain this to me.”
“Nothing so dramatic. People just live. Their lives get filled up with all of these—things.They can actually fill their lives with things I can’t even imagine because my entire adult life has always been full of Stacy, just Stacy. It’s why I can’t stand, can’t stand , Carrie,” he says as he angrily swipes away another tear, “those moments I told you about, the one where I can almost imagine a whole life with someone else, filled to the brim with other things. Because I can never have that. I already have enough, what I’ve been given. Everything else is just a reminder of how easy it is for me to hurt someone. You. Stacy. I can’t move in any direction.”
“Brian—”
“Even if what you say is true, I have to go. I really have to go, I have to go back. I just had a few minutes, really, to get away. And I didn’t want to leave things at that stupid pergola. Because you’re not,” he says as he slides my tear-splattered glasses up my nose, “just a Wednesday. You’re not . You weren’t after two minutes of talking to you on the bench, and I had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my entire life. I can’t imagine ever wanting to kiss someone as much as I always want to kiss you.”
I’m totally desperate, I know, but I wrap my arms around his middle and hold tight. He keeps his arms away from me, but eventually, holding him, I feel him tuck his chin over my head. Then he whispers, “You’re the sweetest girl, the best girl, I ever kissed, Carrie West,” and rubs his face into my hair like a child, breathing deep.
This time, as I let him go, I make sure I walk away first.
Monday, 1:43 a.m.
I will meet you on Wednesdays at noon in Celebration Park. Kissing. You can touch me anywhere. I will meet with you for as long as you meet me, but I will never miss a Wednesday. I’ll sit and I’ll wait like Greyfriar’s Bobby or Wilbur’s Charlotte or Godot’s Vladimir and Estragon. And darling, it’s getting cold, so have mercy. No picture necessary. I’d recognize you, see you, anywhere. I could fill my life with you.
Justin took the picture for me. I made sure to look directly at the camera. So. Now, I’ll wait.
Wednesday, 12:46 a.m.
At least I get to see the first snowfall of the year.
Friday, 8:10 p.m.
“Let me help with these dishes,” I say. I have to break the silence somehow, because waiting to hear everyone’s verdict is getting unnerving. After my freezing-cold vigil at the park this week, I called both Justin and Shelley, certain I must be going crazy. But I couldn’t stop thinking about, to my surprise, Stacy. A woman with long, dark hair who would never be anything but a little sister. Loved, cared for, but her path was straight and clear.
I’m certain that if Stacy had been given the choice, she would have wanted her own messy life with her own mistakes her burden alone. I bet she would have taken risks and filled her life to the brim. Maybe after she grew her hair long, she would have cut it short again, dyed it pink. I don’t know. No one ever will.
Thinking about Stacy was an epiphany that I had choices. Full, lush choices. An
“Oh?”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ You don’t understand. When I say Stacy will always be just my little sister, I mean she can never be anything else. She can’t grow up, go to school, date, have a family. She’s in a lot of pain, and probably doesn’t understand why. All she knows is me, or some kind of routine that represents me and the physical comfort I can provide.” Brian looks right in my eyes now, but it’s hard to hold his gaze because my tears keep blurring it.
“In the beginning, I did work harder to get out more, get to know people, and you’re right, at first, people act like they want to help. Women, in particular, seemed understanding that I couldn’t drop everything for a date, or that we might have to hang out at my place.”
“So what happened, Brian? Please, please, explain this to me.”
“Nothing so dramatic. People just live. Their lives get filled up with all of these—things.They can actually fill their lives with things I can’t even imagine because my entire adult life has always been full of Stacy, just Stacy. It’s why I can’t stand, can’t stand , Carrie,” he says as he angrily swipes away another tear, “those moments I told you about, the one where I can almost imagine a whole life with someone else, filled to the brim with other things. Because I can never have that. I already have enough, what I’ve been given. Everything else is just a reminder of how easy it is for me to hurt someone. You. Stacy. I can’t move in any direction.”
“Brian—”
“Even if what you say is true, I have to go. I really have to go, I have to go back. I just had a few minutes, really, to get away. And I didn’t want to leave things at that stupid pergola. Because you’re not,” he says as he slides my tear-splattered glasses up my nose, “just a Wednesday. You’re not . You weren’t after two minutes of talking to you on the bench, and I had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my entire life. I can’t imagine ever wanting to kiss someone as much as I always want to kiss you.”
I’m totally desperate, I know, but I wrap my arms around his middle and hold tight. He keeps his arms away from me, but eventually, holding him, I feel him tuck his chin over my head. Then he whispers, “You’re the sweetest girl, the best girl, I ever kissed, Carrie West,” and rubs his face into my hair like a child, breathing deep.
This time, as I let him go, I make sure I walk away first.
Monday, 1:43 a.m.
I will meet you on Wednesdays at noon in Celebration Park. Kissing. You can touch me anywhere. I will meet with you for as long as you meet me, but I will never miss a Wednesday. I’ll sit and I’ll wait like Greyfriar’s Bobby or Wilbur’s Charlotte or Godot’s Vladimir and Estragon. And darling, it’s getting cold, so have mercy. No picture necessary. I’d recognize you, see you, anywhere. I could fill my life with you.
Justin took the picture for me. I made sure to look directly at the camera. So. Now, I’ll wait.
Wednesday, 12:46 a.m.
At least I get to see the first snowfall of the year.
Friday, 8:10 p.m.
“Let me help with these dishes,” I say. I have to break the silence somehow, because waiting to hear everyone’s verdict is getting unnerving. After my freezing-cold vigil at the park this week, I called both Justin and Shelley, certain I must be going crazy. But I couldn’t stop thinking about, to my surprise, Stacy. A woman with long, dark hair who would never be anything but a little sister. Loved, cared for, but her path was straight and clear.
I’m certain that if Stacy had been given the choice, she would have wanted her own messy life with her own mistakes her burden alone. I bet she would have taken risks and filled her life to the brim. Maybe after she grew her hair long, she would have cut it short again, dyed it pink. I don’t know. No one ever will.
Thinking about Stacy was an epiphany that I had choices. Full, lush choices. An
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