Rue

Short Story: Part One

The car ride to your aunt’s candlelight vigil was turning out to be better than I first imagined. At least, better than I thought being glued to a leather seat inside a mobile box slowly seeping with wounds would be. There was a silence, but we soon began to fill it− you, me, your younger brother, your mom and dad− with short bursts of quiet giggling and weightless words that bounced off the windows and dissipated in the air. We weren’t being disrespectful, just non-elucidating. I couldn’t help but glance at your drawn face every few moments. There was always something there that either lessened me back into my suitable snail shell, or flung me towards undulated masses of skies that even airplanes didn’t dare try reaching. But this time the face I saw was simply mellow, nothing more.

We pulled into a parking lot in the town your dad grew up in. On the outskirts sat a tiny church with a playground. In front of us were walking trails spread between mucky green hills and trees and spatters of rays from the twilight sun. Your family and I were the first to arrive on that frigid winter evening, but soon other people I didn't recognize that must have had a  connection to your aunt began to gather around in the cemented space as well. Already I spotted in the dim light a few tearing up, many were embracing. One woman passed out candles while another gave away hand and feet warmers. I took both gratefully, especially the latter.

"I don't really know anyone here except for a few people." You looked down at me and smiled funny.

"Obviously, I don't either. I'm just here for you guys, since, you know, I guess I can be cause' this is a community sort of thing. My gosh, I'm so freezing." I shivered contortedly and hopped a little in place.

"Come here," reaching out, you pulled me into your huge enveloping chest. "We're allowed to do this, since we're just keeping each other warm. Look, you see that girl my mom's talking to? Her name's Sue. She's gay. I bet you a million bucks my mom's telling her right now about how, 'Yup, that girl over there hugging my son, she's the one alright!'"

I breathed loudly and rolled my eyes, but I knew you saw me grin.

It was strange and went without comparison, the relationship we had. If ever someone asked about us, it always seemed like explaining was nearly impossible. I didn't know what to say; I never did. That I was sixteen, and you were twenty? That we loved and despised and shielded and tormented each other? That we were best friends of four years? That I was in love, that you were too on good days (though admitting it was not in your interest), and for the sake of the benefit of similes and metaphors, it all really felt like an ocean I badly wanted to reach the bottom of but couldn't because of course it would be risking either combustion from the pressure or just flat out drowning. Some days, when the world felt bleak and grayness deadened the good company of sunshine, I found myself utterly worn, knowing that everything would have been much easier, but equally less fruitful, if our paths had never crossed.