I opened the front door after a long day of school, and your crazy eyes were the first thing I saw—the only thing I needed to see—bouncing wildly as you careened down the stairs to greet me at the door. Your tongue smacked the side of your face as you held your mouth wide open in excitement. Your pants could probably be heard by my mom at the end of the driveway where she stood sorting through the mail before coming inside. Barks of excitement escaped your throat just before you crashed into my arms. And suddenly, the rest of the world was gone. With you attacking me in the ferocious kind of love that only a dog could have for their owner, my day became a bad dream; you were the sunshine that greets my face, showing me that everything is okay. "It was just a dream," you say.
But I will not wake up from this dream. And the sunshine from your face will never beam up at me again. Instead, I sit on the couch, staring at a little ceramic urn with a paw inlaid on the lid as the rain beats down on the window behind me—no sunshine inside or out. All I can do is stare and wish to all gods and forces of power beyond this world that you could come back to me, that I could see your light once more because no matter how hard I try to replicate it or imagine it—nothing else in this house has the same power.
I hate dad for the way he treated you—especially since you loved him the same in spite of his actions—but at least I knew I wasn't alone here. We could look into each other's eyes, and you could speak to me: "It's okay. You know he loves us. It's just hard for him, but at least we have each other! We don't have to endure this alone."
Well now I do! You left me! I am alone, and I can't bring myself to believe your words anymore.
I replay that memory a thousand times in my head, hoping your light can somehow permeate through the barrier of life and death to meet me here. In this living room. In this ghostly house. In this shitty town. In this hopeless country. In this too-big world. Where I am completely, utterly, terribly alone.
