ad valorem

bracelets

When we were 4, you called me your sister,

So I tied a rakhi* on your bare wrist.

When we were 7, you said we were best friends,

So I gave you a shiny friendship bracelet,

and kiss on the cheek.

When I was 10, my mom died.

You said you'd always be there for me.

And you gave me a bouquet of roses,

and a charm bracelet

When I was 14, my self harming took a toll.

You gave me new bracelets everyday,

to cover my scars.

When we were 15,

you sent me a bracelet from Forever 21

and a note.

You asked me to be yours,

and I said yes without hesitating.

When we were 16, you told me you loved me.

I had giggled, and said it back.

The same year, we went to Prom together.

I never felt so infinite in my life.

When we were 18, you said you'd go out of town to study.

You went. I stayed.

4 years passed, we communicated only through calls

and letters every now and then.

At 23, I got a call from a phone booth.

It was you.

The tone is your voice was so cold, so plain.

You told me 3 words.

No, it wasn't I love you.

No, it wasn't I miss you.

No, it wasn't how've you been?

It was every gush of pain I could have ever felt.

"I found someone."

The call almost cut, but I heard you.

"Someone...else."

That was it.

When I was 26, he asked me about you.

I had never even brought up your name to him.

He said he saw my eyes, the same eyes

that he fell in love with.

He said that they were seeking someone else's eyes,

not his.

I pleaded, begged, cried.

I told him to give me a chance.

Maybe, just maybe,

I could fall in love with him,

the way I did with you.

Gone was a trace of you,

and I never looked back.

When I was 28, he asked me what name I liked.

I said Mary.

He said Grace.

The same year, Mary Grace was born.

When I was 40,

him and I went to an opera together.

We left Mary Grace with the babysitter.

And it was a lovely night.

"I'm almost there." I had said.

"I'm falling in love with you, finally."

I seldom thought about you.

But no matter how much I tried,

I couldn't get myself to believe,

that I didn't think of you because I didn't want to.

It was because I was caught up.

In a life I had never dreamt or looked forward to.

In all fairness, it was you.

My dreams, my hopes, all of it was you.

I saw myself at 40,

kissing you

loving you

raising kids with you

I saw myself growing old with you.

But you were gone.

And I never bothered to call.

When I was 43, I found a blade in the bathroom.

It wasn't mine.

Maybe that's when it hit me.

I saw you. There you were.

You were giggling, as you gave me an endless

amount of bracelets.

I still had them.

Maybe I was so ignorant and caught up in my sadness,

that I didn't look around.

I didn't raise my own daughter properly.

And him?

By 42, he handed me a paper.

It wasn't a love note, like the one you gave me.

Instead, this one demanded my signature.

And my attorney's.

I was a mess.

I still am, to say the least.

Maybe that's when I realized that it's hard on all of us.

And in that same year, I gave Mary Grace

a kiss on the forehead,

and all the bracelets you gave me,

to cover her scars.

When I was 53, Mary told me she found a boy.

He was like you.

But he didn't give her a bracelet.

He gave her a ring.

And maybe that's what we could have been.

*rakhi: bracelet tied on a brother's wrist by his sister