When you love me

Beginning, middle and end

They say that everything in life has a middle, beginning and end. It's frustrating. Everything ends. All. Even for Thor, my little black fish who had a very dramatic end, and the one who cried the most was Nicholas, my youngest brother. As incredible as it may seem, I couldn't cry, not a single tear, not a single drop, no matter how much I was suffering. I promised I would never cry again. I promised that nothing and no one would make me cry again.

After burying the tiny box in the backyard and watching my father explain to Nicholas about death and where the animals went, in a way that only my brother would understand, I go to my room, closing the door and diving into my private world. I don't think about the death of my fish, nor even about my brother's face in tears, without understanding death as it truly is, without explanations, without logic. I use the headphones and select the music that would comfort me most at that moment. Patience, from Guns N' Roses. It is all I need. That's all I want to hear.

I close my eyes and try to feel everything but pain. The pain is unnecessary and temporary. I don't need her. I need another distraction. "But I can't speed up the time..."

I feel something touching me and I open my eyes. And my dad. I take off the headphones and sit on the bed, while he remains standing.

— What it was? — I asked impatiently.

— I could at least try to console him.

— The fish was mine, and I was not consoled. And Nicholas is pretty big now, don't you think?

— Jennie...

— What is it now?

— We need to talk.

— If it's about school...

— And especially. You dropped out of school, were suspended three times in the same semester, and don't spend time with your brother... I just want to understand how I can help you.

— Do I look like someone who needs help?

He takes a deep breath and sits down on the chair, facing me.

— I... spoke to your mother.

— Which one?

— Jennie...

— I don't want to talk about her.

— You don't give me alternatives.

— He never offered one. — I replied, without looking at him, as I know I am being analyzed from every possible angle.

— Marie, your mother, wants you to spend time with her.

I look at my father to see if he was really serious. And he is.

— I will never spend any time with that woman.

— Jennie.

— Don't insist, I won't!

— Then go back to school and follow my rules!

— It's not fair to threaten me with her!

— Fair? You want to know what's not fair, Jennie? I will say. This is all you're doing, it's driving me crazy and I don't know what else to do. Do you happen to know what you want to do with your life?

— Do you know what you want to do with yours?

My father stands up abruptly, the wooden chair creaking in protest. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that means he's frustrated, and his eyes bore into me with an intensity that almost makes me falter. Almost.

— You have to go, Jennie. It's not a choice. — he says, his voice tense, almost shaking with anger.

I cross my arms, keeping my expression unchanged.

— I am not going. — I answer, firmly. — She left, Dad. She left me. Why should I go after her now?

He sighs deeply, as if trying to convince me is an exhausting task, and rubs his face with his hands.

— Jennie, that was years ago. Things change. People change.

— She hasn't changed. — I reply, my voice cold as ice. — She never tried to look for me, never tried to explain why she left. And now you want me to go to her as if nothing happened? As if she hadn't destroyed our family?

My father closes his eyes for a moment, as if he needs to gather the strength to continue.

—She's your mother, Jennie. She's trying to do the best she can. And you need to at least give her a chance.

My heart pounds in my chest, but I maintain my posture.

— You do not understand. You never understood what it was like for me when she left. As she still is.

His eyes soften, the anger giving way to a deep sadness I rarely see.

— Jennie, I know it was difficult. But sometimes, forgiving is more for ourselves than for others. You don't have to accept what she did, but maybe you need this chance to confront what happened.

My hands shake slightly, and I force myself to remain calm.

— I don't need anything from her. — I murmur, feeling the familiar pain tighten my chest. — I can't, dad. I can't face this now.

He looks at me for a long moment, and I know he's trying to decide whether to keep insisting or not. Finally, he sighs again and sits back down, suddenly looking exhausted.

— Just... think about it, Jennie. That's all I ask.

I don't answer. There is nothing more to say. He leaves the room, the sound of the door slamming echoing through the house, each step further away from the possibility of a future where I can forgive.

I go back to the headphones, and once again, I try not to think about anything except immersing myself in the lyrics of the song. But my chest feels tight and my thoughts insist on returning to the conversation with my father. Deep down, I knew that this day would come, that we were just postponing the moment when we would talk about her. It's been ten years since I saw her carrying her suitcase into the driveway while my seventh birthday party was going on and everyone was oblivious to what I saw. I remember that day so perfectly that every detail of it became a nightmare for me. Sometimes I dream, she is leaving, taking everything with her and leaving several wounds on my chest behind. Everyone sings happy birthday while she doesn't even look back.