Forever and Always

Isabel

I remember the day when I first saw your big red truck. It was before I actually saw you riding inside. Your family wasn't wealthy back then, nor were you classy, although my dad would say you're still none of those things. Your dad had just expanded his business and it would be years before you could properly say that you belonged in our town. We are more like a village, at least at the beginning that's the way people called it. I heard my parents talking over dinner the day we saw your family arrive. They said it was a disgrace that people like you could now afford to move to a place we'd lived in for generations, that people like him, like your dad, were ruining what our ancestors had worked so hard to build. I've always known that my dad is old-fashioned, but over the years I've gotten to understand the fact that his problem goes beyond the simple desire to guard traditions. My dad's a racist, he's sexist, just ask my mother, he's an elitist, and above all, he despises foreigners. That's why he wasn't happy when you went to live next door from us. I mean, at least your father tried not to speak in Portuguese, even if he has always had this thick accent, but your mother's refusal towards learning Spanish was taken by my dad as the biggest of insults. "This woman comes to my country, has her children here and doesn't even try to speak my language!" my dad used to say, and then he added, exasperated, "what an outrage!"

Despite my insistence, he forbade me from going to your house and introducing myself. I was dying to meet someone I could play with during the summer because my friends from school lived far away and before you moved in, the house next to mine was deserted. So I had to wait until my dad left on business before I could sneak out of the house. I had no idea what to say to you, and I didn't even consider a scenario in which we wouldn't get along. In my mind, we were destined to be the best of friends, at least for the summer, then we would have to see. But during those three months of long hot days we would be inseparable. When Rosa opened the door I introduced myself and she made me come in. I then told her I really wanted to meet you (of course I didn't know your name by then, but she knew I was talking about you). Rosa told me you were by the stables and showed me the way. That's another thing my dad hated about your family, the fact that you had a stable with at least ten horses and full-time keepers. That's been his lifelong dream but apparently that's too expensive to maintain and he's never been able to fulfill it. Yes, my dad was jealous of your dad, but don't tell anyone about it because it's kind of embarrassing.

You were getting off your horse (what was his name again? Was he Rey or Zeus?) when I first saw you. Your hair was braided and your face and hands were dirty. I keep the memory of the first time you saw me like a video that keeps rolling and repeating itself endlessly because I was overcome by so many emotions I wasn't even sure I was supposed to be able to feel at age ten: your eyes were suddenly wide, too wide for your small, delicate face, wide and shiny, like raindrops against a window, and your mouth hung open as if you had just seen a ghost. But it wasn't fear what you were feeling, it wasn't shock either; it was love at first sight in the most literal sense of the word. I knew, judging by your face, that we'd be the best of friends, even if just for the summer. Right at that moment three months felt like an eternity, like the perfect amount of time to get to know you and have lots of fun.

While my dad was out of town, we hung out all the time, always at your place. I would get to your house by ten and I would always leave at four so that my mom wouldn't suspect when she started calling me for tea at our garden. You taught me how to ride a horse and showed me all your books, which were displayed in your bookshelf and organized by size. You hated when I took one and then put it back in the wrong place. I know it even though you didn't say anything, just took it and put it where it belonged. It was kind of cute seeing you throwing this tiny display of OCD. We watched movies in a room that must have been the attic when you first moved in, but which had been painted a dark gray and had a carpet that matched the walls. It was the best summer of our lives, I'm sure of it, until your brother came along, announcing the end not only of our vacation but also of our friendship as we knew it. It's not like you'd kept him a secret or anything, on the contrary, you talked about him with such admiration in your voice that it sort of made me jealous sometimes, not being your favorite person in the whole world. He was fourteen at the time, built like a soccer player and with a killer smile. He looked a lot like you but not in that creepy, disturbing way some siblings look. While you've always been astoundingly pretty, like a model, he's handsome, with rougher, manlier features. I liked him from the moment I saw him, and I'm sure you picked up on that right away.

Your brother's arrival marked the end of our summer vacation. We made plans to see each other at school because luckily you and I were going to the same one, but I knew it would be impossible because we were in different grades. Besides, my mom being the third grade teacher meant we were being watched at all times and we had to be careful not to be seen together. It was not worth the risk at all, not when we had thirty minutes for recess. As soon as my dad was gone again I went to your house. I guess I wanted to pretend like nothing had changed, like picking up where we had left things before summer ended was as easy as just wishing for it to happen. You were struggling with your Math homework and I offered to be your tutor. And it's not like I was this Math prodigy or anything, but I did alright and I felt like that way I would have a reason to visit you and we'd have something else in common (and alright, now that we're on the subject, I thought that the prospect of seeing your brother, even if just passing by, was enough for me to take on the task of making you understand the multiplication facts). Of course, the tutoring sessions lasted only until my dad returned home from his trip. I won't deny it, I kept thinking about you and kept making plans in my mind about possible ways to see you, I was sort of obsessed, but I was also angry that you didn't seem to want to be with me as badly as I did.

I was mad at you and wanted to get back at you and I also wanted to show my dad that he was wrong about your family, so I asked you and your brother over to have tea in the garden with us. I kept touching your brother's arm and laughing at his comments even though they weren't all that funny just to get on your nerves. I'm not sure if it worked. I mean, yes, you were awfully quiet and seemed to be waiting impatiently for the moment when you could leave and lock yourself up in your room forever, but it might have just been the fact that it was your first time in my house and my dad's a scary guy. He seemed fascinated by your brother, though, loved that he was so ambitious, even at such a young age, and said it was wonderful that he spoke three languages (I bit my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that you, too spoke three languages). As we grew up, my dad insisted that your brother study something along the lines of international business, but as much respect as he had for my father, he ignored his advice and pursued a career in photography. Even so, my dad offered him a job at one of his nightclubs.

Years went by and I guess as your brother's interest in me increased, mine in you did the opposite. Your presence started bothering me, like a child's does after a few hours. You kept acting towards me the way you had when we first met and it was annoying, having a groupie. Then you came out to your parents and it all got increasingly awkward because I knew you were in love with me. When we spent time with your brother it was as if you lost the ability to talk. You didn't come close to me and you made this face, this pout, as if you were a hurt, scared puppy in need of love and hugs. But I wasn't the one to provide you with that, thank you very much. I'm going to be brutally honest here, I enjoyed making you feel that way. It was sort of a reward for having to endure your constant annoying presence. So I always insisted on doing things, always the three of us, and your brother agreed because he was really into me and thought it was great that after all the time that had gone by I was still in such good terms with you. He genuinely believed that the three of us were best friends, and the sad thing is that as much as you suffered being around the two of us, I'm pretty sure you thought that too.

After everything became unbearable, and by everything I mean the sight of you whenever I wanted to be with your brother, I did the horrible thing that broke your heart in tiny pieces and ruined your relationship with him: I told him you were in love with me and that it was making me truly uncomfortable. I might have sobbed as I said it, as if it really hurt me, as if I was in pain for having to tell on you. Now, I don't remember exactly if there was a time when you actually declared your undying love to me or if I'd just said it based on what I'd seen and felt over the years. What I do know is that he took my words seriously because we never went to the main house after that, we hung by the apartment your dad had built next to the real thing.

Let me be very clear now, I don't feel guilty for telling on you. I don't regret having destroyed your relationship with your brother, and breaking your heart was probably the least of my concerns. You became annoying and sad, and I didn't want to have you around. Granted, they were extreme measures, but I did what it took to get you to stay away from me. And you know me, I'm intense, I'm passionate, and I'm extreme. But you are too, because you left for the capital after that and got yourself a pretty little girlfriend! Do me a favor and try not to bore her to death.

Your brother says hi,

Is.