Fragile x Lisa Unger

Chapter 1: Reminiscing.

He thought that every road led you somewhere and wherever you wound up, that's where you belonged. 

Regrets were for the shortsighted. For the small-minded. 

What had amazed him, what amazed him still, even after all these years, was how quickly he'd stepped out of himself. The person beneath it was someone he barely recognized. 

He'd tried to tell himself over the years that the circumstances had changed him, that they'd forced him into aberrant behavior. But in his deepest heart, he knew. He knew what he was. He was weak. He was base. He always had been.

It wasn't his habit to be out of communication. 

He was loving then, ready to hug her or kiss her. He'd laugh easily. He was a clown, wanting her to laugh, too. Those days weren't so long ago. 

"You have no right to try to control me. I'm not a child." The fight they'd all had yesterday was over. Everything she needed to say, she'd said. 

It was a thing, like so many things, that could never be undone. 

No matter how sad, how angry she was. The kind of chemistry that made it difficult to fight. They were as likely to dissolve into laughter as they were to slam doors or raise their voices.

She did love him, in that way that teenage girls love, like a hemming. 

Unfortunately, at seventeen, no one realizes that. 

It was a big mess, from which she'd barely extricated herself. But that was another life. She still thought about him sometimes, wondered what became of him. 

He was a troubled boy, she realized now, and probably grew into a troubled man. Any sudden movement to help or control might cause a leap. They wouldn't get him back. 

There was that love, that wrenching, impossible love. It was all so hard sometimes. What does he know about love? Not enough. That's why it's so dangerous.

She didn't know how to comfort him anymore, how to soften him. 

Now he folded into himself, shut everyone else out. You didn't have to be a shrink to know this wasn't a good thing. 

Money, worries, all kinds of stresses, had not robbed her of her love for him. 

She still loved the sight of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. But sometimes she felt like they didn't always look at each other anymore. 

Precious things in the landscape of life, cherished but barely noticed. Maybe, but most often taken for granted. There were worse things. But she loved him no less totally than it was that complete, that much a part of her. He was half of her, for better or for worse.