The Summer I Learned to Breathe

nineteen

☼ nineteen ☼

A few days come and go without any contact from Sam. I've missed his presence throughout my countless hours of thinking, crying, and thinking some more. I haven't eaten like usual, I haven't smiled like usual, and I haven't slept like usual. I'm finally facing the loss of my brother rather than running away from my problems.

It's early Saturday morning. I'm reclining on a comfortable chair on the deck, a soft blanket draped over my lap and a steaming coffee in one hand, a tissue in the other, admiring the beauty of the sunrise complete with fog floating over the lake.

It's quiet, a silence that would have once driven me insane. Now, surprisingly, I embrace it.

Acknowledging Austin's passing by verbalizing it with Sam and recognizing it in the seclusion of my bedroom helped me put the situation to rest. The pain will always be there, but I finally feel like I can look at Gabe without immediately thinking about Austin.

I'm feeling a thousand times better than this time last week. All I really need to do at this point is mend the relationship between my father and myself, and maybe have a solid conversation with Gabe regarding Austin.

It's ironic, actually, that I'm finally mourning the situation today; the anniversary of Austin's passing. It's taken me exactly a year to acknowledge the situation.

Today is also the second, and Madison leaves for college today. I'm not sure why, but people tend to leave me on the second of August.

A faint ring of the doorbell catches my attention. I reluctantly abandon my position on the deck to cross through the house to answer the door. I don't really desire to see anyone yet: it's early in the morning and I'm wearing gym shorts with an old t-shirt, my hair is tossed into a ponytail, and I haven't showered or applied any makeup yet.

But when I peek out the window to see Sam standing on my front porch, hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts and looking adorable as ever, I unlock the door because I'm glad to finally see him. I open the door, and his eyes land on my figure. I look like a mess: my eyes are swollen and puffy, and my lips are molded into a thin line. I'm just glad I don't have snot all over my face.

"Hey," he speaks first. It's an understatement to call the sitation awkward. We've never had a disagreement until just a few days ago, and we haven't spoken since.

"Hi." I slowly take in his image. His hair is disheveled and his eyes appear slightly bloodshot; he's exhausted. His lips sit in a defined line, and his eyebrows crease in the slightest way to display his concern.

"How're you holding up?" He questions hesitantly.

I glance at the floor, but only for a moment before I find his eyes once again. "Better," I confirm.

He nods. "I want to tell you about my parents," he surprises me with the sudden comment. I always wondered why he lived with his grandparents rather than his parents, but he never shed any sort of light on the situation.

Apparently he's ready to share a heavy story with me now.

I motion for him to come inside, and I lead him to my spot outside on the deck. This time, I grab my blanket and sit on the porch swing beside him, draping the blanket across both of our legs in an attempt to make him more comfortable. I realize he's about to open up to me like I had done a few weeks ago, and I know how incredibly hard it is to let the words come out when they have been choked down for such a long time.

Sam stares at the lake, taking in the sight. Then, he looks at the blanket covering our laps as he collects his thoughts. I just sit there patiently, waiting for his words. I could sit here forever until he's ready.