I feel as though it’s wrong to be writing in Marcel’s journal. I don’t even know who I am writing to. I’ve never written in a diary before, how do I start this? Hi, I’m Harry? I don’t know. I also don’t know why Marcel finished his last entry in the middle of a sentence. Maybe it was because mom and I came home, or maybe it was because his heart could bear no more an he stopped writing. All I know, is that he never picked this journal up again. Maybe he saw no point in continuing a story that did not have Diana in it.
It’s been fifteen years since Diana died. It’s been fifteen days since Marcel joined her. No, he did not commit suicide. Marcel died in a similar fashion to Diana, only he was driving safely and a bunch of teenagers were too drunk to know what the word safety means.
Mom and I have been going through Marcel’s stuff for days, when yesterday I found his journal. I read it, and it was not the story of his life, but instead the story of his love. It felt wrong to leave it unfinished, with nothing but an unfinished sentence. So I’m here to write about Marcels life after Diana.
That may be the wrong thing to say, because Marcel had no life after Diana. He didn’t marry, or even date anyone else, despite my best efforts. To my knowledge, Lily was the only girl Marcel was ever with, maybe even the only girl he ever kissed. It hurts to think he never got to kiss Diana. I myself married Pamela Anderson, turns out she’s my soul mate and all it took was for Marcel to introduce us.
Back to Marcel, he traveled the world, spent a year in New York, six months in Bali, a year in India, three years in Kenya, and two years in Italy before he finally came home to Holmes Chapel and opened up a cafe where small high school bands could come play. He called the cafe Diana’s. A picture of the two of them still hangs behind the counter.
Marcel never really recovered from losing her. There were times he would just blank out and I knew he was thinking about her. His love that was stolen away from him. When I got the phone call that Marcel had passed away, I felt… comforted. He was with Diana, wherever that may be. He was with the woman he had grieved for for fifteen years. The other day I was walking down the street with my daughter, and I saw a couple sitting outside Marcels cafe, and I swear, I swear it, I saw the high school faces of my brother and his true love.
Now a moment to talk about Diana. I am eternally grateful to that woman, now that I know all that she did to fix my brother and I. She’s the reason he and I ever spoke again. The reason I got my twin back. Even before reading Marcel’s diary, I knew that she was the reason for this. Which is why the daughter I was walking with, my eight year old, her name is Diana. Diana Styles. A name that Diana Rivera never got to call her own.
As I grow old, I don’t feel as though I’m not a twin anymore. In fact, I feel closer to my brother than ever. Because through it all I know what we are…
Brothers Forever.
