He always smiled. A grin stretching from one side of his lopsided face to the other. His eyes squinting, a small glint of his heart between the crack of his eyelids. He was never unhappy. I remember when he broke his leg. Tears streamed out of his eyes, but frown he did not. He laughed and grinned as he explained his fall from the highest, skinniest branch, and how it had creaked, cracking loudly as he tumbled down. I remember the day he got his learners, how I had to urge him to drive a little faster, how he would break the instant a bird came near. I remember his first girlfriend. I remember his first heart break. I remember when his father died. I remember his speech at the funeral. He spoke so gently, so calmly, telling the story of his fathers life in a way only a son could. I remember the tears in the eyes of every single person in the room as they listened to his words. I remember how he sat on my bed, cradling me as I slept fitfully, terrified of the visions in my dreams. I remember when he met her. I remember how his smile grew, how it crept onto the faces and into the hearts of everyone around him. I remember when she left. I remember finding pieces of his heart around the house. On the trampoline, where they kissed for the first time. In the kitchen, he had readied their first meal. His bedroom, the place they spent most of their time. I remember when his heart died, shrivelling up like an old pear. I remember how his smile disappeared.
I remember telling him that relationships always end. I remember his defiance. I remember the shouting, his voice screaming to the world that old lovers can maintain friendships. I remember how he pulled me close, whispering his hope that she would come back. I remember muttering to myself the impossibility of a mended relationship.
I remember the day she returned, glowing, her belly ripe with pregnancy. I remember how they disappeared into his bedroom. I remember watching the hands on the clock tick agonisingly slowly, completing an entire revolution. I remember her leaving. A wave of the hand, a kiss on the air. I remember his smirk. I remember the punch to my shoulder, I had been wrong. I remember the kiss on my forehead, the scent of his cologne. I remember how he tried to hide that grin. I remember wondering where it had been.
I remember the day his life ended. Quietly, peacefully, he drifted off to sleep, surrounded in his solitude. I remember the smile. A grin which stretched from one side of his perfectly lopsided face to the other. I remember the words he spoke as he left. 'She was beautiful. Make sure she knows.'
