Every Breath You Take

53

Throughout the day, thunderclouds slowly crawled across the sky. Devouring the sun's light, thick clouds full of rain hung over the world like a blanket. Around dinner time, the first drizzle began, and thunder echoed in the distance with a rumbling promise of inching closer and closer to me as hours ticked by. I didn't mind it, though. Mom and I had always loved thunder.

A beautiful crescendo rose in the sky, and tears poured down onto our small little town as some entity above cried. It seemed fitting that today would end with rain. It felt like we were beginning again as the rain washed away the mistakes and hurt of the past. In this new chapter, I think my brothers, father, and I all silently promised to be more honest. In this chapter, in this new beginning, we would emerge unafraid to express all that we felt and all that we loved. The rain was our promise to begin anew with one another.

This promise made me think about Aiden and how today, in the cemetery, he'd talked about shedding that porcelain mask on his soul to ever be able to love himself the way he needed to. Looking at the invisible mask that hung heavy on my face, I couldn't help but shudder. It was a beautiful and miserable porcelain thing, and it hung heavy on my soul, freezing to the touch—freezing in my heart. This mask would take time to chip away at. Prying it off my face wouldn't be easy, but I felt that deep down, one day, it would fall off. Like clay when water rushes over it, the material of the person I was hiding behind would slowly fade with time and effort. I didn't want to hide from my family anymore. I didn't want to hide from anyone. And I knew it would take time, but I knew that finally being able to rip this mask away would be worth it in the end. After watching Aiden finally rip his mask away... I was more than certain that it would be worth it.

We'd stayed at the cemetery for a while, the four of us holding each other until the tears stopped and Aiden's hiccups echoed loudly around us. Saying our final goodbye to mom, promising to come back sooner than her next anniversary, the four of us went to lunch and Aiden began opening up to us about Maverick. It was a small step of progress, a few little things and hobbies that Aiden and Maverick shared mentioned here and there, but it was something. It was something that had my brother smiling again—laughing again—and that's all that mattered in the end. It didn't matter who he loved—or what gender he loved. Happiness, the raw and beautiful kind, was all we wanted for Aiden, and he found that in Maverick. I could see it. Dad could see it. Isaac could see it. Nothing else mattered but that sparkling look in Aiden's eyes whenever he mentioned Maverick's name. It was so beautiful to watch. So magnificent and wonderful.

I'd never been in love before, truly in love with someone, but watching Aiden made me realize that a part of me hoped I'd find someone that made me feel like that too. One day.

The rest of the day, my family and I spent it on the couch, multi-tasking as we swapped glances at the TV—the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was on—and talked about life. Everything. The day had been tough, full of sorrow, and tears, but also full of laughter and celebration of family. Dad had gone to bed early, his eyes red with exhaustion. Aiden had gone up next, his eyes swollen from crying, but the smile on his lips was the weight of the world falling from his shoulders. Isaac, however, was always the night owl.

As dusk came and went, night setting in with all her glory, Isaac remained on the couch, the TV light flickering across his handsome face as he clicked through channels. For a while, I'd remained next to him, basking in this comfortable silence we'd had. But eventually, the itch to write became too much and I'd dashed upstairs, thrown a coat on, and made my way to a familiar café in town.

My fingers twitched, eager to grab a pen. The writer inside of me was restless, twisting and turning within the deepest parts of myself to get words onto paper. The weirdest part of it all, however, was the fact that my head and my heart had never been so in sync. Content. Never in my life had my head been so quiet, the rhythmic thudding in my chest constant and steady. I felt good, though. And maybe it was the peacefulness that made me so restless—restless enough that at 10 p.m., I was sitting by the window at Violet's café, my writing journal in front of me as I scribbled away, occasionally doodling something along the corners of my pages.