Dear Stanley [Watty's 2019. Completed]

Your hugs

Sunday, April 14th

Dear Stanley,

Your hugs used to contradict your personality. While you were a captivating person, your hugs were shy, gentle, almost like a rare treat that could slip through fingers. Your hugs were the solution to sadness, were the definition of perfection.

The last time you gave me a hug was a year ago.

You had just arrived home after being gone for around a week. The junior class went on a trip to Washington, D.C.

I remember feeling miserable all week, feeling like I was being deprived from my brother. In fact, our entire household seemed less bright, as if there was a light bulb within all of us that was turned off. It was too quiet without you there, Stanley. We didn't have anyone to make us laugh or anyone to get mad at.

It was just a soulless and silent house.

Of course, back then, we knew you were going to come back. Back then, while Mom and Dad and me were all sad, we still could function and survive. Back then, Mom and Dad acknowledged me and attempted to create conversation. It minimized the pain your burning absence gave us.

When we heard a knock on our door, I remember all 3 of us eagerly ran to answer it, waiting to embrace you with open arms.

I was the first one there, and I excitedly opened the lock, ready for you to engulf me in your manly scent as we hugged.

But instead, you completely brushed past me once the door was opened, as if you didn't see me, and gave a quick hug to Mom and Dad with as much disinterest as possible. You were answering all our questions with one word answers, as if you would rather be anywhere else but home.

The optimistic part of me hoped that you just didn't see me and that you were going to give me a really good and nice hug once you did. But the realistic part of me had already begun breaking into pieces.

As you started trekking towards your room, I saw glimpses of Mom and Dads face too. They were slightly shocked, but not as shocked as me. They've been preparing for this - for their oldest son to get tired of his family. I hadn't.

I knew that if you were a freshmen, or even a sophomore, you wouldn't have acted like this. Before you became "too old" for me, you'd give me a hug for the smallest things.

Whenever I got an A on an assignment (which was often...until you left) you used to give me a hug and tell me how proud you were. Whenever I used to get nightmares you'd give me a hug and ask me to tell you about it. Whenever I got hurt you'd give me a hug and tell me I was just getting stronger.

You'd give me a hug for the smallest things up until your sophomore year, and now you just ignore me?

These red flashes of betrayal and anger coursed through me. I realized at that moment that you weren't being yourself for a long time Stanley. Ever since the start of junior year.

"Stanley. What about me?" I asked, just before you stepped on the staircase, ready to go hide in your room. You turned around and forced a gigantic smile.

"Shoot, how could I forget my little squirt?" You said, through forced cheeriness.

We hugged then, and I could tell you weren't putting your heart and affection into it. It was like I was a stranger.

It makes me sad, thinking about it now, how my last memory of you giving me a hug is sad and pathetic.

I just wish you at least told me when you were going to leave. So we could redo it. So my last memory of giving you a hug wouldn't have been as sharp and cutting and slicing through as it is now.

For now, all I can do is cling onto the happy memories of you giving me hugs and hope they are enough to cure the hurt.

Even though I know they won't be.