(Readers are strongly recommended 17+)
It's been two years since "the accident."
My big brother meant the absolute world to me.
My fondest memories consist of us playing together in the snow all winter long, tossing snowballs and rolling snowmen until our parents would call us in for chicken noodle soup and crackers. I remember he attended my elementary school graduation and was so proud of me. I never had to worry about the bigger kids on the block teasing me, because he was always there to protect my shy, innocent presence. If it weren't for him, I would have dealt with so many bullies, but thankfully I had a gracious childhood due to his protection.
As we grew older, we continued a deep relationship that I will forever cherish. Yes, we fought here and there, just like all siblings. But without his guidance and loving character, I don't think I'd be half the person I am today. When I was going through my first serious breakup, he'd call every night and ask how I was doing. Even though I was only seventeen and it meant nothing in reality, it felt like my world was coming to an end. Yet he'd always remind me that I'd get through it, and how I wouldn't even remember his name in five years.
And now my brother is dead...gone forever.
Two Christmases ago, my parents and I set up a surprise party for the homecoming of his first year in university. We invited everyone—and I mean everyone—cousins, uncles and aunts, grandparents, step-siblings. We had cooked his favourite ribs and baked potatoes, all in celebration of him completing the first semester of his degree. We had also bought him many gifts for the Christmas holiday, along with myself, writing a nice, long poem about how much he meant to me.
But my brother didn't come home that night. We waited and waited, sitting in our hidden positions to jump out and surprise him like we had planned for the weeks prior to come.
Instead, we got a phone call at four in the morning, that he had been in a terrible car crash on the drive down to see us. Panicking, we all dashed to the hospital to meet him, but it was too late. He had died from loss of blood, being ejected out the front windshield from the collision of a drunk driver hitting him straight on.
And that was the day my life changed forever. The day where my smile was replaced with an irreparable frown. The day my heart turned so cold it could freeze you from just being within my heartless, bleak presence. I developed a hatred inside me so deep for the driver responsible, as she was the one who got to live and see another day. She didn't have to suffer the loss I did. She didn't have to bury her sibling in the ground because some stupid, pathetic bitch couldn't resist the urge to get fucked up and drive behind the wheel. She had taken over my life, to where all I could possibly think about was how badly I wanted to hurt her back. To make her scream; to make her suffer.
Every day from that point on was a living hell. The fact I couldn't talk to my brother anymore was agony, and I formed more and more hatred inside of me for the one who had taken him away. My dad, distraught, but not to the level that I seemed to be, tried to explain that everything happens for a reason. But I didn't buy it. I didn't feel that my brother was in a "better place," or that it was in his destiny to be taken away from us—from me. I had to face the painful reality that he simply was gone, and that I'd never see his beautiful face again.
And so here I walk once again to the courtroom, on my way to this bullshit trial that has been going on and on for over two years now. Finally, after being postponed and taken to the edge of the very earth, today is the day we will see if my archenemy will plead guilty or not. The day where I will finally—finally—get my justice. I think of all the sleepless nights...all the infinite tears I poured...all the anger and bitterness I've kept bottled up in my heart. I will go to the end of the universe to see that whore rot away in a cage where she belongs. I've got something trapped inside me you can't even fathom, and I will not be denied.
My high heels clank as I make my way up the steps of the courtroom, my long, raggedy blonde hair twisted in knots—on top of a pair of dark sunglasses to hide my swollen eyes and poorly-done makeup. I've been so fucking exhausted the last two years it feels like I don't have any time to take care of myself.
Thinking oncd again about the driver responsible makes my skin crawl. I can just picture her fake tears as the judge reads her sentencing, as she's made a habit of doing so in prior trials. Oh, boo-hoo, bitch. You don't get to be sorry. Because what you took from me can never be replaced.
My family and I enter the courtroom one by one, once again embraced by the somber, bitter aura from the fading memories of my older brother. I take a seat in the back corner like I always do, desperately waiting for the judge to declare the words "guilty" and put this animal away once and for all.
But today will be different. Today I will get to let this woman know how I really feel, as I've been granted permission to write a letter and express all the pain and grief she has caused my family and I. All the endless hope of knowing that we won't get to hold him again and express how much we love him.
I've written over seventy-five pages for her to listen and take in. Seventy-five pages of how I can't live and stomach the fact he's never coming home. More and more sleepless nights I've stayed up and perfected the letter, proofreading it over and over and over, crafting it down to the very last sentence and paragraph. And she's going to listen to every...single...word. If I was above the law, I would quite simply murder that bitch—the way she practically murdered my baby brother. I'd crush that cunt's skull like a tiny ant scurrying across the sidewalk, and wouldn't even think twice about it.
Trying to hold my anger together, I tap my foot up and down restlessly on the floor.
After what feels like forever, the rest of the courtroom slowly filling up in a quiet, sinister tone, the two officers bring the suspect out in a pair of handcuffs, and the trial begins yet again.
Ugh. I hate her so...so much. I want to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until the vocal cords inside her throat literally burst. I want her to feel everything that she's put us through. I sit impatiently, wondering when it's finally going to be my turn to speak, and pour out my true emotions like a raging river being backed up for decades.
And somehow, someway, as I've waited two literal years for this moment—two years to stand up in front of that Goddamn podium and look her straight in the eyes—the judge calls for me to read my letter before the final sentencing. I stand up and remove my sunglasses. It doesn't even feel real, all seventy-five pages, perfected, grasped tightly in my hands. I've dreamt about this for so fucking long, every time envisioning the look in her eyes when she gets sentenced behind those bars, and her life is ruined forever like mine. There's absolutely nothing this girl can say or do to convince me otherwise that she deserves to be spared. I have made my decision, now ready behind the podium.
The judge stacks a sheet of paper and says, "And now we'll hear from Heather Castaway, the sister of the deceased, Matthew Castaway."
Finally...here is it. After everything I've gone through. This is the moment I've waited for my entire life. I can't even process it.
But out of nowhere, as I now get that epic chance to brutally stare into her eyes, the two of us locked like time itself, something changes inside me. Something shifts like the tectonic plates of the earth, my subconscious attempting to tell me something that I've kept hidden and buried for far too long. At first, I try to ignore and suppress it, and carry on with reading my seventy-five pages of spewing hatred I've kept for this girl. But no matter what I do, I can't help but feel a sense of empathy emerging for the individual that's haunted me so, so long.
For the first time in the two years that she's lived rent-free in my head, for whatever reason, for whatever cause, I actually think about how she feels. How horrible and gut-wrenching the guilt and shame must be that she carries every single day. How she probably replays that single event over and over and over in her head, wishing she could build a time travel machine and go back to save my brother. I think about how this has affected her. What was going on in her life to make her drink in the first place? What about all the things she could have been going through and trying to escape, just like I've been trying to escape the last two years?
I also come to the conclusion, after raging so long and telling myself I'd never, ever forgive her, that holding on to this anger and hatred only affects me in the end. That only I can free myself and move on from this horrid event. Sure, it will always haunt me, but I've finally realized that it's time to move on and forgive this individual for everything she's caused me and my family. I never possibly could have imagined taking this route the last two years, but as I finally get to stare into her eyes, I realize that this is the path I must take.
And so I drop my speech to the ground and leave it there—all seventy-five pages that I stayed up night after night perfecting. With a tear rolling down my cheek, I slowly proceed towards the woman, her too pleading for my forgiveness. One of the officers attempts to block my path between the suspect, but I nod and let him know it's okay.
Now only a foot away from her, I do something that I never could have imagined in my darkest nights. Something that in the past would make me rage and despise. But right then, right now, I reach my arms out and hug the same person I literally wanted to kill before this encounter. I hold her there for a minute, embracing this moment forever, as neither one of us says a word, but our actions speak so much louder.
And just like that, the entire courtroom, stunned and silent, I turn around and head for the exit doors. I don't even wait to hear the final sentencing—as it's now out of my control and in God's hands—yet something again I never could have imagined. No one makes a single comment or noise—absolute silence. My high heels clank as I already feel a thousand pounds lighter. My makeup smudged, my hair ruffled in knots, and about to pass out from exhaustion, I proceed through the courtroom doors, met with sunlight shining down on me through a sliver in the trees.
Ready to start my life over.