Say the Word(131)

A flashbulb memory, capturing the exact point in time that the past fell away and my future with Bash began.

When we broke apart, Bash opened Jamie’s envelope with reverence, taking extra care not to tear the paper. He pulled out a single sheet from inside, and his eyes scanned it for several minutes. I watched his face as he read the document through once, then a second time, his eyes narrowing as they poured over each line.

As more time passed, I began to grow nervous. What had Jamie put in that letter? Some kind of brotherly threat, intended to protect me? An embarrassing story from my childhood, meant to warn off any potential suitors?

When Bash finally lowered the letter and turned to look at me, his eyes were strange — guarded and intense — and his words were careful. “You should read this,” he said, passing me the letter before he rose to his feet and walked to the bank of windows to look out over the cityscape below. I felt my heart turn over in my chest as I watched him walk away, gripping the thin paper between my fingertips so hard I feared it might rip apart.

I forced myself to breathe before looking down at the sheet in my hands.



We haven’t met. We probably never will.

But, if you’re reading this, it’s because you love my sister and, for reasons I’ll never get to know about, she loves you too. I’m going to go ahead and presume that you’re a nice guy — my sister wouldn’t settle for a jerk. I’ll even give you the benefit of the doubt by assuming that you’ve got a slew of redeemable qualities that make you “good husband material” or “good father material” or whatever bullshit standards modern women use to justify their decisions when it comes to choosing a life partner.

You might be wondering why I wrote this letter. Contrary to what I’m sure Lux thinks, it’s not to scare you off or to tell you something mortifying about her or to threaten to haunt you from the great beyond if you mistreat her. It’s not even to tell you how great my sister is, or that she deserves to be treasured because, again, I’m going to assume that you know that already.

Instead this letter is one I felt compelled to write because, if I know my sister as well as I think I do, she probably won’t ever tell you the things I’m about to. Not because she’s a big secret keeper — the girl is literally one of the worst liars I’ve ever met — but because it’s too painful for her to talk about. And, trust me, I wouldn’t be telling you unless I thought you needed to know, in order to better understand her — to better love her — for the rest of your life together.

It made her who she is today. It shaped the woman you’ve fallen in love with.

So, I’ll rip off the Band-Aid as quickly as possible: you aren’t the first man to hold my sister’s heart in his hand.

When we were kids, little more than seventeen, she met a boy who changed her life. Their love was the kind that was evident even when they were standing on opposite sides of a room — their bodies would orient like two planets sharing the same orbit, tugged together by forces out of their control. It was there in the light touch of his hand on the small of her back as he guided her into the car. It was there in the beaming grin she unleashed whenever he came to the door. And it was there in the way he loved me, simply because I was the closest extension of her.

I’m not sure I believe in soul mates but, if there were ever two spirits shaped solely for one another, I have to believe it was those two kids from different worlds, who loved so strongly in spite of the many odds stacked against them.

You’re wondering what happened — why is she with you when, if I’m even remotely correct, she should be with someone else entirely?

You’re also wondering why I’m telling you this — what possible point could my story serve, except to piss you off beyond measure or make your own love for my sister pale in comparison?

Don’t worry, I’m getting to that.

As most things eventually do, their love ended. And it shattered her.

I’ve never seen my sister — my happy, hopeful, full-of-heart sister — so decimated as when their love fell apart. She never told me the reason — I’m sure she thinks I went to my deathbed with no knowledge of her sacrifice — but I’m not a stupid man. I put the pieces together easily enough.

It seems ridiculous even now, so many years later, to be writing these words, but sometimes the truth really is stranger than fiction. And the truth is, my sister was blackmailed into leaving the man she loved. Someone close to him forced them apart. I guess you could say she made a deal with the devil — and she lost.

I don’t know the exact terms of their agreement, but I’m guessing it was something like this:

She’d agree to remove herself from the life of the boy she loved and, in exchange, I’d get to live out my days with the best treatment money could buy. Her happiness, her life, traded for mine.

You see, we were poor. We had nothing. The house was in foreclosure and my parents couldn’t afford groceries, let alone my bone-grafts and rehabilitation costs. And then, one random Tuesday afternoon, my sister stormed into my bedroom, fresh traces of tears on her face, and said we were leaving — just the two of us. We were getting out of Jackson and never coming back, never to see our friends — or the boy she loved — again.

That same day — miracle of miracles! — the new owner of our house told my parents they didn’t have to move out after all. Lux suddenly had funds to put a down-payment on a small apartment in the city. Within a week I was at the best medical facility in the state, receiving treatment from some of the foremost oncologists in the country, whose waiting lists are typically longer than the state of Texas. Whoever bumped me to the top of those lists had serious connections — and, I’m guessing, is the same person who forced us out of Jackson.