Dear Darren
Dear Darren,
I ceased to question what your thoughts were regarding my visitation after all that has occurred in my absence. I do not think I ever thanked you for letting me off the hook too easily; sure we quarreled quite a bit during my second week of stay, but you never made me make the funeral arrangements. All I was required to do was show up, just as the other 78 members of our extended family had. God, I could still remember- and I took note of your faint expression and I could tell you loathed it too- dozens of our blood line walking into our home, weeping and embracing us tightly, as they mumbled the same cliche I have heard in TV shows and such. “She is in a better place”, “she loved the both of you so much”, “I’m so sorry for your loss”, “it won’t be the same without her around here.” I think you get the image, and I surely don’t need to remind you.
I dreaded getting onto the train. I haven’t boarded it for close to a year. I liked that my semester in the Sorbonne kept me occupied through the rather tough times our family faced. You envied me for it, I know, and I hated you for envying me. You were the bearer of this fault, for not escaping sooner. You had every opportunity to- Leone’s house in Miami, that computer engineering internship in Chicago. Christ, even the military wanted you out of our small town in the middle-of-nowhere-Massachusetts. But you persisted. Additionally, you ceased our bi-weekly phone calls when I moved to Paris for my spring semester. Then, simply to spite you, I chose to extend my stay through a summer internship at an arts dealer in the city. Remind me, was that when you finally called me? I cannot recall, only your indignant tone of voice as you listed everything that was wrong with Cedarbrooke, Massachusetts. Grandma’s hospital bills piling atop the dining table, dad’s broken pick up truck, and the solemn atmosphere of the town (you hated it when everyone left for the Cape in the summer). Dad’s truck proved to be costly, yet you were persistent. That old rusty piece of metal was your favorite possession, and none of us were to bring up the subject of selling it, per grandmother’s request.
Yet, there I was, waiting for you and that old piece of metal to come pick me up from the Cedarbrooke train station. I could have walked home, I thought about it too; the station was about a 15 minute walk, and I thought anything was better than being in your spiteful presence - even if it was only for 5 minutes.
You made me wait quite a bit, Der. I could have been home, laying in my childhood bed as I pondered about my decision to come back. I loved grandma, don’t get me wrong. However, the thought of coming back to a Cedarbrooke without her seemed excruciatingly painful. And surely it was.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Sorry for being late, the truck didn’t start up again.”
This easily could have been a lie. I knew there were numerous problems with the pickup, but I ceased to listen to you about your beloved vehicle because it bore me. Last time we talked, I knew you mentioned a successful repair, but I forgot about what.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Then began the longest 5 minutes of my life. You didn’t say a word. I most certainly did not. As you pulled up to the driveway, I noticed your slight glance. You wanted a reaction from me. A tear, a twitch on my face, anything that showed my regret for being far from home for the longest time. I did not give in, and you should have known better.
I approached the front door with my beat up suitcase and a heavy heart. It hurt to breathe as you unlocked the door, knowing my beloved grandmother would not be waiting for me at the end. Celia Nyack, dead at the age of 72, not by old age, as some might assume, but at the hands of a drunk driver one unfortunate foggy Thursday night.
I am sorry, Der, for isolating myself from the situation when you needed me the most. She raised us, and to me a world without Celia Nyack was impossible to live in. Finally, I thank you, for holding my hand as we stepped in, and when they lowered that dreadful box that now carried our beloved grandmother. I appreciated you more than ever that day.
Sincerely,
Your beloved sister