25 - The Letter

25

The Letter

Isaiah

I 'm not sure there's a better sight than Aurora curled up in my bed.

Raven is coiled tightly into the curve of her legs, and Aurora is burrowed underneath the covers and holding tight to the pillow I was previously using. Her curls are a haphazard halo around her head, and her lips are slightly parted.

The heat from my mug seeps into my palms. It's only eight A.M.. Usually, she's up with me by now, but it's a Sunday. The team is off, and she doesn't have physical therapy, so I don't wake her. Ever since the injury, we haven't spent more than two nights away from each other. It's not even something we've discussed; it just happened. It's been a real fucking sight to see her open up to me again.

I set down a second mug on the nightstand and bend down. "Rora?" She stirs, arms stretching out, but burrows her face further into the pillow. Leaning down, I brush a kiss over her cheek. "Coffee's on the table, and I'll make you breakfast whenever you wake up." She mumbles something incoherent while I bring the covers up and make sure her brace is still on.

Taking my coffee, I leave Raven and Aurora curled up in my bed where I'd rather be. But I can't stop thinking about the letter I got in the mail yesterday, and I can't bring myself to sleep.

It's funny how when everything seems to be going right, things suddenly decide to go wrong.

Aurora's dad was first.

The letter is second.

Elijah's scrawl is the same. I don't recognize the address, though I suppose that's insignificant, but the messy, quick hand, half-print-half-cursive is the same. An insignificant detail but one I can't stop focusing on. I haven't told Ro, simply for the fact that I haven't opened it. It hits me that he must have spoken to Mom because she's the only one with my address.

Something I learned in my six years was that you can prepare and do the work as much as you want. But when something takes you by surprise, it's hard not to fall into those old ways. I let my head fall forward, running my hands forward toward my face. The bitter taste of the coffee lingers and so does the fear of opening that envelope.

All the fights with Mom come rushing back.

All the conversations I had with Elijah before he left are instantly replayed. Wondering if now that I'm older, I'll remember something I missed back then.

All the unanswered calls, emails, messages won't let me breathe.

All the thoughts I had, wondering what I did to him to make him leave me, sink right back onto my shoulders.

I knew Elijah felt a lot of pressure from Mom from the moment our dad died. I was a baby, barely pushing two, so I don't have much memory of him. The only pressure I had was to grow up. But Elijah… everything was expected of him—the grades, a career, help with me, a job when he was old enough, all of it. Pressures that shouldn't be put on a teenager, let alone a kid.

But I've never been able to come up with a ‘why' for why he left and why he left me behind.

I send a text to my mom, asking her to call me in a bit, and run the edge of the letter under my fingertips. It's thick; I can feel the edges of paper underneath. Part of me wants to rip it up and throw it away, not even waste my time. But at the end of the day, he's still my brother. He may have left me, maybe he stopped thinking of me as his brother, but I never stopped thinking of him as mine.

"Isaiah?"

I whirl around to see Aurora holding a mug in one hand and Raven in another. I wish I had a camera so I could capture it. She looks beautiful. Tired eyes, messy curls, and my t-shirt draped over her brown skin.

"Morning."

She smiles, but it's interrupted by a yawn. I watch as she kisses Raven on the forehead, who meows, and then sets her on the ground. Aurora pads around and sits next to me on the couch, tucking herself into my side.

"What are you looking at?"

I lift my arm and pull her in, placing a kiss on her heap of her curls. "Got a letter from Elijah. Haven't opened it yet."

"A letter?" She yawns again, and I wait for the news to break through the sleepy haze. "Wait." She sits up. "What?"

I laugh dryly. "Yeah." I hold it out to her.

Her hazel eyes widen before searching for me. They soften, and she exhales. "You haven't opened it."

"No, I'm not sure I can."

Aurora nods, leaning into me again. My hand rests on her thigh, wrapping around the smooth thickness of it to ground myself.

"Do you want me to? Or do you want me to go?"

"I do not want you to go." My words are firm.

"Okay, okay. I just wanted to check. I don't want to suffocate you," Aurora says, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Are you sure?"

"Please open it."

She huffs a sad laugh next to me. "His handwriting is the same."

The aching in my ribs only grows when she notices the same stupid detail I did. I guess there aren't many other details to notice, but still. The only other detail is his address being somewhere in Massachusetts. The tearing of paper and the rustling that ensues draws my eyes back to her hands, where she's pulling a thick wad of paper from the envelope.

She unfolds it, and his messy scrawl is everywhere. After a second, Aurora looks at me. "I think you should read this, Isaiah." Though she tries to hide it, her eyes water. I rest my head on her shoulder now, feeling her hand come up around me, a soft palm on my cheek. "I'll be right here."

I take the letter, feeling the marks of the pen on the paper.

Isaiah,

There is no way for me to start this letter off. A simple apology doesn't encompass the full range of emotions I feel writing this, but regardless, I am incredibly sorry for what I did to you. I want to start off by saying the reasons I have for leaving do not excuse the pain I caused you in doing so. It won't change what I did or how that made you feel. There are a million things in my life I wish I could re-do, a million things I wish I could say or unsay, a million things I would do differently. But leaving you the way I did is number one.

I also want to make it clear that you should not feel the need nor any obligation to respond. I admit that this letter is selfish. For me, I suppose, since the result of my choice is not knowing how you are.

I left because I had to. For me. There was no air left for me to breathe—around Mom, at school. Every time I came home, I lost pieces of myself in the process. Lost sight of the things I wanted and the person I wanted to become. And I couldn't remember how to fight for them. My grades were awful, my social life was non-existent, and I was just…so tired. I couldn't take the pressure from Mom. When Dad died, we were too young to understand what death is, what it does to the people left. And Mom didn't know how to live without him. I had to be responsible every day for the years to come. My childhood left when he did. I'm not mad at Mom anymore, but I was. For what she did—forcing me to grow up before I even knew who I was. Forcing me to meet expectations that were skyscrapers. Forcing me to be an adult and a caretaker instead of her son. And I was angry at myself when I got older. For losing myself, for pressuring myself to be everything. A role model for you, a student, valedictorian, the degree, friendships, work—you get the point.

I left because I knew if I didn't, I was saying goodbye to a life I'd barely had time to dream about. I left because I wanted to become more than what I was. I wanted to be someone to be proud of, and I couldn't do that there. Driving back and forth, prioritizing everything except myself. I wanted to be something—be someone. To make something of myself. To stop putting myself last. I was indifferent to my life and that…I couldn't let that be it. I left for myself.

In spite of the consequences, in spite of the pain it might cause, I left because if I didn't, my life would've never begun. I wish I had done it differently. I wish I had told you. And I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for abandoning you, for leaving you behind.

One thing has never changed, Isaiah, and that is that I love you. Even if you hate me, even if you never want to see me again, I will love you for the rest of my life. If there is one thing I hope you take from this letter, if you stop reading right now, I hope it's that—that I love you. And always will. Even if I haven't always done a good job of showing it. You're my brother. You will always be my brother.

I don't even know my eyes are watering until a drop lands on the page. Quickly, I place them down because I don't want to ruin them. Tears leak out of my eyes. A war rages between wanting to rip those papers to tiny shreds and wanting to keep reading despite the deepening hole in my chest.

"Oh, Zay." Aurora pulls me into her, her body becoming a safe haven. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I wish I didn't understand what he felt then, but I do. Because I felt it when he left. Fuck. I want to hate him. But I can't because he's my brother, and he couldn't ever let us know he wasn't okay because we were the ones looking to him.

"I wish I hated him."

She adjusts to look at me, her bad leg resting over my lap and caging me in. No place else I'd rather be but surrounded by her. Especially when everything else feels like shit. Her fingers curl around the side of my face, tears rolling over her thumb.

"I know. But that's not who you are." Aurora has this way of seeing people, even when they don't want to be. Like she did when we were little kids. Like she has every day since. She tries to hide it. Make herself seem tougher than she is. I've always seen right through it. Because I have a way of seeing her.

"I've been telling myself I'm indifferent for years. That I was over the anger and the hurt because I didn't have a choice. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?"

Aurora rubs her thumb back and forth on my cheek. "I don't have an answer. I wish that I did." She sighs. "I know it wasn't easy, but you got through it then. You'll find your way through this."

"Barely," I whisper, attempting a deep breath.

"What?"

I open my eyes and find hers waiting with questions. And a deep sadness. "Barely. I barely made it through, Ro." It feels like there's a giant rock on my chest, darkness seeping in at the edges of my mind. "It sounds like he was drowning, that he stopped wanting to breathe. That's what I felt when he left. I felt that way every day for almost two years. I didn't care about anything. I didn't want to be anyone. The meds help, but I don't want that to happen again. I don't want to feel like that again."

Pain glimmers in her eyes and over her features.

Aurora grips my face firmly. "If it happens, you will get through it. You aren't alone." I'm not sure what she sees in my eyes, maybe the fear that it's happening again, maybe something I'm not sure of myself, but she continues. "You get to decide what happens next, Isaiah. Whether you keep reading or shove it in a drawer for later. Whether it means something or it doesn't. Whatever you decide is okay. He's your brother. I get that; I understand that it probably feels like you owe him something. It's your life. You've lived it on your own for the past six years; you know yourself best. You do what's best for you."

Isn't it strange how hard doing what's right for you can feel? How hard it can feel to put yourself first?

Her words are like an anchor, and I latch on, pulling myself back to Earth and to reality. Shame rushes through my veins at letting her see this—this fragile state that I'm in.

"Hey. Don't you dare pull away from me. If you need space, I'll give it to you, but I'm right here. For you. All versions of you. In all the shitty parts of life. Not just the pretty parts. I'm right here. You're not alone." There's desperation in her voice, and I huff.

Stupid of me to think that this girl, my Aurora, would ever turn away when I need her.

Our foreheads touch, and I place a kiss on her forehead, letting my lips linger. "Thank you. I can't thank you enough."

Aurora makes it so our eyes meet. "You don't need to thank me. You're my person, Isaiah. I want to be there for you. I will always be there for you."

Abandonment fears run deep in this relationship, a thread of connection between the two of us. One that could hurt us at any moment. But she isn't going to abandon me. And I'll never leave her again. If there's anyone we can count on, it's each other.

I choke down everything that isn't useful to me at this moment—the guilt, the fear, the pressure. It's not helping. It doesn't matter.

Right now, I have a letter from my brother.

Right now, I've gotta take it one step at a time.

I stare at the front door of Aurora's dad's house.

She's currently at the field with Maazina doing her exercises, getting in some exercise on that knee. I'm almost positive she arranged that so she could give me some space, even though I didn't explicitly ask for it. The letter sits in the backseat, where I still haven't read another word.

But all that anger I attempted to extinguish has come rushing back. I'd always planned on coming here, to her dad's, whether she knew it or not—whether that's smart or not. And maybe today isn't the best day considering, but I'm way past giving a fuck. I stalk up the sidewalk and only hesitate a moment before knocking.

Mr. Matthews appears in the doorway, surprise flickering over his dark brown skin. "Isaiah, what can I do for you?" He gives me his usual firm smile. Guilt pokes its head out since he's always been kind to me.

"How are you doing, sir?" I ask, and he nods, motioning for me to continue. "Do you have time to talk?"

Mr. Matthews steps aside, and I step in. There are photos everywhere—of him and Aurora, and Sophia, and the grandkids. But it's him and Aurora that sticks out. Her as a baby on his shoulders while he coaches, him helping her put on shin guards and cleats, them together on Halloween and Christmas. Aurora napping on his chest, him doing her hair, walking her to school. They are everywhere. That's the dad Aurora deserves.

"Can I get you anything?" Mr. Matthews leads us to the living room. The pictures and knick-knacks continue, details of his own life sporadically spread through the house. He takes a seat at the office chair.

"No, thank you." I sit on the big ottoman. Images of Aurora flash in my head. Mostly of her trying to put on a brave face whenever her dad is brought up. I can see the fissures cracking in the surface. And I hate how much I can't do anything about it.

"What can I do for you, young man?"

I exhale. "You can't do this to her."

In an instant, his face turns cold. "That's not your business."

"Actually it is. She's my business." I rest my elbows on my knees and meet the cold expression on his face. "You will regret it, Mr. Matthews. If you do this to her, if you let her believe that you don't care about her beyond her accomplishments, you will never forgive yourself. And you will hurt her. More than you already have."

"And what do you know about that?"

It stings. That's what he's good at. He may not be my father, but I know him well enough. "I know what it's like to be left. You may not be leaving her physically, but you are leaving her. Leaving her to interpret how you feel about her, if she's done enough to earn your love, if she will ever do enough. All she's ever wanted was your attention, your approval. You realize that right?"

He leans back, surveying me. "That's not true. She manages just fine."

I cough out a dry laugh. "Manages? Manages what? Feeling like everything she does isn't enough for you? Besides that, you want her to what…just manage to get by? Just manage for the rest of her life?"

"I'm not really sure what you're trying to get at here, Isaiah." He maintains the cool air about him, as if he's unfazed by it all. But I see it brewing under the surface. It'll ruin him if he lets it—the pride. The need to maintain ground that is crumbling.

He'll lose his daughter if he lets it.

"What I'm getting at is that you need to grow up," I say, uncaring at the angry shock in his eyes. "Your daughter asking you to express that you're proud of her isn't a weakness. Her wanting you to care about her beyond the field isn't stupid. It's human. She loves you. She wants to be able to talk to you, laugh with you. Don't you see that? You're her hero, whether you believe it or not. But if you continue this, she won't have one anymore. And you will regret every single day that you miss out on her being a part of your life. I'm asking you to grow up for her sake. Figure out your shit. Fix the relationship before there isn't one to fix."

Mr. Matthews rubs his hands together, avoiding my eyes. I know I've hit a mark. "And what makes you think you can come here and tell me that?"

"Going to be honest, sir, there wasn't much thinking involved. I love your daughter. And quite frankly, seeing her hurt pisses me off. I've hurt her myself by doing what I did. By leaving, which I don't plan on ever doing again. But what you're doing? Hurting her the way you are is bullshit. Aurora tries so hard to be what other people need. To be strong when they need her to be, to be a rock-hard shell so no one hurts the people she cares about. Unfortunately, she doesn't include herself in that shell. And you are poking at every vulnerable spot she has. And it's bullshit. So, no. I don't think I had any ‘right' to come here, as you put it. But when you love someone the way I love her, there isn't much thinking involved anyway. She deserves to have someone stick up for her, and I'm more than happy to do it. Even to you."

I stand, no longer wanting to be in this room with a man so unwilling to see his faults.

Mr. Matthews doesn't say anything, just watches me.

"Have a good rest of your day." I turn and head back the way I came. It's quite possible that it ruined whatever relationship I hoped to have with her father now or in the future. But I can't bring myself to care. If there's even a chance it makes a difference, it's a loss I'm willing to take a million times over.

On the way back to the field, I make a few stops to appear like I was actually running errands. A few groceries, stuff for the apartment, for Raven, and I pick up coffee for the two of us. When I'm parked in the lot, I search the fields, finding Aurora instantly. Her curls are in a high poof, blowing in the wind behind her as she does her exercises across the field, where Maazina waits on the other end.

Her cheeks are rosy, and her smile is wide. Even just touching the field lights her up inside. I know without a doubt she'll be back out there before she even knows it.

With a deep breath, I pull my eyes away and reach for the envelope, pulling out the letters from my brother. And I comb over every word.

Every detail of his life for the past six years. The ups and the downs and the in-betweens. He got his degree and went to med school like he always planned and is currently doing his residency in Boston, hence the Massachusetts address. It's funny in an ironic way that we both had similar experiences in the haze of it all—mental health, medication. For different reasons but the similarity remains.

At the end of the letter, he wrote all of his contact information should I choose. His email, his phone number, and his address again. My grip tightens on the letters when I see it. The option is there. An open line of communication. But the fear remains.

If I call and he doesn't answer, what then? If I send a letter and it goes unread, where will that leave me? Back where I started?

And if I call and he does answer…what the fuck does that mean?

Am I ready for either of those possibilities?

With a sigh, the letters float into the passenger seat, and I turn my eyes back toward the field. Aurora must have noticed me because she waves excitedly with a big, bright smile.

My nerves settle at the sight of her. There was never a moment I doubted how much I loved her. Not a split second of time where that was ever a question. That hasn't changed; it never will.

I chuckle to myself when she sticks her tongue out before turning away. Whatever happens, I know it'll happen with her by my side.

That's all I've ever wanted.

Funny how some things fall apart and other things come together.

Life has a way of testing you, and you never know when, you never know how, and you never know what's included. But as long as my life includes her, I'll make it through.

Aurora is the dawn after an endless night.

And I plan on seeing every sunrise.