It was fall of that year that I showed up at the park, a bag of his favorite things in hand to discover our pieces still in play from the week before.
And I knew he was gone.
But what he left me with was a sense of family I hadn’t felt from anyone but Dom since my parents died. I cherish that time we had together. More often than not, I sensed he’d been a major player at one point in his life, and he’d alluded to it often without much detail, though he never really confessed. However, it was clear that there were many aspects of his life he was deeply ashamed of. The most haunting that he was a militant father. Maybe I was his way of dealing with his grief in losing his only son, my company a reprieve for some of his pain. But for whatever reason he reached out—it was worth it to me just to know him.
I can’t remember his last words to me. And as a man with an extensive memory, that ironic and cruel fact baffles me to this day. I’m certain his goodbye that day was filled with warmth and subtle advice. Because despite the man he might have been, he died a kind man, a man I admired and honestly, a man I began to love like family.
When I attended his funeral as his only living relative, I felt the strength of that lie and decided that one day, I would seek out my birth father to try and get him the care he needed to honor Abel. I don’t know if I believe in the afterlife, but I want to because I don’t have a close living relative left, and it’s comforting to think they all may be reunited somewhere and waiting.
I like to think that if an afterlife does exist, Abel rested easier when I finally found Abijah knowing that he was cared for and wasn’t alone when he died. And maybe now, they both have peace.
It’s a question that plagues me often, the existence of the afterlife, and has since my parents died. A question I struggle with daily, mostly due to guilt.
Because if we are truly looked upon, and those who’ve passed are able to hear us, my confession is this— I haven’t spoken a word to my brother since he died.
Every day I wonder if he waits for word from me.
And even with the guilt that he might be waiting, I can’t find the words. I don’t know if I ever will.
With a lump swelling in my throat, I sniff and see a shift in my periphery and look over my shoulder to see Tobias watching me, his arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.
“Is this what you want?”
In his head, it’s what I asked for.
I nod. “Yes.”
“This I can do.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It didn’t seem so long ago when I read it. Did you ever ask about Abijah?”
“No, I never could muster the courage because I think it was too painful for him to talk about.”
I turn my attention back to the journal and run my hand over the page. “Thank you.”
“This is the only time I’ll watch you read it. Whether or not you read my confessions is up to you. And Sensodyne.”
“What?”
“The toothpaste I like.” He shrugs. “I have sensitive gums.”
I can’t help my laugh as I sniffle back the rest of my tears. “I love you.”
“I know,” he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry that’s such a hard task.”
“Not so hard.” I walk over to where he stands, and he cups my face, his eyes glittering with affection.
“You want another confession?”
I nod, captive in his hands.
“I never had a real girlfriend until you. You were my first and only.” His eyes are earnest, his words ripping at my heart when he speaks. “A flirtation, dinners, sex, but nothing more, and Alicia was…a distraction. She was kind and tried to take care of me no matter how much I resisted, but it wasn’t real, we didn’t share a life,” he runs his thumbs along my jaw, “not carving pumpkins, or a turkey, or picking out a Christmas tree, meeting the parents. And I never thought I would ever want these things, but I do. And I want to do these things with you.”