about a boy,
who was lost,
and thought he was found,
until he meets a girl,
the same girl,
who makes him wonder
if there's more to life
than just getting by.
-
[a Jem-centered novella/sequel to The Girl Who Saw Through Jem]
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Chapter Fifteen
Twin Flame Bruises
Jem
After Effy's funeral, I ended up extending my trip by another week in Philly just to comfort Caleb. It felt like it was old times; we spent the whole of that week just getting drunk in the nearest stinky bar, smoking cigarettes by Lake Jefferson and eating greasy cheeseburgers at 4 am.
"I just wished I could've been a better brother," said Caleb sadly on one of those nights, wine-drunk enough to be blunt and self-effacing.
"Fuck man, why you gotta be so emo," Heath groaned, planting his head into the wooden countertop.
"Let Caleb be emo if he wanted to be emo, you fucking dickhead," I slurred, "His sister died, you shithead."
The booze helped us all. Not that it made the metaphysical weight we were carrying any less, but it helped ease the ache in our shoulders a little bit.
"Where the fuck were you last night anyway? You fucked off to the supermarket for like three hours."
"Oh yeah, funny story," I snorted, "I bumped into Ellis and her dad in the supermarket. Got invited to dinner."
"Holy shit," Caleb stared at me with a slight grimace, "How was that?"
"Fucking awkward."
"Was her boyfriend there?"
I shook my head and tossed back the remainder of my pint. I signalled the bartender for another one and handed my card over for him to charge me. "I don't know man," I sighed. "I just sometimes think it was for the best. But sometimes..."
"Jesus Jem, who knew you were such a romantic?" laughed Heath.
Caleb threw Heath a dark look and hit him upside the head, "Shut the fuck up, you loser. Look Jem, it's been years. Ellis has moved on. You should too. It's only romantic because it didn't happen, if it had happened, it would've just been..life. Stop fetishizing your own sadness, stop romanticising the what ifs and could've beens."
I thought about what Caleb said in that bar, even through my foggy drunkenness, I was able to memorize it. I ended up jotting it down in my little grey journal of ideas for the draft novel I've been working on. The experience of writing them felt like an expression of a broader and more fundamental principle, something in my identity, or something even more abstract, to do with life itself.
Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I had never experienced anything remotely close to it, because I liked to think the individual never stopped growing once they've met their person. If anything, I was constantly amazed by the sheer power of love to alter, define and destroy our lives.
