I should tell you about my brother. Not because he's a cornerstone of my life or anything, but you should just know. Also, he called yesterday. Which means nothing to you, so let me tell you about Tyler.
The thing is, I guess, he's always sailed through life. It's like the universe itself likes him. I don't know; I've never met anyone else who was so at ease in their own life. Because of this, I think, he tends to accept things as they come. The world hands him things, and he can examine them without fear or worry or all the other things that come with the unknown.
It's admirable.
I'm not jealous of my brother. I feel like that's important to say. He works hard (grad school now) and is lucky enough to ease through life, causing all the right ripples.
He doesn't have words like I do, though. I mean, he doesn't need them. His breathing on the end of the line or hand on my shoulder or wicked grin when he tugs at my hair: no words necessary. It's enough.
Which people make life enough?
It scares me to think like that. If everyone... leaves, am I enough?
I'm afraid Clair won't be the only one, and I'll be the last historian, recording as everyone walks into the shadows.
̶B̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶I̶t̶'̶s̶
̶T̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶
I was writing about Tyler. Tyler.
He knows how to live, so when he's calling about how you're living your life, that means you might want to reconsider a few things. Not that he said that, but I knew.
It's not... I don't know how to explain, really. He didn't ask how things are going (a pointless question) or even bring up Big Topics (you know the ones).
He was just there, on the other end of the line. His presence was enough for a few minutes.
I wish he didn't live in Michigan.
YOU ARE READING
Minnesota Goodbyes
Teen FictionM., a college sophomore, is haunted by the events of a year ago that ended another girl's life. In an attempt to clear her conscience, she writes her confession down in a battered notebook addressed to a stranger. This search for redemption is far m...
