Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #41

My life has taken on this duality. Before and after. Streaks of color and thick greys. Starry skies and voids of space. But the way these things mirror each other is painful in a way I never anticipated. I retread the same ground, but it's dead and frozen now, instead of blooming with life. And I will walk this path forever and ever.

A desert of cracked earth. Now and then.

Even then, you were aware of this dichotomy. With and without.

Thanksgiving break had alerted you to the difficulty you were going to face at the end of the semester. Without. A month apart? Neither of you acknowledge it until you're both back in your respective hometowns.

Phone calls and messages and emails. They are bland recollections of your days (monotonously without her), but Clair's responses, her voice, her words breathe life into you. Until you must sever the connection again for whatever duty the day brings.

And in each message, words are written between the lines. Come over. Come here. Don't let me be alone.

And then she doesn't. She doesn't leave you alone, and you are whole again.

When Clair comes for the weekend, it feels as though a dirty mist has lifted, and the world is sparkling and new again. She slips into your life, charming your parents and teasing Tyler and expanding your world.

Which is an odd thing to think, you decide, but not inaccurate. Everything spread out bigger and bigger before you. Everything meaning more.

You're grateful for her presence, for her helping your parents with dinner, for her simply being. The meal drifts away, and your mom pours you both a glass of wine. It feels right, all of you sitting around the table, laughing and anointed with wine.

It's a confirmation of sorts, you think. Of your adulthood, of Clair, of your parents' approval. It's the first time they've let you drink with them (though they aren't stupid enough to think it's your first drink), but it's not the liquor that warms you all the way through.

The night goes on, you and Clair regaling your parents with the stories you can tell, Tyler and your dad cutting in with exploits of their own. Your mom recounting how she and her roommate stole a couch off someone's front porch. (A story you'd never heard, and she shakes her head at it. You can't help but grin. Your mom? Your mom did that?)

But your parents are your parents, and they sink back into who they are, rather than who they were. Soon enough, your dad kisses your forehead, and they both wish you goodnight before ambling upstairs.

Nights belong to you. The days hold obligations, but the dark welcomes freedoms.

It's this freedom that you have on your mind as Clair heads down the hall, and while you snag the bottle of wine, Tyler raising his brow but says nothing. When you wink at him, he shakes his head, grinning. "To be young again."

You roll your eyes and slink to your room where Clair is waiting for you.

Her freckles dance when she sees the bottle. "Will your parents be mad?"

"Nah. Tyler'll cover for us." And though you hadn't discussed that, he will. There is a code of honor between siblings, when to rat one another out and when to have their back, and you and Tyler have navigated these waters before. He'll cover for you.

Clair perches on the end of your unmade bed, and peels both glasses out of your hand. "What are these for?" She peers through it, examining it from different angles.

"Drinking."

She snorts, nodding toward the bottle. "I thought that's what that was for."