Photo by Laura Pluth on Unsplash

Ten Years Too Long

[Content Warnings: Violence, death, implied suicide]

Yesterday, I saw your sister at the supermarket. And today I am drowning. How strange, how life moves forward.

I thought she had moved away after you. I thought your whole family had; you had moved to the city, an attempt to escape a world that was falling in on itself. Your father disappeared into his work until there was no real pain in his eyes anymore – though there was not much of anything in there. There was nothing left. 

And then your mother, entangled in grief, entrenched forever in a visceral pain that followed her like a bridal train wherever she went. That scream she let out when she saw your body has echoed in me for years. It was the last thing I ever heard from her. It will not leave me, as if you and your family are clinging to me with a final death grip I cannot shake even if I wanted to.

I wanted to ask if your sister’s escape worked. There is some lingering hope in the back of my mind that if it worked for her, then perhaps one day it will work for me too. But we both know it is far too late for that.

* * *

As I look at your sister across the aisle, I hear that scream from somewhere far away. That tone that froze blood, repeating those words that have followed me every day of every year since. It is coming from somewhere behind the cans of beans, somewhere deep in the shelves, and I have a sudden urge to rip the racks apart to unleash that scream. But I am no longer violent like that. I have not been for years; I have tried my hardest not to let you win.

But seeing her here is something I had not expected. Do you know how different she looks now? Her hair is longer – darker – and she is taller. She has grown up, and it strikes me then how much time has passed. She was seventeen then. She must be in her mid-twenties now.

She notices me and her eyes light up with something I do not recognise. Recognition, maybe. But there is something more, something I cannot place. She smiles a warm smile but I forget to return it. She does not seem to notice.

Your sister gets closer to me even though I do not want her to and I am trying, vaguely, without being obvious, to move backwards, but I hit the bean cans on the shelf. I swear under my breath. Of course we have to meet again in a supermarket. It seems that the most important moments of my life have taken place in the most banal of places. All of our moments together, all those years ago, in places other people would not have glanced at for more than a second.

There are so many places in this town that I cannot return to.

This woman before me begins to speak and I have to make an effort to tune my ears in, forcing myself to listen so that your mother’s scream does not get any louder and block out the rest of the world. I force it to a low hum, but it is still there. 

Your sister says it has been so long, emphasising the words in the way that people do when they have not seen each other in years and do not know what else to say. I look back at her and etch that smile you loved onto my lips, and nod. She seems satisfied, but I cannot meet her eyes. And yet she keeps talking.

She tells me she lives in the city now; she is only back for the weekend, visiting friends. I want to say it has been a long time since she’s been back – what friends would even remember her – but I swallow. Of course they will remember her. The whole town does. In this gossipy little hell, her old friends will flock to her like geese, latching onto any piece of information about her life now that they can bite onto. She seems to understand my expression, and says she is visiting some old schoolmates. It has been a while.

She glances down and I follow her eyes to where she has placed a hand on her stomach. There is a bump there. Your little sister is pregnant, and as I stare at the red flower fabric I remember the seventeen-year-old girl who cried when you declared you were leaving for university. The flowers are little daisies, bright yellow in the middle. There is a rip in one of the seams on the side of the dress. As if she is growing out of it right there in front of me. 

She looks happy. I know I should be happy too, be the supportive older-sister-she-never-had that she remembers ten years ago, but we both know that person is gone. You would be disappointed in me and I know that but I keep staring at the flowers.

Maybe it is my surprise, or maybe it is the grief I can feel boiling inside of me, but I look back up and meet her eyes. My mistake, because after ten years I suddenly meet your eyes again and every single moment of the brief time we had together rushes back to the surface. Those piercing blue eyes could never keep things buried.

You always said life wasn’t fair, and I have been forced to recognise that time and time again after I lost you. It seems that this is another one of those moments where the world is playing a cruel joke on me. Dangling the image of you (the memory of you, I must remind myself) and of what could have been, only to provide a constant reminder of what I have lost.

I realise what it was in her smile I did not recognise earlier. Happiness. She has moved on from you, lived a life. You would have been proud, I know. But I cannot get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth. 

“Congratulations,” I force out. She nods and smiles. It looks like she wants to say more – to ask about my life here, my family, how I am – but the scream is getting louder again and I know I cannot stay here talking to her and seeing you. I mumble out an excuse about an appointment somewhere, and I stumble away before she can say another word. I do not look back. I do not know what would happen if I did.

* * *

The next several hours are a blur but I do remember the way the world spins as I stumble out of the supermarket, ridding myself of my insides on the pavement. I remember getting back into my car and driving back home, locking all the doors and closing all the windows and sitting in the darkness of my bedroom. 

It is only when I am sitting crouched on my bed, my head tucked between my legs, that I realise that my groceries are still lying forgotten between the frozen milk and beans. 

The scream has followed me home, and it stays with me as I greet my husband at the door and he asks how my day was. He seems to accept my tight smile and Lovely, dear and doesn’t ask any questions when dinner is leftover shepherd’s pie from two days ago. That’s the thing I like about Marcus; he didn’t ask questions. After all the questions I got after you died, more probing was the last thing I needed. Sometimes I lay awake at night, though, and wonder if you’re angry I married him. Sometimes the thoughts are too much to bear.

But I couldn’t be alone. You know that. You would have understood, I tell myself.

I sit at the dinner table that night with Marcus and our two sons and it is as if the ceiling of our kitchen has been pulled clean off and we are being watched by the world outside, like on one of those shows you used to laugh at. Where you would watch characters go about their lives and laugh at their missteps like you were a god. 

I never thought it was very funny, but I never said anything, of course.

But that is what it felt like, in that moment; like I am no longer at my seat at the table but seeing my family from afar. Seeing my whole life from someone else’s perspective, and watching as all the other audience members laugh at just how empty it was.

Maybe that was when I decided. Or maybe it was when I kissed Marcus goodnight and nodded as he whispered in my ear that he was looking forward to our anniversary next week. He has booked us a table at our favourite restaurant.

Nine years, can you believe it? I should be looking forward to it too, but I am not. I am not so many things. I am not happy, am not excited, am not in love. At least not with Marcus, and a knife buries itself deeper into my chest each time he looks at me expecting to see his love reflected in my eyes. He never has and I do not know why he has stayed, but I am grateful. 

But Marcus could never hold a candle to you. The world has been dark for ten years, ever since you left it, and that flame went out when you did.

As he lets me go, a voice inside me whispered that perhaps this is a good thing. In leaving him I am letting him go, giving him permission to be free. And after ten long years, I am letting myself go.

I kiss my husband goodnight and roll over in the bed, and let sleep take me far away.

The scream finds its way into my dreams.

* * *

The next day, I wake up at dawn, before the rest of the world. I look at Marcus’s sleeping figure one last time before I leave our bedroom, and pad downstairs. I lay out the children’s lunches, grab the keys, and go. I do not need to think about where I am going; the route is carved into my mind from years before.

I have not visited this place in ten years, and I didn’t think I would today. But your sister – your sister, who is soon to become a mother and bring a life into this world – should not have seen me in this town. I need to do what I should have done years ago.

I reach the river and I park the car, and all I can hear is the low buzz of the scream as I get out, leaving the keys in the driver’s seat. The path down to the water is overgrown, covered by brambles, but it only takes a moment to find and soon I am walking down past the rocks to the shore below. I take off my shoes when I reach the bottom.

I look up at the bridge above. It is just past dawn, and there are only a few cars passing by every few minutes. The world is still asleep.

It is a cloudy morning, a storm threatening overhead, and the crashes of the waves in the water are almost enough to overpower the scream in my mind. I glance down, under the bridge, to where we stood all those years ago.

This was our hiding place, back then. A place that only we knew. It was our place, our world, until it wasn’t. It seems peaceful now, almost like it was then. But in the flashes of memory all I can see is yellow tape marking the boundaries of your body as detectives scan the area for signs, while I stand screaming by the ambulance. A freak accident, they said.

Past and present become one and all I can hear is the scream and my voice, mumbling under my breath I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. The words get louder, an attempt to drown out the scream, but they are lost in the wind.

I’m sorry, David, I repeat in my mind.

I hope you know I regretted it as soon as I pushed you. It was so sunny that morning, but I learned later that it had rained the night before; we were stupid and did not realise until it was too late. The rocks were slippery and the water was deep. Too deep for me to jump in after you.

Maybe the guilt I have lived with for years was payback. I have lived ten years of seeing you fall, over and over again, seeing those crystal blue eyes as they registered in a split second the effect of my betrayal. Ten more years than you were given.

I took it away from you, all of it, and in doing so I took everything from myself too. That day you drowned, so did I. My corporeal existence is nothing when my soul has already died an ugly death.  

I chuckle to myself then. Maybe it is because I know you are looking down at me from somewhere, eyes alight after ten long years, feeling some well-earned sense of retribution.

I hope your sister buys a new dress.

I step forward, into the water. Further, further, just like you did all those years ago. How strange, how life moves forward.