Thoughts As She Waits

Written by: Lillie

As she waits for him to appear, the same doubts that attack her every year besiege her once again. Will they know each other? Will they be able to talk to one another? Will they still share the same humor? These are the questions that hurt her and to which she has no answer.

It hurts most when he is leaving, of course, but also when he is coming back. In between, the pain fades away to a dull ache only occasionally made conscious of. After a while, the house no longer seems as empty and alone as it does at first – there are other things to do, to think about. It doesn’t matter anymore that the only signs of the house being a home are the strains of instrumental music, or the heavy beat and high volume of fast-paced music designed to hide the lack of any other sounds like laughter.

And there are, after all, the occasional to infrequent emails that linger on standard formalities neither are really interested in, discussing the weather, school, technical problems, a mild question regarding the presence or absence of some item accidentally left at home, a vague reference to family and then the long, prolonged silence between each mail.

But writing is not the same as seeing someone in front of you and knowing what they are really thinking. A flat screen tells her nothing of what he is feeling and she does not know what she should be saying – so she talks about the weather and school, and really says nothing at all.

When he is due to come back once more, the questions start all over again. Anxieties are mixed in with the joy at the prospect of seeing him yet another time. Her unspeakable fear is that every time might be the last time: the last time she would know him and be close to him. Or, worse yet, that the last time has already been and gone. What if they should not understand each other this time? Has a gap already been widening between them? She wonders if, in ten years, they will speak to each other at all.

Her mother calls out that he's here and she looks up in a start to find a well-loved face before her, a little older, but traced with a familiar smile. Before she has gathered all her wits together, she finds herself embracing and being embraced by someone she cares a great deal for. Burying her face into him – he is still taller than her – she can smell the faintest cologne still lingering about, despite the smell of airplanes and long flights.

More than that, although he seems a little different, she can sense the underlying part of him is still the same. There is an unutterable relief in the knowledge of this feeling. She allows herself to hope that, although he will continue to grow, he will always be the brother who loves her. That, at least, will not change.