When I close my eyes

When I close my eyes, you’re still waiting with a cup of tea that’s taken weeks to get cold. You’re angry because it took me too long to get here. “Where were you?” you frown and ask me. “I’ve been waiting 40 years for you”

I smile. I wish you were exaggerating.

You haven’t changed a bit, I think to myself, you’re still the 20-year-old kid I fell in love with whereas I’m a 65-year-old grandmother full of wrinkles. You smile and ask me if I picked up food for you on the way home. I try to explain to you that I didn’t know I was coming to see you today, death doesn’t come with a phone call. I sit down and tell you everything I can remember after the day I lost you, how I broke, how angry I was with you but most of all how much I missed you. How another boy came along and asked me to love him, the strength it took not to compare him to you. I had children, one boy and one girl, like we planned. I even named him after you. I told you about my first job.

“So you did end up getting a job” you joked back. I gave you the look I always give you when you made a stupid joke. Just this time the look was 40 years older. You asked me about your funeral, I told you it was elaborate. That the night after, I hugged your mother for the first time and we cried all night. How your father never really laughed the same way after you, people said even in his laughter they heard sadness. The day you died your brother called me up and asked me to tell him this was all just a joke, he begged me to give you the phone. I know you said you weren’t close to him but he sounded like he was hit pretty damn close.

“What’s his name?” you asked. It’s fascinating how jealousy never really ages. I tell you. “He’s a lovely guy, it just took me time to see it” I say.  “For the longest time all I could think of was how he’s the perfect husband, a helpful son, a caring son-in-law and a loving father but he just wasn’t you” I continued. He just wasn’t you. You smile. Your smile breaks my heart. I was reminded about how many years after you had gone, most memories of you had faded accept this crooked smile. Somehow that’s the only thing that stayed.

“You were happy, that’s what matters. Did you lose those 2 kgs finally?” you asked me with a goofy smirk. “Don’t make slap you after 40 years“ I warned you. We laugh. That’s what I loved about us, we never forgot to laugh. We fought like cats and dogs, said the worst things to each other and made the biggest scenes. But we never forgot to laugh.

“How did you do it? Forget me?” you asked. I wish I could tell you that I never really forgot you but that would make this conversation way harder than it already was. “I was 19 when I fell in love with you. We liked to go on long rides and cheap restaurants. We drank out of plastic cups together and spoke about careers, parents and other teenage clichés. We kissed till the sun asked us to stop and ate fast food because it was our only option. We laughed at death because it was so far far away, or at least that’s what we thought then. Anyway, I convinced myself it wasn’t you but the feeling of being young with you that I was truly in love with” I replied. You nodded.

My turn to ask questions. “Why did you do it?” I asked.

“You think I wanted to die?” you asked me with disgust. “You know what happened was out of my control, don’t blame me because you need someone to blame” you continued.

I broke down.

I looked into your eyes. “Sometimes I wished I was there that night. That I wasn’t left all alone to deal with everything all so suddenly”

“Me too” you nodded selfishly.

I held you for a while, your tea now as cold as ice.

I open my eyes, you disappear, of all the things, this part is the toughest.

It’s opening my eyes and realizing, I’m 60 and alive but still in love with you at 20.