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“Did you live with him when you were younger? Was he your guardian?”
As I reminisce, I take my own pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. I light one, growing frustrated after the wind blows out my flame for the third time. “No, he was actually a close friend of my father’s. My dad was a fun drinking partner, but that made him a shitty parent. Yan was a big drinker too, but he had kids of his own and knew how to keep himself in line for them. When my father failed to do that, he took over.”
She grows quiet, choosing her response with discretion. “Do you still talk to your dad?” she asks carefully.
I shake my head, puffing smoke into the cool night air. “He’s dead. Once he went to prison, I lost contact with him. He ended up dying of liver disease a few years into his sentence.”
I’m sure she feels like she’s overstepping right now, but there’s something cathartic about talking through my past with someone new. I haven’t been able to tell these stories in so long, and I’m reminded of why I value Yan’s presence in my life so much.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked something like that,” she recoils, dropping back a bit.
“No, really. It’s fine. I actually enjoy talking about my family, even if they’re a uniquely difficult group of people.”
She stops walking altogether, stopping a few feet behind me as we exit the grounds. “Do you want to talk about Misha?”
The sound of his name pierces me like a lightning bolt through the top of my head.
I’ve been trying to funnel my grief toward my intentions of avenging Misha’s death. The wounds are still fresh, and I’m almost concerned that I’ve been able to maintain my composure so well in the face of so much pain, anger, and uncertainty.
“Could I?” I ask, more to myself than to her.
She nods as I turn back to face her, and her gaze is warm and sincere. “Of course. Say whatever you need to. I’ll stay and listen as long as you want.”
I swear I’ve never met anyone as sweet as Vera. I’ve known her for so little time, but she’s already proven to be the most compassionate, forgiving person I’ve ever known. There have been many people to pass through my life without making much of an impression, positive or otherwise. But somehow, I know Vera’s kindness will be on my mind for the rest of my life.
I smile a bit when I think about Misha, despite the circumstances. “We didn’t really get along as kids, surprisingly enough,” I begin. “He was always trying to compete with me, even at totally mundane things. I didn’t realize until I was seventeen that he was living in my shadow.”
“When did you become friends?” she asks as she meets my stride, following me to the car as we cross through the harsh cast of the streetlights.
I smile, laughing to myself as the memory resurfaces. “When I was seventeen. We got into a huge fight over a girl we both liked, but the truth was that she didn’t like either of us. When we both realized that, it was like all of the tension between us vanished. We were instant best friends.”
We reach the car again, and she slides into the passenger seat in a far less rigid, uncomfortable manner than before. She’s warming up to me, and she can’t deny it.
“I wish my siblings would get into a fist fight with me. I have two sisters, and they’re so corporate and boring. Even when we were kids, they’d bicker over who got to be the manager of our imaginary restaurant. A real fight would have made my year,” she replies.
I’m completely caught off guard by her comment, and I erupt in laughter. What she said wasn’t even that funny in the grand scheme, but it was the perfect thing to say to break me out of the cycle of grief that was sneaking up on me.
“Did they tease you a lot growing up?” I ask, feeling encouraged by her openness.
“They did, but they weren’t very good at it. They weren’t thatmean, and they weren’t funny either. They were just bitter, which made it easier to deal with. Their jokes never landed, so other people weren’t inclined to join in.”
I hadn’t thought about what Vera’s homelife might have been like. There’s been too much uncertainty and chaos swirling around every moment we’ve spent together. Now that we’ve spent time doing something other than arguing and fucking, I’m curious to learn more about where this girl came from.
“They sound pretty awful. How did your parents feel about them?” I ask, regretful about my word choice but not inclined to correct myself.
“My parents had favorites, but you can only have two favorites when there are two parents. Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t the favorite on either side. It’s okay though, my parents don’t value the same things that I do. I’d be confused if I were their favorite,” she replies as she watches me put out the last of my cigarette.
“That’s rough. It sucks that you’re relieved to not be the favored child. Sounds like there’s a lot of conflict in that house,” I say.
She sighs heavily, dealing with her own inner conflicts about her origin story. “There was conflict for sure, but none of it was explosive or loud. Everybody was passive-aggressive, especially my mom. It was a nightmare trying to decode everything that she said.”
“Yeah, everyone in my family argued with their fists. My mom hated it. She felt like she’d raised a pack of wolves, and my father helped to do it. I feel for her, even all these years later,” I reply.
We drive on for a few miles in silence as we both drift into the memories from our pasts. It hurts to remember, and there are moments where I’m certain I’ll lose control and break down again.
Knowing that my brother is gone makes me feel like I’ve passed on into an alternate reality where everything looks the same, but the warmth is gone. Everybody is going to go on with their lives, forcing themselves to move on before they’re ready because sorrow won’t stop the world from turning.
I want to reach over to Vera, to touch her shoulder and connect with her once again. The way I felt when she held my hand on the highway made me feel more human than sex ever has. I was able to release my grief because of her.
