Dear Max

A Poem by Behrsy

a letter, based on some reality, some dreaming, and some who-knows-what.

Dear Max,
I couldn’t help but notice how enthralled you were in today’s crossword.

I could see that sparkle in your eye, the thoughts churning in your mind, waiting for the word that fits.
I couldn’t help but notice that Austin’s obituary was on the same paper. With just one tear that had found it’s way, landing onto his last name, spreading the ink.
Austin died yesterday. You found out last night.
I can remember so clearly the sound of your sobbing from the dining room table.

I was drifting to sleep, I could hear your shallow breathing, the slight hiccough in your voice while you tried to make sense of the world.
You’ve always been so sensitive, so open minded and genuine, a rare case. And ever so awkward around the harsh world that is our own.
Can you just not understand?
What is it that makes his death so incomprehensible?
Is it the timing?
The sudden stop of a heart, perhaps right before summer, or right after the stoplight turns green, right after he received a wink from the blue eyed girl crossing the street. And then it was all over?
I get how that doesn’t make sense to you Max.
I don’t think I get it either.
Maybe we’re just a set of misfits. Not understanding the basics.

The concrete facts: birth, death, and taxes.

But I just never seem to live up to you. I’m the heartless one. I didn’t shed one tear for the friend turned corpse.

Not one.

I sat there and got angry, hateful, because I wished it was me.
I don’t cry for the dead, Max, I weep for the living.
I’m writing this down, because it won’t make it past my lips if I try to tell you in person. I’d cry for you. Hell, I’m practically crying now.
I love you Max. You’ve been the best brother a girl could ask for.
Maybe you’ll never get this. Because now that I think it over, maybe I’m not ready to leave. Each push onto the keyboard makes my fingers shake a little more. Each word of my goodbye is draining me of strength.
Now I know why some people just leave.
But I’m not just some person right?
I couldn’t just pick up and go, I couldn’t just let you and mom, and dad for that matter, wonder where I left to. Maybe that would be better for you?
Well I’m just selfish then.

I still didn’t cry.
Maybe none of it broke me. It just chipped away slowly at the rock I was becoming.

So solid, so strong, but never changing. Change makes a person who they are.

I was losing my self into a slate of granite.

Now the last chip fell away.
I guess that’s why I’m writing.
I need you to know what was chipping away at me.
Why I slowly backed out of our family.
Why there always seemed to be pools of defeat under my eyes.
Why my bracelets all fell off.
Why I became just a measurement of spaces.
I became the space between dad and I.
I became the space between the cracks in my heart.
I became the space between my thighs.
I became the space of my mind.
Like a lightning storm, that sort of restlessness.
Wouldn’t you be ready for goodbye?
Would you Max?
Maybe not, maybe I’ve been getting it all wrong. I see that now.
You were the stronger one after all.
You were the brave one in the family.
You didn’t face the danger.
But you never had to medicate.
Like dad did with alcohol.
Like mom did with smoking.
Like I did. With everything.
When I felt pain, I partied, I cut, I drank, I purged and I starved.
You, you just let it go.
I’m jealous of you Max.
Hell I wish I could be just like you.
You never cared what people thought.
You’re so intelligent, and even when dad was yelling at you, you always tried your hardest.
You’re sensitive.
You can cry for people.
You feel the pain, and you live.

You need to keep on living. For the both of us.