Page 41 of Perfect Tragedy
As if he knew, Jack announced, “Blake will come by at some point.”
“He’s home too?” I ask and hope it sounds merely inquisitive, innocent.
“Yeah. He went to see his family.”
It was a couple days before Blake showed up at our house. I gasped when he came through the door, and my heart flipped in my chest. He looked the same, but different in just the few months he’d been away. His cheeks looked sharper, his posture proper, and his skin was tanner like he’d spent a lot of time outdoors. He was definitely not hard on the eyes, but he never had been.
When he gave me a hug, it was obvious his body had seen some changes as well. I wanted to hang onto him longer than appropriate, and I may have even inhaled a bit with my face buried in his chest, but I tried not to be obvious about it.
I wanted to say so many things. I knew he’d gotten my emails since he’d replied when he could, but he’d never said a word to me about anything that had happened in the treehouse before he left. I sadly followed his lead and didn’t say a word about it in my emails either. So our correspondence focused on military life and the trials and tribulations of boot camp. I wondered if maybe he wanted to wait until he saw me again in person - maybe being home, he would open up and we could talk about that. Perhaps we’d finally have a conversation about it and time permitting, I’m sure I could create an opportunity.
But it never did.
Aside from a night he had dinner with all of us, I never saw him at all. When he was here that one evening, we were never alone. It wasn’t long before he and Jack were leaving again and I was once again waving goodbye while he was driving away.
I shed a few more tears with that departure, but it was better than the first time they left. I was beginning to accept the reality. The last time they left they had no idea when they’d be able to return.
The emails resumed and even escalated in frequency and checking to see if new ones had been delivered to my inbox has become an obsession. We talk about all kinds of things - how his advanced training‘s going, the things he misses about home, my grades, events at school, how the animals are doing on the farm. I give him updates on my parents, my friends - you name it. He will sometimes talk about some of the guys he’s become friends with but it’s nothing more than a mention here and there. He tells me about different places he’s explored and things he’s done on his down time. I devour every detail of his life. I take it all in and am thankful for the tidbits I get, even though we don’t ever talk about anything I wish we’d talk about.
Okay, theone thingI wish we’d talk about.
Us.
Then, one night, that changes.
It’s late and I’m still up working to finish an essay due the following day for history. Diving deep into the details about a postwar America, the sound of an email arriving in my inbox startles me, the sound reverberating loudly in my bedroom.
Immediately I switch screens and my heart begins to race when I see Blake’s name in bold. It’s not uncommon for me to receive emails from him late at night, but usually if he sees I’m on my computer at the same time, he’ll instant message me. I don’t know why, but I hesitate before opening the email.
Double clicking to open, I begin to read and the tone immediately feels different. Usually his emails begin with him asking what’s new and exciting and then he tells me about his day and catches me up on whatever he can before asking me questions. But this time, he’s immediately personal and direct.
Hello Sienna,
I see that you’re online but I’m not brave enough to have a ‘live’ conversation with you. The guys and I went out tonight and I fear the few drinks I’ve had are making me bold. I think if I knew you were readily accessible on the other end, able to be in realtime with what I‘m writing I wouldn’t say this, and I want to say this. I want to tell you that you’ve been on my mind constantly. It’s not just your emails, though they always seem to come when I need them the most - after a long hard day, or when I’m missing home the most - but it’s more than that. I find myself often wondering things about you like how your day is going, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s thinking about the way you look when you smile. How your nose wrinkles in concentration when you’re studying hard. The way your face lights up when you take care of the animals you love. The sound of your laugh when you’re gossiping with Vanessa. My favorite though is the night of prom. Remember when we were driving you home? It was a beautiful night, but what was gorgeous was the sight of you during that drive. The windows down, the wind in your hair and on your face. You looked free, happy, content. It was beautiful. I think about that often when I feel homesick. They’re things I have no right to think about, things I shouldn’t think about, not ever. When I do, I usually push them into the back of my mind, burying them as deep down as I can. Tonight, the alcohol helps them float to the surface I think. So I’m letting them come. I’m exploring them, devouring them. I’m letting myself think about the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the feel of your skin when I touched your face that night in the treehouse. And Sienna, I’m letting myself wonder. I wonder what would have happened the night before I left. The night we were interrupted, and you know what? I’m letting myself need. I’m letting myself want. If it’s wrong, I don’t care. Not tonight. And I just needed to tell you that.
I stare at his email for a long time. I reread it more times than I can count. I even pinch myself to verify I’m not dreaming because there is no way,no way,that this is happening. I hit reply and only type a small reply.
Dear Blake,
I think about it too.
Yours,
Sienna
That’s all I say. I could go on and on but that just seems like enough. After I send it, I sit for a while, waiting to see if he responds. Part of me feels panicked and wonders if I should have waited, or said more, or let his words digest further before replying, maybe gotten Vanessa’s advice first. But it’s too late to take it back because in one word I had put my heart on the line.Yours.That word left nothing to wonder about how I feel.
It takes one whole week before he replies. Seven days of stress, doubt, and just plain freaking out. A week of constant email refreshing, checking on my computer, my phone, feeling sick to my stomach, second guessing and wondering how he perceived it, what he thought about it, if he’d even interpret in the manner it was intended. Maybe I hadn’t said enough. His reply was short, but it held one hell of a punch. There was no room for misinterpretation of his intent.
Sienna,
If I could take that email back, I would. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I can’t lose you, not ever. You’re my family. I let alcohol make me stupid and none of it even matters - it’s too late now. Please, pretend it never happened.
Blake
Tears instantly fill my eyes. If it were possible to feel my heart break, I know I did. The pain in my chest is so intense, the sob in my throat immediate. Did I say something wrong? Kept it too simple? Had I left too much unstated? Had my response repelled him? Should I have let him know I thought about the moment often? Should I have confessed that I frequently close my eyes and still feel his hand touching my face, his lips at the corner of my mouth. I didn’t tell him that the intensity in his eyes is forever imprinted in my brain and it’s one of my most cherished memories; that I dream about him and spending time together and fantasize about what could have happened if only. I may be young but I know how my heart feels. Perhaps he needed me to confess that I wanted to be his; that I would wait for him forever if he only said the word. In the end, I merely reply that there was nothing to forgive and I ask if we can please talk about his response I want so desperately to keep the opportunity open.
I never receive a response - not really. Instead his approach is to carry on the conversation as we had before - as if the interaction never occurred.
