I’m Sorry
To my first time at Walmart,
Tomorrow came. No sooner, no later. Josh and I head over to Mom’s house. Before we leave, I make sure I have my three post-it notes. Each of them still sticky, still pink, and with my scribbled words still unspoken. Maybe there’ll be a chance in the car.
As Josh turns the keys in the ignition, he offers me his phone, “Wanna choose the music?” His voice is soft and timid. The question is a gesture and I realize it too late. With a firm, “No,” I brush away his attempt to make peace. I regret it the minute I say it.
We back out of the driveway.
I’ll bring it up at the traffic light. We pass the traffic light.
I can do it at the stop sign. We pass the stop sign.
Once we get over that speed bump. We pass the speed bump.
210th Place
209th Street
180
172
Okay, how about I spend this time in the car looking over things? Memorizing what I wanna say. Making sure it all makes sense. I can do that.
My fingers knock against my thigh, then the window, then my forehead. I fold the post-it notes, creasing my words until they’re barely legible. Wishing the color wasn’t so obvious. Of course they had to be pink. Hot pink. Not a washed out blue or the classic faded yellow. Where were those post-its when you needed them?
We’re just about one street away from Mom’s. He pulls in to the garage space and grabs his stuff. “Wait, I have something to say.” I take a deep breath.
“First, I wanted to say sorry about that bullying thing I made fun of.” Josh used to be bullied in elementary school for his big ears. I thought it was one of those things we could joke about now at the dinner table, but it was foolish of me to think that time always erases the pain.
“And then what happened with Dad this week. I heard you talking to Mom about what happened and how you felt really alone in that house because no one was on your side and no one tried to see things from your point of view. I’m sorry.”
Josh is silent—there’s no movement, no sound, but I refuse to take my eyes off the post-its and look in his direction. Not yet.
“This has been a pretty crappy month for our family,” I continue, “especially for you. You come back from school for just 4 weeks and this family couldn’t keep it together long enough. Every week, there was something to deal with—between you and me, you and Dad, me and Mom—something. And I’m sorry that as your big sister, I wasn’t there for you. I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Because despite everything that’s happened, I see you growing up. I see you learning how to take the lead.”
I hear him sniffling. I don’t see the tears but I feel him grabbing the Kleenex.
“Josh, there’s a lot of stuff about you that I don’t get, a lot of stuff that I really hate. The fact that you instantly turn to drugs when things get tough. That addiction, that crutch that you just play off as this innocent kind of hobby. I hate it. I hate how it’s killing you and I hate that there’s nothing I can do about it. But you know what I hate even more—that we didn’t talk those two days this week. That you couldn’t come to me about feeling alone. That I was the reason you felt so alone. I’m sorry.”
They say love is crazy. I think I’m starting to figure out why. No matter how much you love someone, you can still end up being the source of their pain. And no matter how much you want to save them, sometimes all you can do is just wait.
I finally turn my head. My brother seems smaller; his shoulders sag and there’s snot dripping out his nose. I pick up a Kleenex and wipe it away. I drape my arm around him and let the warmth of his body ripple through me.
“I’m sensitive,” he confesses through the tears.
“I know,” I sigh.
“I’m really sensitive sometimes,” he chokes out.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I shake my head and whisper the words again, “I’m sorry.”
Josh is the one who first found about my suicidal thoughts that fateful summer. He’s the one who scoured my search history on Google Maps to pinpoint my exact location that day I went missing. And he’s the one I wanted to see most when I was sent to the hospital. His hand in mine did what all the painkillers and antidepressants couldn’t—remind me to keep fighting even when it hurts.
When we leave Mom’s that afternoon, Josh turns to me in the elevator; a mischievous grin sneaks onto his face. “Didn’t you want to go to Walmart?” he asks. He remembered. Ever since Josh got back from school, I’d been begging him to go with me to Walmart. I was too scared of highways to go by myself.
“It’s just like another Costco or Target. Haven’t you been before?”
“Please, please, please…”
And so instead of heading back to Dad’s house that day, we sneak away just like that time in DC. We don’t buy much. Some boxes of Skittles, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, but as we leave the store, all I can do is smile.
“Are you happy?” he asks as we merge onto the highway. I nod. I scroll through his phone and pick our song for the way back: “Heaven Is A Place on Earth.” I press play. He chuckles. We sing along, making up the lyrics as we go. I feel something from deep within me flutter its wings and take off.
Josh and I spent a day on opposite sides of a meaningless argument. We let two days go by in silence. But with three post-it notes and a trip to Walmart, a couple of messed up kids found a way to make things right. It wasn’t easy. It never is, but there’s this other part about love that I’m also learning about—it’s called putting in the effort and trusting that on the other side of things, it’ll all be worth it. For him, for me, for us, it was worth it.
Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?
Lyrics from Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle
Ooh, heaven is a place on earth
They say in heaven, love comes first
We’ll make heaven a place on earth
Ooh, heaven is a place on earth
Sincerely, Esther
