Page 25 of Falling for my First Crush

JACKIE

My feet hammer against the pavement as I sprint the last five hundred meters home. I went out for this run, furious at Joe for choosing Maia over me, yet again. I had hoped that the physical exertion would decrease these feelings, but it hasn’t. I still feel like I want to beat him up. Maybe I should go use the old punching bag in the basement. That might make me feel better.

The sun beating down on me doesn’t help my feelings of frustration either. What is it about Joe that makes me feel like I want to scream? I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s been this way for as long as I can remember.

I stop on the front lawn underneath a shady tree, and I let myself catch my breath. At least I got a good workout in. I work later today, so that will help fuel me through some of the late night hours.

After I’m breathing more normally again, I decide to head in through the back yard. That way I can grab water and a bite to eat before heading upstairs to shower. I don’t know who is home, but I don’t feel like I’m in the most social mood. I don’t want to take out the worst of my feelings on unsuspecting bystanders.

The gate creaks on its hinges, like it always does. There are so many things that I take for granted about this house, but they always find a way to remind me. These are the things that comfort me in moments like this.

As I come around the side of the house, I find Sabina sitting on the back porch. She has her head bowed, resting in her hands. She’s sobbing, which in and of itself isn’t unusual, but this seems different for some reason. I hesitate mid-step, unsure if my sister even wants company. So often of late, Sabina seems to prefer to be alone, even if she’s too polite most of the time to tell us that.

Sabina has always been polite, almost to a fault. Growing up, Sabina and I were very close, given that we were close in age, and everyone always commented on what complete opposites we were. Sabina was quiet, where I was outgoing. So it follows that if people thought Sabina was polite, they thought I wasn’t. Not that anyone ever said that to my face, but I could guess what they were thinking. It never bothered me, though, because Sabina was just that wonderful.

The sun is burning the back of my neck, and I realize that I have inched forward out of the shade of the tree. This surprises me, but I think that my body is trying to make the decision that seems to be paralyzing my brain. I’m going to go ask her what is wrong, and I’ll give her an out, so that if she really doesn’t want to talk to me, she won’t have to.

Slowly I climb the stairs to the back porch. Sabina must hear my footsteps, because she looks up. “Hey,” I say softly. “Is there anything I can do to help you right now? Do you want to talk? If you don’t, I can go inside.”

“Oh,” Sabina says. She seems startled enough by me that she stops crying momentarily. Her hesitation isn’t new, but I can see that she’s thinking about my offer, which does seem new. “If you want, I kind of want to talk about Sasha.”

I sit down in the chair next to her. I’m not going to waste this time with my sister. “Who is Sasha?” I ask.

Sabina swallows audibly. “She’s my friend who just…you know.”

“Oh, right,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know her name.”

Sabina gives me the flicker of a smile. “That’s okay. I didn’t tell anyone her name. We met during my second tour of duty. She joined our unit fresh out of Basic, and we just clicked right away. Instant besties.”

“That must have been nice,” I say.

Sabina nods. “It was. And everyone always teased us that we were twins. We liked a lot of the same things, and our names were pretty similar. Sasha and Sabina.”

“Yeah, that’s cute,” I agree, still surprised with all Sabina is sharing with me.

“I got discharged earlier than she did obviously, but when she got out, she was supposed to move here,” Sabina says. “Our plan was always to get an apartment together. Just live life until one of us got married or something.”

I nod, but I don’t really know what to say or what to ask. There has to be something. I wrack my brain, but can’t find anything there that would help me. I get tongue-tied, because I’ve never experienced anything like what my sister has gone through.

Sabina doesn’t seem to notice that I can’t think of anything to say, because she continues, “But that never happened. When she got back stateside, she went back to live with her parents briefly, and that’s when the depression got her. And it never let go. We would text and Facetime occasionally, but that wasn’t the same. I knew that she was getting worse. I even tried to tell her parents, but they kind of blew me off. My therapist says that I’m projecting onto them, but I don’t think I am. I think they looked the other way, because depression is really hard to deal with. Otherwise why wouldn’t they get her help?”

“I’m so sorry, Bina; I don’t know what to say, but I am so so sorry,” I manage to say.

Sabina’s eyes well with tears again. “I just miss her so much. I feel like part of myself is missing.”

As my sister begins to weep again, I feel paralyzed, unsure what to do next. When I’m faced with grieving families at the hospital, I whip right into nurse mode, but I can’t seem to do that with my sister. I want to reach out and hug her, but I’m not sure that’s what she wants. So I do the only thing that I can think to do, which is to reach out and take her hand.

Sabina doesn’t stop crying, but her fingers do curl around mine. And she holds on as if for dear life while she sobs. I sit, silent, willing the right words to come into my head. I’m acutely aware of everything that is happening around us. The warmth of the sun, the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees, the birds chirping. It seems like we’re sitting in a vacuum, or that everything is happening around us, but we’re moving in slow motion. Eventually the sobbing slows down, and I decide that I have to say something.

“Thank you for sharing about Sasha,” I say. “I wish that I could say something that would give you comfort or make all of this pain go away. It’s pathetic, but I don’t really know what to say.”

Sabina sighs. Then she shakes her head. “No one ever knows what to say to me anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean it, too. I really am sorry that we don’t know what to say to her.

“Everyone walks on eggshells around me or treats me like I’m made of glass. Like I’ll break if they look away for a second,” Sabina says. There is a flash of anger followed by sadness in her words. She slumps back in her chair.

“I think we’re all just really worried about you,” I venture. “And none of us know what you’ve been through, so it makes us worry that we can’t help you the way you need.”

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