does your soda taste any less sweet?

It’s half past one on Monday morning, and I have to get up in about five and a half hours time to go to my uni lectures, but too much has happened lately and I’m far too tired to sleep just yet.

Two days and two nights of my life have been spent purely lifting heavy things, sweating and feeling generally physically and financially exhausted while we moved house. Friday nights collapse was well earned and certainly not wasted as I decided to extend its girth to what is most normal folks’ lunch time on Saturday.

It started off kind of surreal. I had a stoutly portion of time to kill before it started, but none the less I started pressing my shirt and contrasting neck ties. So, fully dressed, I sat there in some kind of abstract moment on the edge of the lounge chair, not knowing what to think, let alone what to do. And there I passed quite some time.

We arrived and chattered and smiled, like any other day, but when the procession arrived and I slid in beside my brother, it was something else. If I’d have known what to expect, then maybe it would be more appropriate to say that it was not what I had expected, but not having such knowledge, it was simply new.

I, having trod my share of paths for age, am probably more battered and jaded than should be prudent, and maybe it is because of this that sometimes a little magic is lost on me, and what others attribute to emotion I sometimes think of purely of abscence of thought. But on occasion someone who knows what’s in the middle of my calloused parts decides to break off a part and remind me of how beautiful the little things inside really are.

I’ve spent more than two decades with my little sister around. Through haunting and heartbreak, from roller coasters to ball nights, but I had never seen the kind of smile I saw on her face when she walked down the aisle… and it just cut right to me. Any sliver of doubt I’d had about her time and her choices and the folly of youth seemed like they couldn’t drop a slight of shadow on the two of them when they were so happy. It felt right.

The honour of speaking for their wedding reception was something that I don’t know if I deserved, but it came together in a way very naturally and it was all so terribly beautiful. It made me cry to see my father dance with her on her wedding night.

Maybe parts of me aren’t what they were after all.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.