Amber Eyes

Tue, April 7, 2020, 2:07 A.M.

Dear Diary,

I've been wanting to go back to sleep since I woke up this morning, but I guess the world had other plans for me tonight, none of which I want to go through or have gone through- whether it be the feelings or experiences.

Aunt Sarah's boyfriend, Eugene (or as I like to call him... well never mind it's not the nicest name in the world), spent the night last night and though I didn't hear or see anything, I'd like to be kept in the dark about their relationship considering he's well... him.

I guess he stayed over since Sarah's been a disaster because of Mom's birthday being last week. Again, much to my surprise, I'm reminded of how close Mom and Sarah were growing up, despite their 14 year age difference. Her pain from that loss is not as bad for me, though. Mom died of her own free will, and I will never understand why, but I can try to understand her decision and not grieve a lot for her since this is apparently what she wanted. She wanted to leave me alone without anyone but Dad, and we all know where that went, so I don't miss her as much as I would like to, which is its own kind of pain.

The loss of someone else, in particular, remains an open wound, though it's been almost two years now, and I don't know how to end the pain. My head has been spinning and my heart has been broken since that day. It's been so long but I still can't get over the fact that he's actually gone. My other half, my best friend, my brother, Grayson.

Living in a new city with a new guardian, far away from my old life, helps a little, but even still, I catch glimpses of him every once in a while. Sometimes I see him in the way I would like to remember him.

When I hear an old truck roar or smell gasoline, I picture him in his ripped, dusty jeans working on his truck. In the spring, like now, I remember him using his skilled hands to make me a flower crown from the wildflowers outside the house. Other times, even just a flash of a smile, a pair of amber eyes that look golden in the sun, or a mass of curly blond hair from a stranger triggers the memories made from sixteen years with him.

Thankfully, looking in the mirror doesn't cause me pain because I don't see any resemblance in our physical appearances, unlike poor Sarah. What with my dark hair and light eyes, looking at my reflection doesn't bring any feeling. I feel sorry for Sarah in that way since she and Mom have the same complexion of dark hair and eyes. 

Okay, so I've babbled long enough. I know what you've probably been wondering this whole time, why am I writing a diary entry at two in the morning? Well, to put it simply, it's hard for me to sleep soundly without picturing him, without missing him.

I would like to remember him at his best, except every time I close my eyes, I see him, bruised and bloody, his once soft and bouncy hair hanging limply in his face, stained with blood, his amber eyes filled with pain and worry. He was so helpless and unable to do anything to save himself, but he did his best to save me. His joking about the paramedics "taking their ass sweet time" and dad going to kill him for crashing the truck were his feeble attempts at lightening up the situation with his normally hilarious sarcasm and humor. Instead, these "jokes" are forever engraved in my brain as some of the last things my brother ever said to me. Things that I was too scared to say anything back to or even force a laugh. Things I could have said back but didn't, and missed out on more last words with my brother.

Sleeping forces me to relive the painful memory no, nightmare no, torture of losing someone so close to me to something so out of my control. Out of anyone's control.

Sometimes it's nice to imagine that the ghost of him is watching over me while I remember the agony, trying to comfort me but being unable to.

The agony of him being rushed away in an ambulance. As soon as I saw that, I had gotten up and ran down the long road, empty of anything and everything but police cars, ambulances, loud sirens, and flashing lights.

The agony in his amber eyes as he grasped my hand on the bumpy ride to the hospital in that wretched ambulance. When he forced a weak smile that told of his pain both physically and emotionally. That smile showed his fear of losing the fight of death, which he so much did not deserve.

The agony in his voice when he spoke to me for the last time, saying, "You're the best sister I could have ever asked for. I love you," before those amber eyes fluttered shut and his heart monitor flatlined.

The agony I felt as I screamed for help and looked at him. My brother. Grayson. He'd looked so peaceful lying there, almost angelic. Death depicted him the way I'd always imagined him- an angel sent directly from heaven to bring joy to my parent's lives, and later mine. I had looked one last time at him before blacking out and waking up an only child.

I blame myself for what happened. I'm the reason he's dead. If it wasn't for me wanting to go on the side road, just to escape Dad's wrath for a little longer because I skipped curfew, the paramedics would have been able to get to us sooner, and maybe he would have been better. Or maybe we wouldn't have even been in that goddamn car crash at all and then maybe Mom wouldn't have committed suicide and we'd be a happy, or somewhat happy, family again.

Do you want to know the funny thing about all this crap that I've gone through, even at eighteen? Gray's amber eyes told the story of hardships in life, even at eighteen, closed forever without having lived his life. That's what I'll always remember the most about him, until the day I die- his golden, amber eyes.

-Klara