The Tale of the Sun and Moon

Sunny, you are my sun.

That sounds funny, but it's true. You have this crazy laugh which involves so much snorting and jumping and getting pink in the face that when you laugh, it's hard not to laugh with you. Most of the time we've spent laughing has been you shrieking at something so random it's not even funny, and me chortling along with you because your laughter makes it seem a hundred times funnier. I've always loved that about you.

I love that you're so great at telling stories. You could literally be talking about something as simple as crossing the street and it would evoke peals of laughter from me and everyone else listening, simply because of your talent for making people smile.

I love that even though you're great with people, you're so uncharacteristically shy that anytime we're in a social situation with not many people that we know, you practically cling onto me like a leech, shoving your smell of powder and strawberry perfume up my nose. It doesn't help that I'm shy, too, so we walk around glued to each other at parties, laughing at your stupid jokes.

I love that we're almost mirror copies of each other, as we're both short with small chests and have straight black hair, so sometimes people that don't know us mistake us for sisters or cousins, and we're only too happy to let them believe that.

I love almost everything about you and our friendship, except for the black, ugly truth in my chest which taunts me with my hatred for you every single day.

I know how much you love me. I'm your perfect match, in likes, dislikes, hobbies, pet peeves-everything(almost). I'm your hero(heroine, to be precise). But to everyone that knows us, you're the real hero. Sunny, the living embodiment of the sun. Smiles when she's happy. Cries when she's sad. Always ready to cheer her friends and loved ones on. The funny one. The talented one. The nice one.

As for me, I'm the moon. Pretty to look at, but always outshined by the source, without whom I would have no light of my own. The side character. The sub-plot to the main plot. The side dish.

The universe knows it, too. It must have laughed when your parents gave you your name, and my parents gave me mine. Selene. Real funny.

In spite of everything, I love you. You mean the world to me. And that's just one of the many reasons I have to hate you.

I guess that makes me the villain. But I'm okay with that. The hero always wins in the end, and that's what I want. For you to win. Because if I win, our story ends. No more crazy laughter. No more inside jokes. No more people thinking we're related. And I would miss that.

There are things I wouldn't miss, though. Like how I would be walking down the hall by myself, with you as far as possible from my vicinity, and someone would still call out your name, thinking it's you from the back. I would always ignore them until they came up to me, wondering why you wouldn't answer, and the disappointed looks on their faces when they realized I wasn't the one they were looking for was always the same. Always made me feel the same. It happens so much that sometimes, I actually feel guilty that I'm not you; that I'm just...me.

You're as shy as me, but that doesn't mean you don't like being around people. Your walls are easy to break, and once they've crumbled, you're easy to love. A real charmer. The only person I've ever been able to charm is you-people generally don't interest me, and it seems to go the other way as well. Often, I find myself wondering what you see in me.

Maybe it's because you've seen me as your hero from the very beginning. I'll never forget the day we met. In fourth grade, you were the new girl, having moved states and obviously schools because of your dad's work. You were plump then, a round ball of sunshine waiting for someone to notice the light you were so eager to spread. But kids of that age often don't see the inside. First, at least. So on your first day, you were quiet; restrained. You sat next to me that day, as silent as you were adorable. It was the first thing I noticed about you-to me, you were the cutest thing I had ever laid eyes on. For the first time in my short life, I had met someone I actually wanted to be friends with.

It was very uncharacteristic of me-being the person offering friendship rather than the one friendship is offered to-but I have never regretted that day, even as I despise you now. I have other things to regret.

Like last year, when we started high school. It had been an okay two months-I wasn't as easily annoyed with people as I had been previously(as it turns out, maturity helps improve social skills) and I had been putting more effort into studying, so Mom and Dad wouldn't worry about me. Things were okay. Except for the thing I never expected to not be okay. Us.

My hostility towards you had started sometime towards the end of middle school, when your grades started to rocket, your baby fat began to melt away, and your social circle began increasing. You were happy, and your happiness was infectious. But its potency seemed to have reached its limit, and a miniscule part of me felt dried up, like the tiniest section of a lawn which the gardener didn't realise hadn't felt a drop of water, leaving everywhere else surrounding it lush and green while it became yellow and withered. Even then, it was okay, because watching the green blades of grass shimmer under the dew that coated it every morning was enough to keep the yellow patch from perishing.

Until it wasn't.

Two months into high school, you broke down. Your parents were getting a divorce, you said, sobbing. You had been sobbing a lot recently, and that day was worse than all the others. We missed half of our classes that day, with me doing my best to comfort you, letting you cling to me the way you did best, and even once sneaking into the boys' bathroom to steal a roll of tissue because you used up all the tissues in the girls' bathroom. My eyes remained dry throughout, not shedding a single tear. Instead, I soaked up everything you poured out-your pain, your anger, your hurt, your grief. Like a sponge.

I wasn't ready for the storm the next day.

You came to school, unusually quiet, but you had been quieter than normal the last few weeks so I didn't think much of it. It was after school, during our walk home, when the heavens began their crash down.

Do you hate me? you'd asked, out of the blue. Stunned, I'd given an instant reply. Of course not. I could never hate you.

Then why, you'd continued, your voice breaking on the why, don't you touch me anymore?

We'd stopped walking, and you'd looked straight into my eyes. When last did you hug me, Sel? Did you think I wouldn't notice? You'd sniffed, then brought up a sleeve to wipe the snot dripping down your face, onto your shirt.

I know you're not the most affectionate, but I was okay with that. But now, it's like you can barely stand being around me. Even yesterday, it's like you were trying your best not to get too close while you handed me the tissues-

It's not like that! I'd yelled. Heads swiveled round to look at us, and I'd swallowed, then felt a shock go through me when I realized I couldn't look at you. Not at that moment, when I felt so dirty.

You can't even look at me, you'd said bitterly. Did I do something wrong? You can just tell me-

You didn't do anything. I love you, okay? It came out with the force of a punch, and my stomach churned. I was sick of myself.

The wind had come then, a chilly draught that whipped the hair into our faces and made us decide to end the conversation and go back to our respective homes. After that day, we never spoke about that again. The topic was buried, like no life had ever been given to it in the first place.

Now, I wish we'd dug it up; forced oxygen into it again and again, until it sorted itself out, until we fought and cried over it, until it was resolved or maybe not resolved, but back then, we didn't want to talk about it. We couldn't. You were too torn up over the divorce, and I'd felt raw; exposed, as if something I'd been keeping in the dark had suddenly been thrust into the brightest light without warning.

But it doesn't matter now. None of it matters.

It's March now. Most of the snow is gone and now it's warm enough that I don't have to wear three layers of clothing every time I go outside. I wonder if you can feel the weather getting warmer, too, here in this tiny room with the white walls and polished tiles that smell of antiseptic. The doctor says that there's been no change in your condition, and that we can only hope for the best, but that's what he's been saying for the past four months, and you're still sleeping.

I thought you were going to die. You didn't show up to school that day and when I came home, Mum broke the news to me very gently and quietly, with tears in her eyes. She told me that the night before, you'd left your house and didn't come back. Your mom was long gone by then, so it was just you and your dad, who'd gotten the news two hours after you'd left that you'd been hit by a drunk driver on a motorcycle.

According to your dad, the both of you had had an argument over something he refused to say, and that's why you left. That has to be the most out-of-character thing you have ever done, if that's what actually happened. You and your dad are really close, so I'm not sure what to make of it.

So open your eyes, Sunny, and tell me what happened. Why you argued. Why you ran off. Why you barely spoke to me for a week after we buried that conversation, and why you had the audacity to get yourself hit by a motorcycle before we could dig it up.

I just want you to open your eyes and let me explain. That now, even as there's a gaping hole in my heart where your absence is felt, I still hate you. For everything. Which includes not waking up. And that I still love you. For everything. Which includes being my sun. I don't know if it's possible, but I think my love for you has grown since you closed your eyes. That's how much I miss you.

I may have been your hero, but you were my villain, standing in my path to make sure I couldn't escape you, neither my love or my hate for you, no matter how much I wanted to. All I want right now is for you to wake up. And this time, I'll say it.

Whether I hate you or love you, you'll still be the sun. And I'll still be the moon. That means that no matter what, even if we get tired of each other, even if we hate each other till blood is spilled, we'll always be part of the same solar system. Me, orbiting around you, and you, always giving me your light. We'll always find our way back to each other.

Because our story isn't over, and as long as we both shall live, the pages will turn.

I swear it.