The Things We Wish We Said

It was a hot summer night when it happened. Don’t you remember, Sita?

You were out on the balcony like usual, smoking your cigarettes and reading one of those thick difficult-looking books you always borrowed from the library. Every now and then I would sneak a glance at you from my spot in the kitchen and I would see the frown on your face as you read, and how your tail would swish and sway slowly, curling around the leg of your chair. At one point I had poked my head out the door and asked if you wanted a drink. You didn’t want anything, but I was relieved to see that your frown softened a little when you looked up at me. I’ve already taken those books back to the library for you. I know I should have asked first, but...

Neither of us could have expected the phone to ring when it did, but it did, and they told me that Elizabeth had gotten kicked out and needed a place to stay. I was hoping you wouldn’t hear it, but you were walking back inside at that very second, and I knew your sharp ears wouldn’t miss a word even if they tried. I can remember the bitter smell of your cigarettes drifting through the door alongside you, and how quickly the frown came back on your face as you said “No,” simply, angrily. “I can’t deal with her right now. She’ll just make things difficult for us.”

I knew you were right, of course, but how could I turn away my sister when she needed help? I really don’t like arguing with anyone, and especially not you, but I had to speak up. Elizabeth is the only family I have. Besides you. Maybe I should have said that part too. Maybe things would’ve been different then.

The argument blew up, burned and ended in tears and sulks and hurtful silence, as it did so frequently back then. I can’t really remember when we started fighting so much, or why, or how, but our relationship, up until that point always peaceful, had become rocky and tense. It seemed like we would fight over the smallest things, like whose turn it was to do the laundry, or who over-watered the houseplants, or some other small thing. This wasn’t a small thing, though - and you stormed out of the apartment, furious, slamming the door behind you. I didn’t get a chance to apologise. I stayed up till two in the morning waiting for you.

When I woke up later on, you were already at the table drinking coffee, and you even had a cup ready for me like usual. You looked exhausted but no longer angry, and I was relieved that you were in a better mood, but I still couldn’t forget about the argument, and the way your eyes gleamed viciously when you said that you hated Elizabeth and didn’t want to be burdened with her. That she was just a pain in the ass and it was either you or her. It hurt me that you didn’t want to help me take care of my sister even though you knew she only had me. I wanted to bring it up, but seeing how tired you looked, I thought that maybe you just said things you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment, like how everyone does when they’re angry and not thinking straight, and I thought that it was okay. The important thing was that you were okay. As long as you were okay.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Rei? I’m okay,” you said, surprised, startling me out of my thoughts. We sat down to eat breakfast and made no mention of the argument, just like all the other times we’d argued before.

A week or two later, you disappeared. You left a letter, apologising and saying that you had to go and deal with all the things in your mind that were giving you pain, but not saying anything about where you were going and when you’d come back. Ever since then, I’ve been the one tossing and turning in my bed at night, worrying myself sick and thinking about you, and if you're okay, and if it was my fault that you left, and what I could’ve done better for you. Was this what you were experiencing all that time? Why did I never say anything? 

Elizabeth is here now. In the end, I couldn’t leave her hanging - so I took her in a few days after you disappeared. Don’t worry, I haven’t let her enter your room. I don’t even let her use your things. She sleeps with me in my room, and is being surprisingly considerate, trying not to cause any trouble. She’s doing her best to adjust, just like I am in your absence. 

I think part of me still wants an apology for the hurtful things you’ve said in our many arguments leading up to your disappearance. But I know that you were - and still are, I’m sure - going through something serious. You always kept some things secret from me and I knew better than to ask - but if I had asked, would we be here today? So I try to remind myself that you never meant any of those hurtful, vicious things you’ve said, and that when you finally come back you’ll be in a better state of mind. Knowing this, is it still selfish of me to think of myself and want an apology for things you probably don’t even remember saying? 

Wherever you are, Sita, I hope you’re doing well. I hope you don’t forget to eat - I know you tend to get stuck in whatever you’re doing and forget about taking care of yourself. I hope you haven’t been drinking too much coffee and I hope you’re getting better sleep. There are lots of things I wish I said, or didn’t say, but deep down I know that overthinking and regretting won’t do me any good. I’ll save all the things I want to say till you come home. Wherever you are, Sita, I hope you get to sort out those painful things of yours - and I hope you remember that no matter what happens, home is always you and me.