I'll Take Us Home

Last night I experienced the worst half hour of this year.

After having a fantastic day with Niko - shopping for vintage rings on State St., grocery shopping at Trader Joe's, attempting to climb trees on campus, being adorable together - I receive news from my sobbing mother, bless her soul, that my fifteen year old brother has gotten another tattoo. Except this time it's not covered, like the one on his chest, but rather it's on the front of his neck. All I can understand between tears and shortness of breath is my mom repeating "es horrible, jessi, es horrible." My heart sank, realizing that my brother no longer has any respect for himself or for his family. I am sure that this will be his biggest regret in the long run, because not only will people never look at him the same way, he won't be able to either. As far as I'm concerned, he's left home and is sleeping at the houses of friends who don't really care about him. I can't believe my little brother would be so ignorant.

Not even 30 seconds after that phone call, Megan calls me in hysterics - Chris has just broken up with her. Chris, the perfect boyfriend. The one who made "get better" packages when Megan was sick, and brought me tea at work when he knew I had closing shifts and couldn't stand to be there for much longer. Chris, the guy who cooked for us practically every night of the summer, produced customized sandwiches for picnics at the Bowl, and didn't mind so much that Megan and I were kind of insane. Chris who professed his love and adoration for my best friend and had daily material reminders for her, just in case the gazes and sweet words weren't enough. This same person called her up last night, a day before he was supposed to come up to Santa Cruz to spend his weekend with her, to tell her "I am not stopping to see you. I'm breaking up with you and can never see or speak to you ever again." Chris, the 21 year old man, who so often behaves wise beyond his years and but has zero emotional capacity and such impersonal relationships with people that it's almost disgusting.

I hate being right about people sometimes. I've been at odds with Chris for the past few years - never really being able to get the "in" as a friend of his, as much as I would have loved to. I've expressed this irk with Megan, explaining to her that he just wouldn't allow people to get close to him, and that for that reason, I could never fully feel comfortable. I told her how lucky she was that they connected and confided and shared things with one another - that he must really be genuine about his feelings for her.

That half hour filled me with the greatest disappointment and sadness. There is no worse thing than knowing that your mother's heart is broken and that there is little you can do to fix it. And for that to be followed by the tears of your best friend - the person who is one of your biggest sources of inspiration, someone that you admire and love to pieces. All I know is that I am going to be there for them. I am driving 300 miles up to Santa Cruz in a few hours with my boy (he hasn't ceased to amaze me - he is a good, good person) to be with Megan, and I hope to see my mother some time next week.

All you need is love.