Bruno

by Pokorney, Stephanie

  He probably would have stayed, if his buddies hadn’t hollered at him. There’s no way he’d want them to see him getting turned down. That would ruin his “image”. For a small second, I was grateful for his big ego. He sauntered off, yelling something to his friends with a smile on his face. Hmm. I guess even jerks pretend.

  Across the food court, I see Melanie watching Tim march off with his football friends. She makes sure they leave, gets her order of fries, and heads for my table. I’m grateful for the company. Instead of asking me about Bruno like most people do when they see me these days, she offers me a fry. It has chili and cheese all over it; my favorite. I take one, and then another, and before long she’s put it in the middle of the small two-person table for us both to share. We are quiet while eating, besides quieted laughter when we spill chili on our shirts or get it all over the corners of our mouths.

  After the plastic container of fries is gone, I offer her a drink of my diet coke. She takes a sip to wash down the fries.

  “Have you seen Sam?” She asks.

  My brothers are always neutral territory. I have no problem forking up any information about the savages who sleep at my house.

  “He’s with Kevin and Kyle getting videogames or something.” I find it odd she’s here when Sam is and they aren’t together, so I have to ask, “You two still together?”

  She nods her head. “He’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

  I laugh the sarcastic laugh sisters always do when girls compliment their brothers. “Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean I have to stick up for him.” But everyone knew I was close with all my brothers. You mess with any of us, you get all of us. And he really is a nice guy, if you get passed his competitive nature.

  Melanie laughs along with me. “Okay, so maybe some of his ‘habits’ aren’t all that great. I just haven’t seen much of him since after we exchanged gifts at Christmas. He’s been incredibly sneaky.” I thought she might be referring to a chance that Sam could be cheating, but the smile on her face and glint in her eye let me know she thought it was cute and interesting.

  “Well, there was that one time they decided to start a yogurt chain with no yogurt. Or the time they decided an all-vegan food fight in the cafeteria wouldn’t get them in trouble like a food-fight with meat would.” I say, laughing.

  “Or,” she adds, “what about the time they filled up the town’s swimming pool with green pudding?”

  We are laughing hysterically, getting looks from neighboring tables. I don’t care. It feels so good to laugh. We continue to exchange stories; the next one crazier than the one before.

  Without us noticing, my brothers get close enough to hear our final story about the time they made a living room in the boy’s bathroom.

  “Hey! The girl’s bathroom is so much nicer! It’s only fair that we at least get a couch.” Kyle interrupts.

  Melanie and I laugh harder. “That’s because all boys do is pee on stuff and break things!”

  The girls sitting nearest us start laughing and nodding their heads in agreement. My brothers pretend to get angry, pumping their fists in pretend rage.

  “How do you even know what the girl’s bathroom looks like?” Teases Melanie.

  My brother laughs. Even he knows when he is one-upped.

  “Yeah, and a couch is understandable. The T.V. and cable you installed is a little bit overboard.”

  “It was football season. What do you want us to do? Wait for score updates? Unacceptable!”

  My abs start to hurt from laughing so hard. They haven’t hurt like this since before Bruno got sick again. Melanie stands to leave with Sam, while Kevin and Kyle help carry my bags to the car to head home.

  I had forgotten all about my encounter with Tim, ‘till my own thoughts get the best of me in the car. I make a vow to myself to tell Bruno how much he means to me. Besides saying “I love you”, I haven’t really told Bruno just how much I love everything about him. I feel bad, he means the world to me, and it’s about time I tell him.

  EIGHT

  Bruno’s hands are colder than icicles.

  I clench my teeth and force myself to keep squeezing them, trying to warm them up. I want them to feel like they have life in them again. His curls don’t look greasy anymore. They even smell nice, like he had just gotten out of the shower. His lips aren’t chapped anymore, either. His eyes are closed, and in a way I’m happy, because if they didn’t have the lively sparkle in them, I’m pretty sure I’d lose it.

  Bruno’s parent’s had long since left his room. They were downstairs making the necessary calls to “make the final arrangements”. Alex left with them, too. I peek up at Alex’s favorite toy truck. It’s sitting on the nightstand. Bruno had given it to him when he was three years old. It was the first toy truck he ever got, and quite frankly, it’s the reason he loves them so much now. Bruno’s toy truck was the only toy truck of Alex’s that had lasted longer than six months. No matter how many times Alex clanked it or smashed it against things, it never broke. It still held tightly together. And now Alex was giving it up as one final offer to Bruno. Alex is such a great kid. He’ll grow up to be just like Bruno, I’m sure of it.

  I hear a groan and quickly avert my attention from the toy truck to Bruno’s eyes. They’re still closed as if he’s sleeping. Why does sleep have to look so much death?

  He was having trouble breathing. His breaths have always been shallow since he got sick, but they were even worse now. As soon as I had gotten back from the mall, my mom had smothered me with her arms, not trying to hide her tears the way she normally does. I knew right then that Bruno didn’t have much time.

  By now I had been at Bruno’s for over six hours. The doctor’s hadn’t seen his death coming this soon. They thought the experimental drugs wouldn’t damage his heart as much as it did. Bruno’s parents were downstairs handling the continuous phone calls from extended family that wanted updates. Mrs. Castino hadn’t wanted to leave her son, but she knew there was nothing more she could do. This was the first time since I’ve been left alone with him. I squeeze him extra tight, hoping that will death at bay.

  “I’m not letting go,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I lean in closer, hugging him tighter; my heart on his chest. I can’t stop the tears now.

  “I love you so much,” I say, sobbing so hard I don’t think anyone but him can understand me, “I’ve loved you since the first day. I’ve loved since before Tim. I loved since I knew you were a beautiful person, too. I loved you when I saw you take care of Alex’s skinned knee. I loved you when you shared your lunch with the kid who couldn’t afford to buy a meal. I loved you when you choose going to church in support of an un-wed mother over going to a party to get drunk. I loved you since the first time you called me beautiful. I loved you since you turned down your first girl even when you didn’t have to just because you knew I loved you. I loved you since I heard you sing. I loved you since before you ever knew. And I’m so glad you know, Bruno. I’m so glad you knew and I didn’t have to tell you, but I’m telling you now because I want you to hear it from me. I want to validate what you already know. You’re the first guy I ever loved. I don’t care if you weren’t my first kiss, or the first guy I went to a dance with. I don’t care if we haven’t been in love since we were seven. I just care about you. You are my fairytale. And even if my fairytale ends now, it’s still a fairytale. Better than all of Disney’s combined. I won’t ever stop loving you, Bruno. You taught me its okay to not pretend. You taught me what true beauty was. You taught me that loving is beautiful and to never stop being beautiful and never stop appreciating beautiful things.”

  My tears have dampened his gray shirt. I keep crying and squeezing and loving. I know eventually my tears will stop; eventually I’ll have to let go; but I will never have to stop loving.

  “I love you, beautiful” I say, as I look up at his face.

  His heartbeat quickens. It’s stronger than it ever was
before. His eyes flutter open. They are more sparkly than I remember. He looks so beautiful. He doesn’t tell me he loves me, but when he looks into my eyes, I know. I know he loves me, he loved me before, and he’ll love me forever.

  His eyes close and his heart stops. The shallow breathing I once heard before, I no longer hear. I squeeze him once more, let one more tear fall, then I let go.

  Bruno looks happy. The way he did when we danced, the way he did when I first spoke Italian to him. He looks like the real Bruno. It really is true; you do look more beautiful after death. Because now when I look at Bruno, I don’t see the hurt he feels because of his illness or medicine, I just see the happiness and love he made me feel; and will continue to make me feel. I see the memories we share.

  I’m at peace just like Bruno is. I’m in such peace that I don’t feel Mrs. Castino guide me out of the room. I don’t feel my dad pick me up and carry me to our car. I don’t feel my mom wrap a blanket around me and kiss my forehead. I just feel peace.

  It’s raining. I can feel the wind blowing through my open window and raindrops hitting the outside ground. I run downstairs, searching for anybody. The first person I find is my daddy. He’s starring at his laptop, typing up something for his business.

  “Daddy!” I yell, throwing my arms around him.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” His eyebrows twist upwards in concern.

  “The rain is going to ruin my flowers!” All third graders have to do a project or school. They grow something in a pot, and at the end of the month, you can take it home and continue to grow it. Of course I had chosen roses. They we’re the prettiest, even with they’re sticky thorns.

  When I had brought them home earlier that day, my mom had placed them on the walk leading towards our front door. “So they can get beautiful sunshine to make them grow, and everyone walking by can admire how beautiful they are.” She had said.

  But now the yucky rain was going to ruin them. I had to tell daddy so he can make the rain stop!

  My dad smiled and led me to the front walkway. It was pouring by-now. I held on to his leg.

  “The rain won’t hurt them,” he said, gesturing towards my beautiful roses getting pounded by fierce rain.

  “Yes huh, Daddy! I know they will! We have to protect them!” I run fearlessly towards the floors, lifting my shirt to cover them.

  My dad runs out behind me, chuckling.

  “Let me explain it to you, Saigey,” he says, “If beautiful things like flowers always got beautiful things like sunshine to make them feel beautiful things, then they wouldn’t truly appreciate how beautiful life is.”

  “Huh?” I say, not understanding.

  My dad bends down and continues, “The rain makes flowers appreciate the sunshine. Rain makes the flowers need sunshine. Think about it, if flowers got sunshine all the time, then they wouldn’t need it. And if sunshine was the only thing flowers ever got, then they wouldn’t like it very much, would they?”

  This was true. My mom had given me Mac N’ Cheese for a whole month because it was my favorite food and the only thing I would eat. But after having it for a couple days, it wasn’t the good anymore. I even wanted to eat her yucky lima beans.

  “Oh! I get it. The rain makes them sad so they can be happy!”

  ”Yup. If you never experienced unbeautiful things sometimes, then you’d never really know what beautiful was, would you?”

  “Nope,” I say, heading back into the house. “And roses are so beautiful, Daddy. One day I’m going to love a boy who calls me beautiful and who loves Roses just as much as me!”

  “And he’ll love you just as much back,” replies my dad, shutting the door to keep out the rain.

  I open my eyes, smiling to myself. The thought of finding someone who loves you will put a smile on anyone’s face. I roll over on my side and glance at the clock. 2:30pm. I had slept all night and all day again. I shut my eyes, wanting to lose myself in old memories that become good dreams.

  It’s been 10 days since Bruno’s death. I’ve spent each one sleeping. I couldn’t bare to face the world that Bruno was no longer in. Sleep was my only escape. When you sleep, you don’t hurt. I guess that’s why it’s the cousin of death.

  Bruno’s last moments had been so peaceful. I’m sad I didn’t tell Bruno how much he means to me. I could have told him every time he smiled at me, or took my hand, or kissed my lips, or anything. I could have said it, emailed it, texted it, messaged it to him on Facebook, just as long as I told him. But luckily Bruno and I had the best kind of love-the love that just knew. The last words I ever said to Bruno were “I love you”, and even though he didn’t get to say it back, it was my turn to just know.

  I heard of people being upset that they never got to tell someone close to them who died that they loved them, and how it bothered them for years after. I don’t think they should be sad. When you’re loved, you just know. That shouldn’t stop you from saying it, but love is more powerful than words and actions. Love is in the heart and can be felt from miles, countries, planets, and even worlds away. People don’t give love much credit. Love conquers all.

  I sit up in bed. “Amore Vinci Omnia,” I say under my breath, “love conquers all.”

  Starring straight for the first time in over a week, I see my brand new bookshelf my dad built on Christmas Eve. I haven’t gotten to admire it. I didn’t even thank him. My eyes travel over each shelf slowly. In the right hand corner, I notice something pink sticking out among the dark colored book covers. I tilt my head to the left, the way Bruno would when he looked at me. Even from my bed, I can tell this book isn’t mine. Someone had placed it there on purpose. Wanting to know more, I push my covers aside and stammer over for a better look.

  Taking the book gently from the shelf, I look closely at the front cover as a tear falls.

  “Amore Vinci Omnia” was the covers only words.

  I open to the first page, and there, scribbled in Alex’s read crayon, Bruno’s handwriting read “For the most beautiful girl in the world, who I love so beautifully. To Saige, From Bruno.”

  I run my hands over his writing, scared to continue but wanting more of anything that makes it feel like he’s here with me.

  The inside pages were once blank paper, now filled with my favorite poems.

  “So that’s where my book of poems disappeared to,” I say to myself, engrossed in every word.

  I skim through the poems, familiar with them all. I stop when I come to my favorite poem of all.

  “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

  I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

  My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

  For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

  I love thee to the level of everyday’s

  Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

  I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

  I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

  I love thee with a passion put to use

  In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

  I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

  With my lost saints, – I love thee with the breath,

  Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and, if God choose,

  I shall but love thee better after death.”

  There’s a knock at my door. I hurriedly shut the book and place it back on my shelf. It’s not that I feel like I’m doing something wrong, but this moment is between Bruno and I. Not anyone else. I wipe my cheeks on my dirty shirt, hoping no one will ask me why I’m crying by my bookshelf.

  Kent enters my room. It’s not unusual that he didn’t wait for a reply before opening the door, but it IS unusual that he’s not standing at the door way relaying a message to me from mom. Instead, he walks into my room quietly and sits on my desk chair.

  “Saige, we need to talk.”

  I’ve refused to talk to anyone since Bruno died. My mom stopped telling me about my visitors because I’d always put my pill
ow over my head when she’d tell me someone was here to see me. I’d listen closely when she’d sigh and walk back down the stairs in defeat, wondering how the world was coping when Bruno was gone and I was hidden away under a pink bread spread. “She’ll come around,” my mother would say, “She just needs time.”

  HA! Time. Time doesn’t heal everything. Time doesn’t make everyone “come around”. This isn’t something that will just go away. Bruno can’t come back so this pain can’t leave.

  When I was a sophomore, a guy at my school, Travis, lost his girlfriend. They had been dating for three years and were extremely serious. I heard he even bought her a promise ring and was planning on giving it to here on Easter Sunday. Anyway, Travis was driving her home after a date and a big Mac truck hit the passenger side of the car. He told me he was knocked unconscious for a couple of minutes, and when he looked over at his girl, Amanda I think her name was, she was bleeding from the mouth and nose. She died that night. I really thought Travis would lose it and maybe take his own life because he couldn’t stand the thought of being without her. But he didn’t. Eventually, he really did move on. Two years later, he goes out, mingles with other girls, and enjoys life. It’s like he never loved her at all. A part of me is happy that he isn’t suffering over her death, but a part of me hates him for forgetting she ever existed.

  The more I thought about it, the more I never wanted to live without this pain. The pain leaving would be like Bruno leaving. And without Bruno, I didn’t want to live. I was still living as long as I had this pain.

  “Saige,” Kent said, “Why are you clutching your shirt?’

  I look down and realize my shirt was smashed into my fist. I open my hand, starring at my red palm. So my brother won’t call my mom into my room to bandage me up, I hold it tight against my side as I crawl back into bed.

  “What is it, Kent?” I ask, not caring for anything he has to say.