Brother

I will never forgive you. Blood pours out of me as I sob into the floorboards, and I will never forgive you. I tried to prove myself to you. I made sure all of my cards were face up on the table, and you flipped the table. Nothing was ever enough for you. No matter how much money or time or compassion or remorse, it was never enough. The knife in my back stings. Your lack of thought has forced me to cauterize the flesh around the serrated blade. My battle partner soothes me with a heavy hand to my back. Breathe, she begs, holding the searing iron over the deep wound. I think I’m dying. You’ve killed me, and I will never forgive you.

Time passes. I retire the armor around my heart the longer I go without you. The blade is still in my back. My shirt hangs awkwardly over the weapon that remains in me like a bone. I haven’t forgiven you. I don’t avoid any mention of you, but the weather still causes the wound to throb. My battle partner’s nimble fingers massage ointment over the scar. I will never forgive him for harming my husband, she mutters bitterly into my ear. Anger makes my heart grow weary. I will never forgive you, but I’m too tired to spend any more time being mad. Time passes. That wound is still in my back, but I am no longer at war.

A possibility crosses my mind. Maybe I will learn to forgive you, to be comfortable in the same room as you. I suffer another nightmare. I won’t be scared, nor will I be ashamed that I survived such a vicious attack from your hands. The wound doesn’t ache anymore. In fact, the knife fell out one day at work, and I only realized because I checked the lost and found weeks later. I stand tall and breathe easy. I went a whole week without being angry at him, says the one who saved me as we lie in bed. Good luck, old friend. I can’t help but pray our paths never cross again. Another alternative crosses my mind. I have forgiven you, I have forgotten you, and I am still alive.