The Thirty-First Night.

 

Nick has a cheerful, talkative, extroverted way about him; so when I find him quiet and serious, I know something's up. Not that this prompts me to ask, “What’s wrong?” Honestly, I just wait — and he always ends up bringing it up himself, casually, like someone commenting on the weather: “Think it’s gonna rain today?”

And that’s how he said to me:

“My sister wants to come visit.”

“And that worries you?”

“It scares me. I mean, she has the right to see the only family she’s got left, right?”

“She does, yes.”

And after a brief pause:

“I bet you’re gonna tell me having her around would be... an interesting adventure.”

“You’re right,” I replied. “After all these years, you and she have taken up a bond that seemed lost. Now she wants to see you again. Welcome her! She can’t stay more than three months on the island as a tourist, so it’s a visit with an end date.”

“She actually can’t stay more than a month with me — she’s got some obligations.”

“I tend to trust women. They’re usually more emotionally intelligent than we are. Of course, they talk too much, and that can get a bit unbearable.”

“I can't imagine my sister needing help writing an email the way I needed yours,” he said with a smile.

“True,” I laughed. “They never need help finding the words!”

After a pause, I continued:

“Are you afraid she might ask tough questions?”

“The memories I have of my sister are really, really good — and she still seems like the same bright little kid she was, just... older now. But there’s also the darker side of what was going on back home. The part I don’t like to remember. Emailing’s one thing. Seeing her face-to-face? That’s different.”

“Does she have a date set for the trip?”

“No, she just kind of brought it up. Said she could even stay at a hotel.”

“Nick, tell her to come. Tell her she can stay at your apartment. Also let her know there’s not much to do on the island besides walking, swimming, watching TV or reading a good book. And if after a few days, the two of you feel like living together is too hard, send her here to me — or to a hotel.”

And placing my hands on his shoulders, I said:

“Just don’t suffer about it. It’s probably not easy for her either. Did you ever tell her about the abuse you suffered at home?”

“Not really.”

“Then there’s a good chance she has questions — even if they’re not fully formed. And maybe telling her everything is the only way for you to be free of this weight you carry. Sometimes, the only way out of the horror... is through it.”

He looked at me and said:

“That’s deep. Go through the horror. Face it head-on.”

“Welcome her. If she asks, tell her the truth.”

“What would I do without you? You’ve changed my life so much! You make everything sound so easy.”

“Life is easy. I don’t mean it’s all laughs and joy, but it’s not difficult. Each day has enough trouble of its own, so we take it slow — one day at a time.”

“You sure you don’t wanna be my therapist?”

“Not for all the gold in the world” I said in a mock-solemn tone, and we laughed together. Nick was starting to come back to himself.