Love Letter for You and Me

Ashley McPhie

I hoisted you both off the sand and into the cool water. Lift after lift, my biceps strained from supporting the weight of your bodies. Tucking my hands into your armpits, I pulled you each up into the sky, then close to me, felt your warm skin touch mine, and finally tossed you away with a splash. As soon as one of you was out of my grasp, the other barreled toward me with a grin and said, “Sis, make me a rocket ship again!” knowing that if I could, I would lift you both to the stars and past them. Each splash made the dog bark and dance around my feet. Jumping up onto my calf, her paws scratched my leg, attempting to bring her higher. Her small back arched to draw her closer to your sandy toes so that she too could feel your sun-tanned skin. Your skin that was torn and littered with scabs from too many falls off Razor scooters, scooters you had each saved all summer for. It had been a summer of lemonade stands. Dancing barefoot in the grass along the road, you waved a neon pink sign and snuck sips of the watery yellow drink. A summer of sleepovers, oftentimes with two little boys, one girl caught between here, going, and gone, and a small dog all tangled up in the sheets of my double-sized bed. I would laugh because that’s what you both force me to do, to laugh, to smile, to cry, and to love, and remember the way I used to hold you when you were young. The feeling of your hot, completely trusting newborns’ breath on my throat, a breath that expands your chests twenty thousand times a day and nine and eleven years later has today exited your lips three to four thousand times that amount. As summer came to an end, I hopelessly watched you each take shaky breaths, your faces were wet with tears. With bashful looks at the ground and rapid swipes at your cheeks, you tried to hide the tears because little boys can cry, but not big boys, big boys that you both now were. Not wanting to break down in front of you, I tried to hold my own tears back. I knew that by leaving you both, I would come back demanding, “Where did my little boys go?” but you didn’t go, I went.

I would laugh because that’s what you both force me to do, to laugh, to smile, to cry, and to love, and remember the way I used to hold you when you were young.

I went, and while I lost parts of you, I eventually found pieces of me. I bent down slightly so I could look at each of you. I gazed into the face of the boy beholding my matching hazel eyes, the boy who is so sassy, so stinky, and yet, cried with me when I got yelled at by Dad for not washing the dishes. Then I shifted my weight to find my favorite smirk. There was the ever-present, come-on-I-dare-you look in your eyes that stared right back into mine. I waited for you to run behind me and with your small but strong legs propel yourself onto my back to wrap your arms gently around my neck. With gentle strokes your fingers played with a piece of my hair. I wondered if you jumped to see how strong I was. Was I strong enough to love you both with all I have and leave you at the same time? I hoisted you together off the black tar of the parking lot and into my arms in that final moment of togetherness, and the beginning of a lifetime of leaving.