Lincoln
The Sixth Loop
Your sixth time being sixteen has hit differently than all the rest, mainly because for the first time, I haven’t been there
to see most of it happen.
Which, if I’m going to be real, has been a relief.
I’ve had stretches where I’m able to completely forget it’s even happening. I can pretend I’m just a normal college kid with
a normal family living my normal life.
Throwing normal darts with my normal boyfriend in a normal bar.
But then I have a conversation with you like the one we just had, and I remember: I’m not normal at all. I’m just as stuck
as you are. Forever doomed to repeat these same conversations over and over and over again. When I lie to you, it feels horrible.
When I tell you the truth, it feels horrible.
Because the reality is that, no matter what I say or do, I’m leaving my older brother behind. And it’s the worst fucking feeling
in the world. I will keep evolving and changing, and you just . . . won’t.
Worse still, it’s my fault.
I’ve gotten better at not thinking about that fight we had the night before this all began.
The fight that almost immediately followed your breakup.
I asked you if you were okay, and . . . you weren’t.
I wish I’d never asked. But there’s no point in thinking about it now.
Four months into the First Loop, I worked up the nerve to tell you what happened. And you flipped out. Rightfully so.
So I’ve never gone there again.
It’s just something I have to live with. This terrible situation is my fault.
And no matter how shitty it is for me, how depressing it is to be forever reliving these same conversations, it’s about a
billion times worse for you.
Which, if I’m going to be real, doesn’t make me feel better at all.
I throw another dart and miss the board entirely.