It comes at different points in people's lives. The earliest anyone gets it is at 13, but most get it an hour before they die; it's as if the universe decided to taunt us with what could have been. To be honest most people don't get theirs in the interim. I guess I might be what's called an... outliar.
If you're one of the lucky ones the name of your soulmate appears on your dominant hand at the age of thirteen. Someone once explained it to me using some quantum bullshit, but let's call it what it is: destiny, gods, fate.
Johnny and Annabelle were the only two in my school for it to happen to. They were twins; it would seem luck runs in families. I remember Johnny coming in that morning with a frown on his face and Annabelle in tears. She had drawn Adam, a quiet and awkward fellow in the year below us (she stopped crying when she saw what he grew up into). Johnny had drawn someone named Ryan Carpenter. No one knew a Ryan Carpenter, so it was time for him to strike out and find them.
We all thought it was the coolest shit; Johnny was going to go on a search around the world to meet the different Ryan Carpenters. The thrill, the chase, the adventure was waiting for him. But he still frowned. So the day before he left I finally found the time to ask him what was wrong. He looked at me very uncertainly and took a deep breath, "Arty, what if Ryan isn't a girl? Does that mean I'm gay?"
At the age of thirteen, this was unfamiliar territory. If I could go back now I'd tell Johnny "It doesn't matter; it means you get to be happy with someone for the rest of your life." But I didn't know that then. I honestly can't remember what words I did say; I just know they were the wrong ones. You see Johnny was a rare case where Ryan had also had Johnny's name appear on the back of his hand. "Johnny" didn't have the same ambiguity as "Ryan," so Ryan managed the news better and more eagerly than Johnny. When a toned young man showed up at Johnny's door the next morning, Johnny knew. But he wasn't ready to know. He hadn't made peace with himself yet.
Johnny's dad was a hunter with a fully stocked garage.
The funeral was a good one, as I've come to learn. Ryan was there; he had a bandage on his hand where the name used to be. Annabelle found more reason to cry, and Adam stood next to her bewildered. And I stood there as they lowered the casket down. And I stood there as they covered it with dirt. And I stood there as people began to drive away. And I stood there with my mom waiting in the car. And I stood there when Ryan was the only one else there. And finally I looked him in the eyes: "I'm sorry."
And then I couldn't stand there anymore.
The next few years were full of studies. I stopped seeing friends. I stopped talking to people. I read and read and found worlds of information. On sad days I did Math and Music and Science; on good ones, when I could stomach it, I did Philosophy and Theology and History. And I was always reading fiction; that was where my people lived those days. Finishing a series was always painful. But I would throw myself into a new one and meet the new characters.
Graduated top of my class; got a great scholarship to university. They said "It's not often we see someone with a drive like yours." And I used the crocodile grin I'd gotten so good at.
But it was sophomore year of university when I saw you. You were stunning and full of light and brilliance, while I was dark and down. You introduced yourself and handed me a flyer for a book club. Shell-shocked, my name and number appeared on the list, and there the first meeting was two nights later. And all the words that had filled my head for six years began to pour out. They tumbled and turned into analysis and conversation. My bastions of sanity became figments of reality, but in exchange I turned characters of the world into humans of my life. Free and bound, my path was clear.
I asked you out later that year, and we clicked like that. It was magical. Then when I turned twenty one it really was magical. I woke up that morning and your name was there. You looked at me and I can still remember what you said "I already knew that."
Our years flew by like nothing at all. The universe was kind to us. Three kids, eight grandkids with another on the way, and sixty years of happiness. We had our ups and downs, but everyone does. And I am thankful for the life you gave me because without you I'd still be the shell I was when you met me. You filled me with everything I could have ever hoped for and I'd like to think I did the same for you.
When you were lying in the hospital I was holding your hand. You told me your hand tingled, and I asked if I should read it to you. You laughed, and coughed, but more laugh than cough that it was pointless. She'd found me without it more than sixty years ago. And then you began to fade. "I love you" were your last words as I kissed you goodnight for the last time.
So there I sat, the liar.
Ryan called me in our Junior year of University. He told me not to be sorry. Turns out he'd found a second Johnny Fisher; they invited me to the wedding, but I declined.
No dear, truth be told, it was not magic. It was well-done henna and a crafty tattoo artist later on. But it was absolutely love. And when I met you, I thought the universe was cruel and mocking me, but I gave it my best go anyways. Then I realized it wasn't cruel. It was course correcting.
In the hospital I sat holding your hand. I sat as your hand tingled with energy. I sat as your breathing slowed. I sat as the heart monitor bleeped you out of existence. I sat as the doctor walked in and pronounced you gone of this world, my world. I sat as our daughter came in after her shift. I sat holding your hand until the funeral home staff came to collect.
Your funeral was a good one. I made sure of that.
We buried you in a nice graveyard. One I had stood many years before. I like your tombstone; it's simple and elegant like you were.
Often times I come and sit and read with you. It feels right.
I like to look at your stone and his, side-by-side. Separated by seventy years but finally together: Ryan Brown née Carpenter and Johnny Fisher.
