“He just stopped…liking me. He was my best friend growing up, but somewhere along the way, I became someone he couldn’t stand to be around. And the worst part is, I never understood why. There wasn’t a specific moment. It was gradual, like a tide going out, and by the time I noticed, the water was gone.”
There’s bewilderment in my voice. The same bewilderment that lives deep inside me.
After Vaughn left home to go to college, he’d responded to my messages less and less frequently.
One of the hardest things to understand when you’re growing up is that relationships aren’t frozen in time. They change, andwith that change, they can warp into a shape you no longer recognize.
And no matter how hard you try, you can’t change it back to the way it was originally.
My own brother, who had been my best friend, my favorite person in the world, reached a point when he didn’t want me in his life anymore.
For a genius, it took me far too long to actually clue in to what was happening. Vaughn had to spell it out for me.
It was at my second PhD graduation. Mom, Dad, and Vaughn had flown over from the States. I’d been so happy when Vaughn agreed to come. I’d taken it as a sign that maybe the emotional distance between Vaughn and me was mainly due to the geographic distance between us. Maybe seeing me in person would fix whatever had gone wrong over texts and missed calls.
The ceremony was in the Sheldonian Theatre. I remember the light coming through the windows, catching the dust motes, making everything look like a painting of itself.
And Vaughn was there. Third row. I spotted him as I took my seat, and he gave me a nod.
The ceremony was long, filled with Latin and lots of formalities. A speech from someone important. I sat through it, running the probability that afterward, over dinner, Vaughn and I might actually have a real conversation. He’d ask about my research, then I’d ask about his work, and we’d somehow find our way back to something that felt like us.
When I stood to receive my degree, I looked for him.
There was an empty seat in the third row.
Mom and Dad were still there, beaming. Mom had her hand pressed to her mouth. Dad was taking photos with his phone.
After the ceremony, I found Vaughn outside, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone.
“You missed the end,” I said.
“I got a call from work. Had to take it.”
His voice was flat. He didn’t look up from his phone.
“On a Saturday?”
“Things don’t stop just because you’re getting another piece of paper, Archie.”
I stood there in my gown, holding my scroll, searching for the thing to say that would bridge the gap between us. The one that had been widening for years despite all my efforts.
“Do you want to go get dinner?” I said. “It could be just us. There’s a pub around the corner that does?—”
“I’m flying back tonight. I changed my flight.”
I’d blinked at him. “You just got here.”
“I’ve got things to deal with.”
“Vaughn.” I hated the sound of my own voice. The pleading in it. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. But I can’t change whatever’s pissing you off if you don’t tell me about it.”
When Vaughn had finally looked up from his phone, his eyes were hard and tired and closed to me. “It’s nothing that you’ve done, Archie. It’s…you.”
My stomach hollowed. “What do you mean?”
“No one will ever be able to stand to be around you for long periods.” His voice was matter-of-fact. Like he was telling me something I should have figured out on my own by now. “You’re exhausting, Archie. You’re too much. You’ve always been too much.”
He pushed off the wall and pocketed his phone.
