Isaac Left: In Defense
by
Nathanael Smith

Isaac left, the sigh is deep. My strains and troubles are over for now, and the thrill within me is hardly containable. Why am I glad Isaac left? For years, no, since birth, I've had a shadow. A shadow that whispered in my ear, goading me towards superiority. "What if your brother is better? What if he can walk faster? What if he can read better or get better grades? He's taller, he's smarter, he's better than you!"

Be quiet, my shadow. Your time is past. Today I live in a real world, where being the best is not a simple contest with a single brother, or even a pair, but a whirlwind of chaff from the disintegrating straw men, the masks that are everyone and everything anymore. I cannot be the very best in any way, somebody else is already better than I-- and continuing to get better at every moment.

But even as I say this, I am drawn to the realization that my brother-- the brother who was for time out of mind my inferior-- my brother is better than I. He has the magnetism of personality, the smile, the carriage. He has the traits that I carefully planted in him by my example, watered with careful words, and vigilantly weeded around to remove the undesirable. I feel like a Frankenstein: the monster I created is better than I am, the person I developed is my rightful lord and master.

As I realize it, my heart is loosed. I no longer feel the raging need to compete. I am absolved from my mad obligation to rule. I can loose my protegˇ into the world, cut the umbilical cord by which he was bound to me.

But at the same time that I let go of the reins, I fell off the horse. When I pushed him out the door, I forgot and locked the door. Not that he'll ever leave my memory, and not that he could ever be replaced for who he is, but the pieces of heart that were wrapped up in his life and future are returned, carefully grafted back into my life, and scarred back together. Whole perhaps, but my heart is no longer unblemished. Not shattered, but at least cracked.

Not that Isaac leaving was the first time my heart (and I say 'heart' in the least romantic way) has been broken, but it has been smashed time after time after time, until now it feels like a fork inserted into my chest and twisted viciously would be the only thing that could hurt anymore. Somehow, though, it isn't.

If anybody knew just how easy it is to break me, they could use that; they could use me. Because of that, my soul screams, I can't let anybody know. My mind assures itself that if I act loose and flippant about the things that hurt me worst, nobody will ever know that that is my achille's heel. If I flaunt my weaknesses, will everyone think they are my strengths?

If I broadcast just how much this doesn't affect me, my hope is they will overlook the easy road to manipulating me.

Or am I just making excuses?

In any case, forgive me, I ask:
   I didn't think, and then I wrote.

*-*-*-*

There are two things in the world which are equally painful: The first is the lack of a confidante, the second is the overabundance of them. With a multitude of shoulders to cry on comes a lack of tears to cry. With a lack of tears to cry comes an empty space.

If you don't limit your acquaintances to mere acquaintances, then when a true, deep, amazing friend comes along, there's nothing to make them special. They'd just be stuck being like every other Frank, Joe, and Bubba. It's not fair to be unable to cry on their shoulder. It's not right to prevent them from helping you carry your pain.

And when you look at your life and realize that you know more people than you could ever find time to be friends with, then there's no choice but to allow some of the relationships to go on the back burner. Some of the really good relationships you could have had disappeared because you made a bad decision and never knew it.

In fact, most of the really good friends that pass by actually just fall through. Only one in a million actually turns out to be great. But that one in a million far outweighs the other 999,999 people.