My sister broke up with her boyfriend last week, after nearly two years together. It’s really hit me hard; you would almost think that I was the one doing the breaking up. I’ve spent a total of two evenings crying over it; once when my sister first told us all the news, the next time in the car on the way home from taking her to his house to get her stuff.
I couldn’t help drawing the parallels between the sudden ends of my first relationship and my sister’s ex-boyfriend’s (hereafter known only as T Mos – a nickname affectionately given by my mother, as a How I Met Your Mother in-joke) first major relationship. I knew immediately everything that he must be feeling, with what he must be struggling. My heart went out to him, this quiet boy who waltzed so quickly into my family’s hearts after nearly a year of shy keep-away. My stomach fell when I saw the deep purple circles under his eyes. I couldn’t help but cry a little when he kept his half of the Disney cocoa mug that I gave them last Christmas. My heart wrenched when my sister refused his offer to help her carry her stuff to the car. My face fell when he asked me, eyes filled with loneliness, if I wanted to get something to eat, as he hadn’t eaten all day. I felt a pain in my gut when he attempted to touch my sister or share a big dinner with her and she shirked away in response. My eyes streamed hot tears as we told him goodbye and he walked back into the house, alone. And I outright bawled when he sent me a text thanking me for going out with him, that it meant a lot to him and he loved me.
When my first relationship dissolved I would have given anything to have someone who I felt was on my side, someone I could text and thank for being there for me when I needed it most. It would be impossible for me to turn the other cheek when I know this boy’s suffering intimately from my own scarred wounds.
When we were all at the Chinese restaurant having dinner, T Mos’s fortune said to ‘Remember this date. 3 months from now, your life will change for the better.’ I immediately smiled upon reading it, pressed it back into his hand, and told him to keep that one. The significance of that fortune, the only one that’s ever seemed relevant to me in my entire time of eating fortune cookies, practically screamed in it’s red letters, Howler-like: “It’s going to be OK for him, just as it was for you.” Almost as if my slacking healing process depended upon him healing as well, my heart lifted (albeit a little sadly) at this realization, and the bleeding seemed to stop for a bit. I’m hopeful that we did indeed happen to run across a truly prophetic fortune cookie, and T Mos’s life will indeed change for the better in 3 months, giving him relief from the pain of a broken heart and bringing him hope for his future love.