Page 89 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“I haven’t really talked to him in months,” I said. “But he still texts me every morning when he wakes up. And before he goes to bed.”

“I don’t think he hates you,” Alex said, amused.

“Maybe.”

“Stop hating yourself,” Alex said, “for surviving. Stop hating yourself for struggling. Stop hating yourself for being human and not always knowing how to handle your shit. None of the shit you went through that made you act that way was your fault anyway.”

Looking up at the stars, I sighed.

“I have never told anyone this,” I said. “Not even Peter. After my grandmother died, I planned to run away. I was going to leave my brother and sister with my parents. I wanted my life to be easy. I was so young, but I…I wanted my life to be easier.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Then my father got really sick and died. I stayed.”

“I asked you—why didn’t you?”

“Then my sister, and—”

“Enzo,” Alex stopped me, “why didn’t you leave?”

“I—I don’t know. Each morning, I woke up, ready to leave. I had a plan and a bag with a few things, but…”

“What?”

“Then Noe would say ‘good morning.’ And ‘good morning’ might be the only thing he’d say all day. But he’d always say it…and…I couldn’t leave.”

“I see.”

“He was my baby brother. My best friend. Ila was my little sister, too—even though she was older—and she was my other best friend. I couldn’t leave them. Who would watch over them?”

Alex and I stayed there, him lying in the grass, me sitting next to him, staring up at the sky together.

“When we’re young, we all want an easier life,” Alex said. “We want what is best for ourselves. What’s more convenient. Then it goes away for a while. We learn to be mature adults and a little more selfless—to care about people other than ourselves. It comes back when you’re close to forty—the wanting what’s easiest and most convenient. Plus, you’re really fucking tired, so that exacerbates it a bit.”

“What do you do? To make those thoughts stop?” I asked.

Alex sat up with a grunt, his knee against mine as he crossed his legs, but he didn’t move away at the touch.

“You straighten your back. You clear your throat. Hold your head up high. And you tell the universe who the fuck you are. Let it know who it’s dealing with. That’s what you do. You’re not a bad person, Enzo. You have bad thoughts. You’re just like the rest of us who could run away, but chose to plant our feet,” he said. “You know you’re allowed your thoughts, right? No one can take that from you or keep you from having any thoughts you want. It’s when you act on those thoughts that judgment is fair.”

“Do you think my bad thoughts make me a bad person?”

“I think your bad thoughts took some of the pressure off at the time. They reminded you that you could leave. But you chose not to. I think the fact that you had bad thoughts and ignored them makes you a great person.”

I took a breath.

“Do you have bad thoughts?”

“All the time. I haven’t always been as stubborn as you.”

“Tell me one.”

“No,” he said.

The word was like a lock to a door.

“But I will tell you this,” he continued. “The bad thoughts usually don’t have your best interests in mind. We all have two voices in our heads. The first voice that speaks up is usually the one that lies. Wait until you hear the second voice.”