The boss' youngest brother

Part II

It’s been eighteen months. One and a half year, to the day. I know it without looking at a calendar. I know, because exactly after six months, I left my spot under the trees. Exactly one year ago, I loosened the ropes and left.
I left, and I went with the idea of never coming back.
I left, because if I stayed, I would have killed myself.
I was dying. Out of loneliness.

Remember me? I’m Jake. I listen to the name Jacques now, ever since I arrived in France. I took a new name, like I’d done before, with the plan to start a new life.
A new life, a new job –as boring as the one I quit so long ago– and a new lover.
A new lover? Other than my Timmy?
Ha. I’m laughing now. Nobody will ever be my lover, other than my Timmy.
Timmy, who left me, and who caused all this is.
Tim is to blame.
Or, his brother.
I hate his brother.

I never told you the man’s name, did I? It’s Mel, or Melle, and he’s much older than Tim. He acts like Tim’s father, ever since their parents died, and he control’s Tim’s life.
He was the one convincing Tim we had to take a break. He explained him, like Tim tried to explain me, that it would be better for everybody to split up, and not to speak to each other anymore, to see if we were indeed meant for each other.
After all, Tim was still so young and I so much older and more mature.
So after six months of living happily together on my ship, Timmy packed his gear, and went back to his brother’s house.

We had been so happy together. We were so much in love. And he left me. I was alone.
And, what was more, I was lonely.

I never had many people around. I never had many friends. I had no contact with my family, but I never felt lonely before.
It’s a devastating feeling… and it was killing me.
I was dying. Slowly, agonizing slow. No longer did I look at the sunset from my deck. No longer did I spend long evenings in bed, with candles around me, holding my love. No longer did I make endless love to him.
No more.

I was lonely, dying, and I had no other option than to leave. Exactly twelve months ago, I went to France, and I continued my life as Jacques. But Jacques wasn’t happy.

I could tell you about those twelve months of my life. I could tell you about my tears, my cries, only visible to the stars and the moon. I could tell you about those cold nights in my bed, about the times I smashed my fists against the beams; I could explain why I sat on my deck for days and nights, I have no idea how long, before I finally went inside and collapsed in the steering house.
I could tell you about my progress of healing. But I won’t tell you. It took me months to get over my breakup with Timmy.

I’d done it before. There have been several moments in my life in which I decided to run away, instead of facing my destiny. There were times I couldn’t handle my life anymore, and I simply quit to start again. This time it was no different. I couldn’t live like this, so I ran away, and I wanted a fresh start.
But it didn’t work, this time.

Was I getting too old? Was it perhaps no longer possible to start a new life all over again?
I don’t know. But what I do know is that I felt tired.

I didn’t want to be Jacques. I didn’t want to be in France, to pretend I was Flemish, to make up a new past with fake memories. I didn’t want to have a new job –so boring again– and try to meet new people.
All I wanted was Timmy, my ship at that place under the trees, and to be Jake.
After numerous changes of my name and life, I wanted to be Jake, I wanted to be in the Netherlands, and I wanted to be on that river between the reeds.
I wanted… to go home.

I daydreamed, as I steered my ship through the narrow canals and under the low, fixed bridges. My ship was made especially for the French canals, which was why I went there. I dreamed about how Tim would be sitting on the jetty, waiting for me. How he took my ropes and fastened them on the shore, about how he came aboard, kissed me, and stayed with me as if nothing had happened.

My heart was beating when I saw my old place under the trees. And it sank when I arrived. No one was waiting for me.

It was a warm summer evening; the trees were green and the reed full and high. The grass was green even on my parking space –I’d sold my car before I left– but no one was waiting for me.

I used my plank to go ashore and saw my old shed, still in good order, and still containing my dustbin. I put my bicycle back inside –I probably disturbed some animals under the dirt– and put on a new lock.
I was home. When I stepped outside, and looked at the river, it even felt that way. I savored the familiar sounds and smells for a long time. Eventually, I walked to the side of my shed and took my knife. I carved something into the old wood. A heart, with the letters J and T.
There. I’d wanted to do that forever.

And then, like I’d done the first night with Tim, I went inside and baked a pizza. I took a blanket outside, sat on the deck, and watched the sun set. I watched the sky turn red; I looked at the clouds on the horizon, and felt at home.
Tomorrow, I would go out and look for my Timmy.