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Muriel's Diary


On nights when we're not laughing over Seinfeld, Tad and I would visit his grandparents living just outside the city limit.

That night wasn't any different. My heart did triple back flips when his grandmother mercilessly teased us all throughout dinner, I failed to brush the color off my cheeks when his grandfather kept dropping hints of how lovely we look together, and Tad, being the unexpected clown that he was, just rumpled my scrupulous hairdo and smilingly said, "Ria?! She's the best twin sister I never had."

Like I said, that night wasn't any different, except that I was even more in love with him than ever.

It was a few hours after dinner and I'd finally decided to bare it all. I was just going to tell him the only one thing he didn't know about me but it felt like I was making a brutal confession. We were at the balcony, looking at a neighboring ranch shrouded in darkness. It wasn’t a view many painters would die for, but the half-hidden moon scarcely casting its eerie light on misty hillocks was enough to give the night its allure.

Something felt wrong.

The first splinters of rain fell like pixies dancing on raven’s wings. It was an ordinary rainy night, but it was the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. "I have to tell you something," I said, barely taming my pounding chest. I heard Tad chuckle, he said he had something to confess too. I turned to look into his eyes and saw love locked in confused silence. Amid the sound of raindrops kissing the earth he told me he loved me. I would remember that night forever, even if the stars we wished to gaze at failed to come out, even if the rain somehow managed to trickle into my cheeks when hugged me goodbye.