Mikki Brammer

A Novel

Collected Regrets of Clover

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People who were complete strangers to me less than a year ago had forever shifted the trajectory of my life. The fact that all of us were entangled—that everyone on the planet somehow shaped the course of one another’s lives, often without realizing it—felt like almost too much for me to comprehend.

Grief is just love looking for a place to settle.

The energy, the noise, and the frenetic movement were all symbols of the living. Of paths crossing, of memories being etched into psyches, of the beginnings of youthful dreams. And most of all, of a blissful ignorance that your time could be up at any moment.

It’s funny how you don’t notice how significant someone’s presence is until it’s no longer there.

It’s easy to glamorize the path you didn’t take.

I closed my eyes and tuned into the ripples of anticipation that always came at the beginning of a live performance. That shared intimacy among strangers where, for just a moment, everyone laid aside the baggage of life to be completely present as one—a communal hopefulness.

When you fantasize about something enough, it can almost feel like it's true.

We get stuck in a routine and we look at them as we've always looked at them, without seeing them for the person they've become or the person they strive to be. What a terrible thing to do to someone you love.

An incongruous tug-of-war between the need for solitude and the craving for emotional connection - I didn't want company, but I didn't want to feel alone.

My imagination, on the other hand, needed only a glance or a brushing of shoulders to ignite the fuse of a daydreamed crush. I'd had many of those over the years-baristas, librarians, bus drivers, supermarket cashiers-but most of the time, they didn't even notice I existed. And I was too shy to try to get their attention; I wasn't sure I was even worthy of it. So instead I preferred to live in my head, observing the people around me, and on screens, living vicariously through their relationships. It was safer that way.

Of course I'd thought about it. About what it would be like to have someone whose day was better for having you in it. Someone whose mind you occupied even when you weren't there. Someone who trusted that you would treat their heart gently-and would take on the sacred duty of doing the same for you.

I'll tell you a secret about adults, Clover," he said finally. "Even though it seems like they know what they're doing, often they're just trying their best to work life out as they go."

But extended solitude was always a fickle thing. At first it soothed, swaddling me from the chaos and expectations of being human. Then, in an instant, it shifted from rejuvenation to numbing isolation.

Grief plays tricks on you that way-familiar whiff of cologne or a potential sighting of your person in a crowd, and all the knots you've tied inside yourself to manage the pain of losing them suddenly unravel.

Collected Regrets of Clover A Novel

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