Black Velvet (41) (Patreon)

I was in tenth grade when Tobias began staying over more often than not, with a small backpack thrown over his shoulder each time he appeared after practice.

Nic had a tragic habit of coaxing us both into the living room.  The idea of 'leaving me out' had been ingrained into him at an early age by our mother, the aftermath unfortunately still present at that time.

I'd follow reluctantly along to my brother's invitation, book in hand, and there the two friends would talk about baseball, different colleges that Nic had received scholarships for, and the occasional scoreboards from a favorite team.  Then, finally, they'd fall into the nostalgia and boyishness of their video-games.

I'd curl up on the sofa and watch, as always. Still, it only took a couple of hours past dark before Nic was out cold like the incredible host he was, and he'd have the first-person player controller, like always, sprawled out and accompanied by his signature grizzly bear snore.

Tobias was left awake in his tireless way.

And —

Usually, I'd take that as my cue to leave.

That night was different.

Tobias looked different to me then.

He unfurled from his seat, glanced back at me haphazardly as he strode up to Nic. He plucked the remote from my brother's side and switched over to our primary cable station.

It was all uncharacteristically casual, like maybe it was a request for me to stay.

At least, I took it as one.

The only working channel was pay-per-view, of course, because that's all that seemed to play that late at night, and there the broadcaster
went on and on about diamonds with an overblown attempt to sell the stone on its significance and its symbolism of eternity.

With each passing moment, Tobias seemed more out of place, more and more uncomfortable, like he was about to vibrate right out of his skin. I watched his long fingers track the groove of the recliner's fabric, his eyes flicker to me and back to Nic...

So I said,

"You know,"  I searched for conversation carefully, pushed my tub of ice cream out of the way of my arms, and waited until Tobias shifted enough to signify that he'd heard me,  "I think wedding rings are silly.  My grandmother doesn't wear a ring — and she had the best marriage I can think of."

It wasn't a lie.  But I would've lied.  I would've said anything to comfort Tobias.

But it was the truth.

My grandmother didn't wear a ring, never, and it hadn't made her less faithful or less in love with my late grandfather.

She was so proud of him that she had taken their old photos to get renewed at Jameson's retail store a few months before; had lugged the images around with her afterward and shown some of the young workers that would entertain her with small talk every time she visited.

"Wasn't he so handsome?" My grandmother would ask them.  She'd point at the delicate curve of his jaw, his enormous smile, and then she'd point at herself, her curls, and her bright eyes,

"I wasn't so bad either." She'd joke, and the employees would politely laugh along with her.

I curled into the side of the couch and patiently waited for Tobias to respond, I could see his jaw work like he wanted to, but his sad eyes remained trained on the television set like he wouldn't. The strangest, passing things would make him miserable.  I hated it, even then.

So.  The more I watched him and waited, the closer I came to falling asleep, and increasingly aware I became that he'd stay as tight-lipped as he was always, whether I did or not.

"... I thought it was because Grandpa passed away,"  I continued.  I propped my spoon against the side of the ice cream tub to keep it from sinking into the melted remains, "but she told me when they were like — sixteen, that he bought her a star."

"I guess it was cheesy, and they were young, but... He told her that  when the night was too dark for her, she'd have it — that diamonds shone only in the daylight, and you didn't need light then."

I laughed.

"It's cute.  Isn't it?"

I laughed because it was sweet and simple, and when Grandmother's friends had scolded her and said,

'He's disguising cheapness as romantic symbolism.'

My grandmother's rebuttal was only,

'As long as he proves it to be real, it isn't symbolism at all. They must not know a thing about love.  About trust — a genuine heart.'

"Something about a wedding ring doesn't seem so special now.  I mean... What's better than a star?"

I told Tobias truth after truth and hoped it would fill him with something different than whatever had crept inside him.

Because it was true to me, then and now.

The woman on the television set would hold the diamond in her hand every which way, let it gleam in whatever fluorescent lighting she wanted, and Tobias would frown.

But — when I told my story to him, he didn't.

My grandmother still looks up at the night sky the same way she looked at my grandfather his entire life.

Like she'd found the brightest star.

"So.  Whatever upset you about diamond rings — diamonds are stupid.  Pay-per-view is the worst."

Tobias stayed silent, his brows furrowed like he was thinking, and I think I fell asleep to the sight of him, awoke to the ice cream tub in the trash, the living room blanket around my shoulders — the space around me dark and empty, with no sign of him at all.

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