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Dear Tony

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You know that old song, You are my Sunshine? Johnny Cash sang it once, all upbeat and happy, guitar strumming. Mothers sing it all the time to their kids, in cute little voices that make them giggle and sing along. My Nana used to sing it to me too, in her soft voice, edged by years of cigarettes. I can remember sitting in her lap as she rocked slowly back and forth, singing softly-

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.

It was simple, sweet, enchanting.

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you-

She’d tickle me, peck my cheek with red lipstick kisses.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

She died when I was eleven.

 

That was around the age when I finally realized that the song wasn’t happy. It wasn’t a sweet lullaby or a upbeat love song meant to be sang to a country guitar riff. It wasn’t meant to be put into Teddy-bears or Greeting Cards or sang to a gaggle of squealing children watching colorful puppets dancing about on the television. But no one else seemed to see it but me. So I just ignored it. I woke up thinking I’d never have to hear the song again, never have to hear it and think of anyone I’d once loved.

Then I met Tony.

Hell, Tony was sunshine. He was blinding, stunning. His smile alone could light up a crowded room, his eyes brighten a dimly lit bar, the way he moved sparking life into those around him. And god was he beautiful. He was beautiful in a t-shirt that was too short for him, his stomach peaking out from under the cut fabric, jeans that hung low on his hips, beer bottle in hand, laughter rolling of his chest. Gorgeous in a silk suit, made custom, with a fancy-ass tie and Italian shoes, his hair perfectly styled, smile plastered to his face. He was breathtaking in the suit, soaring over head in a blaze of gold, his laughter pouring over the comm-link.

He was sunshine.

My sunshine.

Who’d have thought? He may have been the most obnoxious person I’d ever met, the most stubborn, the most temperamental, but that never took away from the sheer magnitude of his… his glory? Was that the word? Seems a silly word to use but that’s the only one coming to mind. His glory. His heart. There we go, his heart. His heart was something I’d never seen in another human being before. Not the reactor, that wasn’t his heart. He liked to pretend, to think that he didn’t have a heart, that he just had a hunk of metal and electricity in his chest keeping him alive, but not an organ, a beating, living, pulsing organ that was capable of breathing life into a man as powerful as him. He didn’t like to think he was human, didn’t think he deserved to be one. He probably would have preferred to be a robot, now that I think about it.

 

He got bronchitis one winter, as we humans do, so bad that he couldn’t leave the bed for a few days because of the pain in his chest. I’d had bronchitis as a kid and trust me, it’s terrible. Feels like a cinder block or two have been placed on your chest, added to the fire in your lungs, the bee stings in your throat and its all you can do not to cry from it all. And Tony is a god awful patient. He whines, he complains, he stomps his foot like he’s five. It’s cute for the first hour, then it’s insufferable. So after the soup and the blankets and the drugs and the movie marathon that had only lasted an hour and the confiscation of all his tablets and phones, I sat with him in bed, his smaller form nestled in my lap like a child, my hands pressed to his bare chest hoping to help soothe the pain with a bit of warmth. He was dazed from the amount of drugs in his system, I’m sure he’d taken enough Nyquil to knock out the Hulk. And one by one the words started falling.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray-

He squirmed in my lap, twisting to bury his face in my neck.

You never know dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.

Tony made a giggling sound against my neck. I could feel the words catching in my throat and I couldn’t finish. If he expected more from me, he did little to show it. He just dozed against me, whimpering now and then from pain, before falling asleep. He liked falling asleep against me. I liked the warmth, the way he fit perfectly in my arms, the disgruntled look on his face when he’d wake up a few hours later. He was beautiful. He was mine.

 

That’s the first verse.

 

The second verse I could never bring myself to sing aloud.

 

The other night dear, as I lay dreaming, I dreamt I held you in my arms. But as I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, and I hung my head and cried. Too many nightmares. Always Bucky, even when he came home. Always Peggy, even though I know she had lived a good long life. Always Nana, always the boys. All those loving people I was never again going to see. Time was supposed to make it easier. But that kind of grieving never really ends.

I’ll always love you and make you happy, if you will only say the same. but if you leave me, to love another, you’ll regret it all someday.

Everyone had always said Tony would leave, that he never stayed in one shtick too long, hated being tied down. They told me we’d have maybe a month or two together. Two months, two years, four years and people finally stopped talking.

It wasn’t easy. Love isn’t easy. Anyone who thinks it is has never, truly, been in love. The hard parts are what make the whole trip worth while in the end, or so I’ve been told. There were days I hated Tony, weeks I hated Tony.

No, I think I hated Tony for at least a year. But then, that was the year nothing made sense, the year we lost Goliath, when Thor was no where to be found, the year Susan left Reed, Fury went into hiding, Peter was nearly gunned down by shield. The year I thought I would lose Tony forever and really wouldn’t mind. You know you think moments like that, moments when all you feel is emotion, rage, unending rage that comes from a broken heart, from betrayal from all those emotions you hear about in lifetime movies, and what Clint calls Chick-Flicks, will only last for a short while, then things will right themselves and you’ll soldier on.

 

But they don’t.

 

I never got to say goodbye.

 

Not to Tony, or Peter, or anyone else. I didn’t get to go to any funerals or do anything to set it right.

 

I died hating the man I love.

 

God, isn’t that ironic? Isn’t that just the sickest joke fate can play? You die with nothing but hate in your heart. Hate, a bitter, ugly emotion, festering in your dying heart. And that’s the last emotion you’ll ever feel is hate. And for someone who you’d loved, someone who you would have given anything for. Sometimes its justified. This time it wasn’t.

And Tony never knew. He never knew that I didn’t really hate him. He went to bed each night thinking that I hated him, that I blamed him for everything. And I let that happen. I had let something so beautiful die, because I wasn’t able to set aside pride.

 

I’d put out my own sun.

 

You told me once dear, you really loved me, and no one else could come between.

I would tell him every morning that I loved him. Every morning like clockwork to the rising of the sun. He’d open his eyes and cling to me, and the world was brighter. He only said honestly in the dead of night.

And now you’ve left me, and love another, you have shattered all my dreams.

One of these days I’ll see him again and things will start to mend. One of these days, god willing one day soon, the two of us will sit down and talk this out. He’ll know I don’t hate him, that I’ve missed him, that I want nothing more than to feel the heat of his skin, the scratch of his beard, the callouses on his fingers. He’ll know, he has to know.

And we’ll go back to the first verse.

 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You never know dear, how much I love you- Please don’t take my sunshine away.

I love you, Tony.

I’ve never stopped.