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- 07/23/2014
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Direct Confusion - 23. Chapter 23
Each morning when I wake, it is a fresh shock. Like being smacked in the face upon returning to consciousness, because there are a few blissful seconds before I remember. I think of Erin, of his lips or the sound of his heartbeat, or I miss being with him in the early mornings. And then like a sledgehammer to the skull I remember the scent of blood and hospitals, the grittiness under my skin I can’t seem to shift.
My brother is dead. My brother, Greg McBride who joined the army and lived to tell the tale, my brother whom everyone loved, he is dead.
I spend the rest of the Thanksgiving break in my room mostly. Derrick and Jim come round on Friday, and I know that Erin has taken it upon himself to break the news to other people. I can’t stand the idea of going near my phone. Derrick hugs me tight and hard and I don’t want to ever let him go. They fill my silence with little snippets of their holiday activities and Jim complains how dull going shopping with his mother is, how pleased he is to have avoided the Black Friday madness. Derrick stays longer and allows me to cry on his shoulder, my face buried in his team jersey. I rant and yell, life is unfair and broken and Greg shouldn’t have died; and Derrick simply nods and murmurs reassurances. Jameson texts with kisses and a long rambling joke about three cheerleaders and a football player walking into a bar.
Erin comes round Saturday and stays over. I fall asleep in his arms and wake in the middle of the night, shaking and scared. Erin calms me down, soothing noises and warm hands on my back until we are suddenly both unaccountably aroused. He fucks me slowly, without speaking, and my height of ecstasy is so high and sharp it is almost painful. He tells me he loves me, and I hold onto the words as I lose consciousness.
By the time Sunday afternoon comes around, I feel sick with the idea of going back to school. Erin tells me being busy staves off worry, and we go for a run. Jameson joins us half way round, and I keep myself focused on moving. By the time we get back, both the Parker twins are sweating and exhausted, but I feel like I could run another thousand miles if it would rewind time and take me back to the moment when I hugged my brother goodbye. I cannot remember what his hair smelt like.
That night I get into an awful argument with my mother.
Since Thanksgiving people have been bringing us meals made from their leftovers, or foods that no one ate because they were too full. Erin brings us a meatloaf with turkey, sausage and pockets of stuffing, and a plate of chewy oat and honey cookies. For a while I wonder why in times of trouble, people’s first instincts are to feed each other, but after biting into a slab of Erin’s meat loaf I no longer care. I hate meatloaf, but now I realise I only hate it because I’ve been eating bad meatloaf.
“This is amazing.”
“Thanks babe.” Erin kisses my cheekbone then returns to his dinner. I know he is trying to be as normal as possible, and I am deeply grateful for his efforts. I don’t think either of my parents has really spoken to me since the hospital.
“You want to drive to school tomorrow? Do we have to pick up Jame?”
“He texted and said Derrick was picking him up. You don’t wanna drive?”
I think of the Dodge, my brother’s old car which I inherited by default, sitting in the driveway. It doesn’t matter that it’s been mine day in and day out for two years, or that I’ve loved it long before I could actually drive; it’ll always be my brother’s car. I shake my head.
“Luke, it’s a school night.”
I stare at my mother blankly.
“We love having Erin over, but rules are rules. He can’t stay over on a school night.”
“Mom!” I am surprised by the anger in my voice. The idea of sleeping alone makes me scared. I don’t want to be left by myself with my thoughts.
“Sorry Erin, sweetie. Do you have your car?”
“Yes.” Erin glances at me and his hand finds mine under the table. “Sorry Luke.”
“No!” I snarl at my mother. “He’s my boyfriend and I’m going to have him stay over whenever I want. Blow ‘it’s a school night’. I’m eighteen.”
“Luke! Mind your tone young man.”
I snort derisively.
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions about my boyfriend. I want to spend time with him and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“And if you’d been more thoughtful about spending time with your brother, he might still be alive!” My mother snaps. There is half a second of silence as her words sink in to us all. “Luke, no…” Her hands cover her mouth, and she can barely believe that she’s said it. I push my chair back, knocking it noisily to the floor, and run from the room.
Erin finds me curled up on the floor with my spine pressed against the sofa. As he enters, I press the button on my oft-ignored answerphone and we listen together to the message my brother left while I was out at Thanksgiving dinner.
“It feels weird to leave you a message on this thing when you’re just across town. And no one is shouting in the background, and I haven’t got two minutes until the line’ll go dead.” There is a break, the noise of him moving around the room, the soft creak of the sofa as he sits down. “I like your new look little brother. Though you’re not so little anymore, eh? I’ll bet you fit in my uniform just fine.” Another long pause and I can hear him moving around the room, the soft clink as he touches things. There is the unmistakable scrape of him hefting a trophy from the shelf by the window, and his voice sounds further away. “Your boyfriend was unexpected. I thought you were kidding, but he looks like he could throw a decent hit. Looks at you like you’re the centre of the universe, though I don’t expect you’d noticed. You never do. I can’t believe you’re all grown up: you’ll be at college any minute.” Greg sighs, apparently making the most of his free phone time. “I held you the day you were born, and you were a little pink squishy thing that cried and hated me. Man, I feel old. Shit, maybe I should get married and have kids or somethin’.” He chuckles softly. “I think we should definitely go to the park tomorrow and play ball. You can tell me all about your boyfriend. Maybe bring him along, he can play soccer right?” One last pause. “Mom’s putting dinner out. I’d best go eat enough for both of us, right? I love you, Luke. ‘Night little brother.”
The silence as the message ends is deafening, and I press both hands over my face, cheeks wet with fast flowing tears. My brother loved me, and all that remains now is his voice on my answering machine. Erin settles on the floor with me and I almost instantly try and crawl into his lap. He makes a cage from his body and wraps his arms around me, his legs on either side of mine as I cry into his shirt. The thud of his pulse so close makes me wish I could simply blot out everything that has happened over the last four days. I wish Greg had never come home.
“I wish I’d gotten to know him.” Erin’s voice is feather soft. “He sounds like such a great guy. He loved you Luke. That means a lot.”
“I know.” I sniff.
“Don’t be mad with your mom, OK babe? She’s just trying to keep you all together.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be at school and training.”
“I don’t want you to go.” I nuzzle against his chest. I know I sound pathetic.
“Hey, I won’t be far. You want me to call you?”
I sniff, and pull myself together.
“It’s OK. Just text me when you get back?” I kiss him. “Love you Erie.”
“I love you too.”
Ten minutes later I wave him goodbye from my driveway, say a cursory but polite goodnight to my parents, and retire to my room. Lying ninety percent naked on my bed, I press the play button again and listen to my brother’s voice.
“…I love you Luke. ‘Night little brother.”
Knowing my mother blames me for his death, even partially, and even unintentionally, makes me wish, even harder, that there was some way of bringing him back. My mind reels forwards to a dozen Thanksgiving dinners which will happen without him, and where all my parents and I will be able to think of, is that instead of celebrating, we are mourning the death of my brother. And every year, even if she doesn’t want to, my mother will look at me sitting across the table, and she will blame me for the loss of her son.
Around midnight my phone bleeps at me and I pull up the text that Erin has sent. It is a photo taken in his bathroom mirror, of my boyfriend in my red and white speedos. He is sporting a bulge which looks to be about a semi, and is giving me the thumbs up as a white notecard sticking out of the wide waistband of the special first-date speedos asks: Remember this? I can’t help but smile.
There are good things in my life, and as I fall asleep, I imagine kicking a soccer ball around with Greg in the park and telling him all about my first ever real date. He’d be so impressed that I broke into school and a bit confused by the thing with the speedos and generally grossed out that his little brother is having sex already. It’s a strange little dream, but it’s funny, and it’s good.
*
The next few days move in a slow un-focused blur with moments of sharp clarity. On Monday it is very obvious that people have been told, and I am given a wide berth by students who do not know me. From those who are friends and teammates, there are pats on the back and unexpected hugs. A lot of them have siblings who knew Greg, so they knew him a bit too, and are sad to know he is gone. My teachers nods softly, and smile, and try to understand, but I don’t blame them for not being able to. Obviously an email has gone out to the staff, because although I sit in all my lessons and listen to the discussions going on around me, I don’t do any actual work, and no one seems to mind.
While my teammates prop me up emotionally, Derrick and Erin support me physically. I don’t know how they manage to get out of their own classes, but when the bell rings one or both of them is outside the door, ready to walk me to my next class. It’s nice, but I feel burdensome. The idea of walking alone from one end of the school to the other though, makes me nervous. I do not want to be approached by someone and get stuck in a conversation about my brother. Avoiding talking about Greg is one of the few things keeping me going.
I doze during study hall, watching Jameson drift in and out of focus, mesmerised by the soft scratchy noise his pencil makes against the page as he works on choreography.
Training is the easiest part of my day, because all I have to do is follow the drill: warm up, run, push-up’s, sit-up’s, footwork, run again, cool down. I find myself smiling as we walk into the changing rooms, because I posted one of my best ever half-mile run times, and then I remember what happened to Greg, and I feel guilty as hell for enjoying myself. Erin comes to get me from my pre-swim shower, because I have stayed under the water to hide the fact that I am crying. He lures me out with his hands on my hips and I kiss him soundly before picking the fastest lane in the pool and tearing up and down as hard as I can. Being busy does indeed stave off worry, and by the time I’m done, all I can think about is the way Erin’s speedos show off his fine ass and long strong legs.
My brother is dead. And it hurts, it’s awful, and he didn’t deserve to die, but as I watch Erin standing under the showers and smiling at me, I realise that making myself miserable isn’t going to bring him back.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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