Itwould have been nice if the detective had left my items in a bit more orderlyfashion. The blankets were strewn all over the bed. There were a couple of usedtissues on the floor next to the wastebasket that I know weren’t there thenight before. The bottom dresser drawer was pulled open halfway with one of myCaptain America shirts hanging out.
Isat on my bed and looked around. In twenty years I had managed to accumulatemore stuff than someone twice my age. One bookshelf contained stacks of D&Dmanuals and comic books; another was filled with paraphernalia and actionfigures. A mild sense of embarrassment came over me—this room looked like itwas occupied by a twelve year old, not someone who was almost old enough todrink. I’m not sure why all of a sudden it bothered me so much.
Outside,the night strengthened its presence. Julie made her exit with usual flair,backing out of our driveway and nearly hitting a group of guys passing by. Oneof the Zimmerman twins yelled, “Oh, goddamnit!” as Julie slammed on the brakesjust in time. I laughed, knowing there would be a new set of skid marks in thedriveway. The realization that I couldn’t ever tease her about it hit me hardand I grew solemn.
Iheard my sister crying as she went to her room. Her wailing escalated when sheclosed the door behind her. I waited until it subsided before I dared to checkon her. At first when I saw her I did a double take—the person on the bed wasmy kid sister, but she appeared as a toddler screaming and clutching her brokenankle. That time she fell down the front steps chasing after her mean bigbrother who threatened to throw her beat-up teddy bear in the trash. I closedmy eyes, reeling from the wave of emotion. When I opened them, she had revertedback to a seventeen-year-old clutching her body pillow for dear life andsobbing all over it.
Isat cautiously at the edge of the bed and touched her left ankle, the one shehad broken as a kid. Guilt and sorrow surged through me—I could have been abetter big brother.
WhatI wasn’t expecting to happen was the sudden burst of comfort that washed someof the guilt away. I looked at Gwen and saw that the tears had stopped. Inslumber, she seemed to have found a bit of peace. I moved to the other end ofthe bed and sat by her, stroking her hair. For the most part, she slept throughthe night. There was the occasional whimper and plenty of tossing and turning.I wanted to check on my parents, but they had each other.
Whenthe sun came up, Gwen stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling. Outside, thebirds sang their morning songs. Kids waited for school buses and adults begantheir commutes—routines I had done and routines I would never do.
“Imiss you, Andrew.” Her voice, tiny and broken, slashed through me. I wished shecould hear me say how much I missed her already.
Thealarm clock went off. Gwen had it set to the local pop station rather than anangry buzz. A bright happy song blared through the air, something about ourfutures being unwritten. Speak for yourself, I thought bitterly. I was alldone. Gwen jabbed at the alarm until it went silent, then she rolled over andstared at the wall.
“He’llnever hear the birds again.”
Ihad no way of telling her that I could indeed still hear the birds singing, soI stroked her hair instead. She sighed and within moments her breathing hadgone quiet and steady.
Igot up and went to check on my parents. They weren’t in their room, or mine. Iwent downstairs and found them on the sofa. My dad’s head was tilted backwardsas he snored at the ceiling. My mom looked like she hadn’t slept at all. Hereyelids were swollen and she drew ragged breaths through her parted lips.
Iwent and knelt down, resting my hands on their knees. I wanted to tell them howsorry I was for everything: for causing Gwen’s broken ankle; for taking Dad’scar for a quick ride with my friends (and rear-ending a truck) before I got mylicense; for stealing money from my mom so I could score weed. I wasn’t theworst kid but I wanted to be better. I’d never have the chance to prove it tothem now.
Whereasthe connection I had made last night with my sister seemed to have helped her,it was the opposite with my parents. My mom’s eyes went wide as if she had seenme materialize in front of her. She started bawling all over again, which inturn had my dad waking in a panic. I stood up and averted my eyes as I backedaway. Dad whispered words of comfort to my mom and held her tight.
WhenI looked back at them I had another of those moments like I had with Gwen lastnight: my parents were still holding each other, but they were now over adecade younger in appearance. Dad had more hair and less belly. Mom was trimmerin the waistline and still crying in my dad’s arms. A necklace was entwined inher fingers, a gold chain given to her from her mother who’d passed away when Iwas eight.
Iglanced away. By the time I turned back they had returned to their current formand Gwen appeared at the bottom of the stairs. My parents moved enough so thatshe could sit between them. She grabbed their hands and they leaned on oneanother, tears and sorrows mingling.
HowI wanted to join them. Oh, how I wish we were whole again, united and ready totake on anything.
* * *
Thenext few days were rough. Both my parents took the week off from work, and Gwenstayed home from school. My mom was prescribed sleeping pills because shehadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. So many people came around during allhours of the day, staying late into the night—relatives, classmates, friendsand coworkers of my parents. Many came bearing gifts of food, simply becausethey didn’t know what else to do. Mom got on a first-name basis with the Koreanlady
