Here's the revised version of He's Just Human, with a new title.

Day Two

“I think we should invite people back to the house after the burial,” Dad says at breakfast the next morning. “I think they’ll like that.”

My mother only shrugs. She knows that there’s no point arguing. Dad doesn’t really care what the others will like – he just wants to keep himself busy. The rest of us won’t have to do anything but show up.

“We should ask people to bring something. That way they won’t bring over casseroles.” This comes from the hours of television he has watched. He doesn’t know if people really bring casseroles – none of us do. We haven’t dealt with this before. Not with someone so close, at least.

Again, he’s answered by the harsh silence, stretching out before him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though – he keeps talking to the air.

“I really don’t see why anyone brings casseroles. It’s depressing to be eating them for months after.” He purposefully leaves out what it’s after. All of us do it – no one has said ‘death’ yet. “Don’t you think, Matty?”

He used to call him ‘son,’ but he’s stopped now. I think Matty notices, because he takes longer to respond than usual.

“Yeah, Dad. I do.”

***

When I got home after school that day, I was desperate to get on the phone. I was supposed to call Sarah – we still had to plan our outfits for the dance.

My bag lay abandoned on the ground as I ran up the stairs, grabbing my phone the minute I reached my room. I raised the phone to my ear and prepared to dial, when I heard something other than static on the other end; my brother’s voice.

It wasn’t the one I was used to, though. He was usually so sure of himself, so controlled, but this time his voice was shaking.

“I don’t know, you guys.”

I hesitated, knowing that I should put the phone down. I’d kill him if he ever listened in on one of my conversations.

Something stopped me, though. I quieted my breath and I listened, all thoughts of calling Sarah gone.

“Just try it, man!” the person on the other end said. I could hear someone else in the background telling him to put it on speakerphone. He must have, because the next voice to speak had an echo to it.

“Yeah, it won’t do nothing bad.”

Silence.

“Man, you’re no fun.” It was the first guy again. I recognized the voice that time. He’s been over a few times – he calls everyone ‘man.’ My mother hates him.

“Wait-”

“Yeah?” There was a smirk in his voice – he knew he had worn down Brendan.

There was a pause as he debated what to say, and I could imagine his friends – were they even friends? – getting ready to hang up on him.

“I’ll try it.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.” His voice was strong then. Determined.

“Now?”

There’s no pause that time. “Nah, my sister will be home soon. It’s too likely that she’ll notice something.”

“Then when?” He wasn’t about to relent. Not when he was so close.

There was silence on both ends, and I became aware of how loud I was breathing. I covered the mouthpiece with my hand.

“Tonight. After everyone’s asleep.”

“Cool, man.”

“You’ll love it. There’s nothing like riding the high.” The second guy finally spoke again. He knew that Brendan was convinced, that he could no longer mess it up.

Brendan laughed, but it was fake. Hollow. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Just you wait, man. You’ll get that first whiff, and you won’t be able to turn back. It pushes all your other worries away, and you’re just left with the best feeling in the world.”

They laughed together, and I slammed down the phone.

I half expected Brendan to storm into my room after that, to demand an explanation as to why I was snooping, but it never came. He stayed in his room, and I stayed in mine. The phone rang – Sarah was wondering why I hadn’t called yet – and I allowed myself to forget about what I had heard, even if just for a moment.

***

I slam the door shut as I walk into the house after going for a walk, but there’s no one around to hear it echo. I’m pretty sure Matty’s at some friend’s house – the mother offered to take him off my parents’ hands for a few hours.

My bag falls to the ground beside me, onto the patch of wood floor Brendan’s bag used to occupy. My spring coat is hung on his hook. My sneakers are kicked into the corner he used to kick his into.

Everything is his.

I climb the stairs, running away from what belongs to him, but I can’t escape it. These are the stairs he used to climb. These are the pictures he’s in. Ahead is the bedroom he used to sleep in. Inside is the phone he used to plan what would be his death.

I want to go straight to my room – blast the radio, do my homework, forget about what’s going on around me – but I don’t. I stop outside of his room and look in.

I know it’s not possible, but as I turn to look in, I convince myself that he’ll be there. Playing video games, calling a friend, something. Anything.

But he’s not. The television is off, and the phone’s on the hook. The curtains are pulled back – something he never took the time to do – and the bed is made.

I stand in the hall, looking in on my brother’s room. It’s his, but it doesn’t look it anymore. The clothes have been folded, the papers stacked. There are black garbage bags lying around, half-filled with his stuff. In the closet, I see my father’s back. His muscles are tense under the thick navy polo. He’s digging deep into the corners, discarding all the stuff he considers junk. It isn’t junk, though – it’s Brendan’s life.

He turns his head to put something in the bag behind him – to throw another one of my brother’s belongings out – when his eyes meet mine. We stand there a moment, transfixed, neither one of us moving nor speaking.

He tries to break the silence. His mouth opens, ready with some excuse to make it all better, but I don’t hang around long enough to listen. I turn and walk down the hall, going straight for where I originally planned – my room.

I wish I hadn’t stopped in the hall.

***

Brendan did talk to me that night.

Dad called us down to dinner, his voice as cheerful as always. It took some encouragement on my part to make Sarah hang up, but I finally got her off the phone, and I ran down the stairs.

The rest of the family was already seated at the table, waiting for me to arrive. Matty’s eyes were fixed on the steaming rolls in front of him, and my mother looked slightly annoyed.

“What took you so long, Katherine?” Her voice was scolding, but I knew she’d forget about it in a moment.

I apologized quickly, blaming it on Sarah. Mom told me it was fine, then motioned to my seat. It was right beside Brendan.

He didn’t know what I had heard, but I couldn’t forget it. I refused to look at him through the whole meal, ignored the fact that his eyes were boring into me, and stuck to one-word sentences. He spent ages trying to get me to talk.

“What’s new?”

“Nothing.”

“Got much homework?”

“No.”

“Buy the tickets to the dance yet?”

“Yeah.”

My parents noticed this, but they exchanged a look and silently agreed not to say anything about it. If they had, it might have been different.

I barely ate anything for dinner, something I deeply regret when I’m forced to live out of the hospital’s vending machine all night long. I retreated to my bedroom as soon as Dad would allow.

As I had expected, Brendan’s footsteps followed me. His were quick and heavy, and I could hear them anywhere in the house. He didn’t bother knocking on my door. He just pushed it open and walked in.

“Hey!” I said, glaring at him.

“Relax; I knew you weren’t changing.” I rolled my eyes, and for a moment everything was normal between us. But I couldn’t erase his words from my mind.

I’ll try it…Tonight.

I turned to face the wall again, not wanting to see the face that held so many secrets. My back was to him, and I pulled the soft comforter over my shoulders. I didn’t want the comforter to be soft – it seemed to be mocking me with its false sense of security.

“Hey Katty.” He sat down on the bed so we were back-to-back. Katty. That was his nickname for me, and I usually loved it. At that moment, though, I had wished he would call me anything else in the world. I hated that he said it – it made it so much harder to be mad at him.

“What’s up?”

I wanted to say ‘nothing.’ He expected me to say that, but something else came out of my mouth. “You know what.”

He was quiet for a minute, debating what to say. My fingers played with the bit of stuffing that overflowed from my comforter. Picking at it, plucking it.

“I’m not going to do it, Katty.” I wanted to believe him. All my life I believed that voice. All my life that voice offered me comfort, guidance. But I couldn’t. Not after the phone call.

“Why should I believe that? You told them you would.”

“I don’t even have the drugs, Katty. I have no way of getting any. I’m not gonna do it.”

“Sure.”

He stood up, and I thought that he’d given up, that he was going to leave, but he didn’t. He walked around the bed until he faced me. He knelt before me and stared me down until I gave in and turned to face him. His dark blue eyes gazed into mine, and his hair fell in soft chunks in front of his eyes. It wasn’t the face of a druggie – it couldn’t be.

“I promise I won’t do anything, Katty,” he said. I didn’t think I should, but I believed him. It was impossible not to.

“You promise?” I asked, trying to corner him into it. My voice was childish, but I had to make sure. He would never break a promise to me.

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t think I noticed, but I did. He didn’t say ‘I promise.’ He agreed, but he never said the words, so he still could break it.

He was my brother, though, so I gave it to him. I let him go with just ‘yeah,’ and I hoped that it was enough. Our parents slept in the room right next to him, and I slept down the hall – I didn’t think he could get away with it.

He stood to walk out, but he paused in the doorway.

“So you won’t say anything to Mom or Dad?” he asked. His voice was silently pleading with me.

“Yeah,” I replied. I knew the kid in him was dying to copy me, to say ‘you promise?’ But he didn’t. He just walked out the door and down the hall. Once he was gone, I finished my sentence.

“Yeah,” I repeated. “But if you leave the house, I’ll tell.”

I thought that would keep him safe. He told me he didn’t have any drugs, so the only way he could get them would be to leave the house. I wasn’t ready to accept the fact that my brother – my big brother – had lied to me.

I’ve always tried to find somewhere to place the blame when something bad happens. I look for whoever had the opportunity to prevent it, and I become angry with them. Anger is easier to deal with than the pain.

But what do I do when the one who could have stopped it, the one with the opportunity, was you?

***

The rest of the house is asleep by the time I get ready for bed. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, and do everything else I’m supposed to do, but I don’t go to bed; I go to Brendan’s room.

The hall’s black around me, and I stand in his doorway, shivering slightly from the breeze that drifts in through the open window. The moon stretches in attempt to illuminate the hall, its rays like long fingers inching closer to me, but it can’t quite reach. I can see the shadows dancing on his walls, but I’m not afraid. No monster would hide in his room. Never.

The days are slowly becoming warmer, but the nights are still cold. I shiver again standing there, my bare feet snuggling deep in the carpet to keep warm.

My feet make their way to his bed on their own. I’m not ordering them to move – they just do it instinctively. I watch my hands pull down his sheets, and I feel my body climb under them.

My eyes close, and I breathe in deeply. The sheets have been washed, but his scent lingers. One corner of his pillow smells like leather – the arm he wore his wristband used to lay there every night, supporting his head.

When I close my eyes, I dream of flashing lights and blaring sirens.

Edited 4/28/08. This is the version I turned in, but I could still use more feedback - I'm planning on fixing it even more.