I wondered how quickly it would take for him to pass away. Maybe seventeen minutes… maybe forty-six days… maybe a hundred and twelve years… maybe he was already gone. He could be, but I couldn’t tell. I checked his pulse, and when I found none I simply clung to the hope that I was doing it the wrong way. It was possible.
I remembered, then, the day I met him. Maybe the best day of my life. It was the first time I’d ever disobeyed my father, the day I broke away from the rules of society and found a way to be happy where no one would ever expect.
He would always sit on the sad steps of the grey apartment building on the road leading to our house. That was back in Clarksville, years ago. But though the memories were distant, they were there.
My brother played piano, I remember. It was the one thing Caleb always loved, making music on it. He loved everything staccato and forte and fast. He would play Fur Elise with his hands flying so swiftly they were a blur. It was mesmerizing to watch, almost.
My father worked in the hospital then. He loved his job, and it fit him well. My father has always been a caring man, giving so much yet expecting back so little. He’s endeavored much in his life, and it shows. His mouse brown hair is flecked with gray, and his shining silver eyes that are so soft but determined have formed cataracts.
I glanced over to the motionless body lying next to me. I was ashamed when I felt the warm wetness run down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes, sighing. I was tired. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t sad, I was just tired. All I wanted to do was fall onto a white bed of sheets and pillows and fall asleep and never wake up.
And the memory was there, still, calling me. I reluctantly lowered myself onto the crumbling asphalt, thinking someone would find me here, eventually. They’d be able to tell what had happened. They could do everything on their own, they didn’t need me…
“Hey, Kayla!”
I nearly jump in fright, but he just laughs.
“So what are you doing?” he asks.
“Walking,” I mutter.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
I hurry to move my feet so quickly I trip over them. The boy on the steps grins, and I turn to walk away again.
“Hey, I like your shoes,” he says.
I turn back to him, surprised.
“Wanna sit?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“So where are you going, then?”
“Nowhere.” To tell the truth, I’m still sure why I’ve come.
“Hey, what’s it like there?”
“Cold. Tumbleweed’s always goin’ by, y’know.”
He smiles. “I can only imagine.”
There’s silence for a moment, though not awkward.
“So you’re sure you don’t want to sit?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say. There’s another slight pause, before I ask, “So why are you here?”
“I’m waiting for my brother.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding, “I’m just wasting some time while mine’s at a piano lesson.”
“Piano?”
“Hey, it’s him who does it, not me.”
“Okay,” he says, and we’re both silent for a moment.
“So are you gonna introduce yourself?” I ask.
The boy nods and leans forward, holding out his hand.
-----
There are just a few things I wanted to ask:
1. Does this make sense?
2. Would this keep you reading?
3. Were there any mistakes made (and if so, repeatedly)?
