Spoiler
So, this is something I originally wrote because I hadn't written in a ridiculously long time and I kept describing in my head the imagery as I walked home from the college theatre late at night. So it was built on that and gained a little more depth. But it has many a possibility, so I appreciate C+C!
It was the creak of your door that alerted me, drawing me away from homework and music to stare out my window. For a second or two, I stood at the window and watched you push through the unshovelled alleyway form the back door. Then panic overtook me in an instant. Silently, I slipped out of my room, ignoring the argument in the kitchen to push open your bedroom door. The comforter was pulled neatly over the bed, your books stacked neatly on their shelf, and the floor spotless. The urgency that forced my heart into my throat increased and I padded quietly down the stairs. Through the living room, I crept over the broken vase shattered across the carpet. I barely remembered to throw on my coat and boots before stumbling out into the darkness.
Blue shadows fell across the dunes of snow, resembling a pale desert as the wind brought it drifting over the icy crests. Snow crunched under my boots while all other noise was muffled by the falling snow. I ran, as much as the deep packed snow tried to stop me. The end of the alley came and I slowed down to a unobtrusive walk, like it would scare you off to run. Even as I came up closer, you didn’t move.
Even in the dark, your shape was unmistakeable. Only you would face toward the wind. Wind and jealousy simultaneously stung my cheeks at what I considered your strength. Biting snowfall stung my skin as I imitated you. I assumed you did it out of rebellion, but maybe you only did it to keep the house out of view.
“Go back to bed,” you whispered over the low howl of the wind, your back still to me. Your gloveless hands were shoved into your coat pockets.
I didn’t move. My breath hazed in front of me, but more than the cold froze me in place. Awareness of the tightness in my chest increased with every rise and fall of my ribcage. Fear and winter sent shivers rippling through my entire body, even underneath your hand-me-down jacket, the one with the yellow stripes down the arms.
Your eyes were closed. With each inhale and exhale, your shoulders rose and fell. Desperately I tried to match my breathing to yours, like it would connect our very souls. Somehow, if I could breathe in exact synchronicity with you, you would stay.
“Johnny, you don’t have to,” my voice shook.
From the corner, I could look over my shoulder and catch the windows of light from our house. Your light and my light both remained dark, but kinetic shadows crossed the front picture window. They were fighting again.
You stood in the center of the streetlight. In the beam, it looked like you were being showered with a million tiny diamonds, floating down from the bulb above you. It settled in your pale hair, glittering delicately there. Always I admired your ability to make it seem like everything was fine. The only important thing in the world was you and I. I tried to hold onto that.
“That’s what you think,” you said, finally turning to me, “I’m sorry. There’s more than this, Danny. Remember that.” That’s what you told me. There is more than this. There is more than this. Your put your hands on my shoulders.
Silently, I stared into those crystal blue eyes of yours. Everyone said we had the same eyes, but always I thought yours were brighter and livelier. In my mind, that was what separated us. The light and life in your eyes was what pulled people toward you, what made them adore you, what reassured them that you were alright, even if a bruise surrounded them like it did then. If only my eyes were that bright and lively, everyone would love and adore me too.
A gust of air accompanied the bus on arrival. You tousled my hair before you lifted your backpack from the sidewalk and up onto your shoulders. I was thirteen. You were halfway through grade twelve. You climbed up those bus steps. I stood there for eternity, long after the taillights of the bus were swallowed up by the darkness and drifting diamonds.
As you stand in the doorway, the memory replays itself in my mind. Nothing is more vivid. You lean against the threshold like you left yesterday, flashing that smile of yours. Behind you, beyond the end of the driveway, cars pass by and I fix my eyes on the fading red. It’s better than facing the blue of your eyes. Red suits me better right now.
“Danny, it’s been a while,” you say. Despite my efforts, I catch your expression. Your eyes are as crystal and bright and lively as ever. I feel dizzy for a moment, letting more of my weight fall against the door. My hand is still on the knob.
“Four years,” I say, meaning to say it to myself but saying it out loud instead. I lingered in the doorway, not letting you past. Slowly, you nod, not letting your smile fade. You want this to be happy. You want me to throw my arms around your neck and cry and be happy. All of that I can see in your face. This isn’t the reaction you were expecting. You’re forcing it, waiting for me to come around like you always did. Your enthusiasm would overcome my apprehension as you talked me into all kinds of things.
I held fast to my position. My expectation was once that you knew what was best for me. But I stopped believing that.
“There’s more than this,” I remembered, again out loud without that being my intention. Again, you nod, your white teeth standing out in the darkness of the evening behind you. There’s stubble on your cheeks. Your sandy hair falls long, almost over your eyes. The smile fades from your eyes, remaining only in your effort. I never forgot the way you lied with your smile. It’s funny how you try that on me now.
“A lot more,” you confirm. My face stays straight. I still see my hero in your face. In some way beyond my explanation, I can tell there is still a piece of that person left in you. Even after all this time, you are still my brother. A piece of that survives in whatever you became while searching for more.
“That was the last thing you ever said to me, but you never told me what this is. This town, our family, this life, this what, John?” my voice stays low, but I know you can tell how I feel. The part of me that is most predominantly your little brother still adores you and understand that this place couldn’t keep a spirit like yours satisfied. But this part of me was naïve and clung to your symbolism, not your person. Logic recognized the fact that in four years you hadn’t sent so much as a postcard to anyone you ever knew, that you left without saying goodbye. As my idol, you abandoned me.
Your face sobers. It’s a look that says of all people, I should understand. This should not require anymore clarity. I should know what this is. We were meant to understand each other. Together, we survived somehow by keeping to our own world, full of opportunities and adventures. It’s like you forgot that you were the foundation of that sanctuary. Without you, it didn’t exist for me. It’s like you forgot that you let me fall into everything we escaped from together.
“The world is big and full of things you couldn’t even imagine, Danny. I wish I could show it all to you,” you whisper. Leaning into the doorframe, you look like a painting. A dark, moonlit street is your backdrop and your animated face attracts the attention of all sorts of admirers. A chill ran up my spine. It must have been easy for you to explore this world and forget all of your responsibilities. Like always, I feel the temptation to fall into your world pulling at me. Over time, I saw past your smile and your bright eyes and knew you were just as unhappy as everyone else. You were unhappy, but so was I. As the taillights of your bus drifted away, so did the dream. I always thought you were stronger. But while you escaped, you forced me to deal with reality.
From your pocket, you reach in and extract a small, roughed up book. You hold it out to me, balancing it in front of my face. Your smile is almost genuine as you watch the recognition in my face. The book that you spent so much time poring over, pasting in the pictures of everywhere you wanted to go, writing down all the exciting things you would do. I still remembered the picture of a mosaic you glued in, and what you said.
“I’m always thinking of you, Danny,” you say. Without warning, you take my hands and fold them over the journal. Under my fingertips I can feel the worn leather.
As you step back, I feel my chest tighten with the rise and fall of my ribcage. My lips don’t move, even as I’m tempted to tell you that you don’t have to go. You and I both know that you don’t belong here anymore, even without speaking it.
“Goodbye,” you say before closing the door yourself. My heart thumps, locked away in the constricted entrapment of my chest.
Right there in the middle of the floor, I drop down. The journal is still in my hand, use evident in the binding. Inside it is all your fantastic adventures, how you managed to avoid dealing with everything that presses down on me.
But I can’t bring myself to open it.
