A Chance to Fly, A Chance to Fall - Chapter Two

Chapter Two - Broken Glass

A few weeks later the snow had melted, and with it, Valentine's day was quickly approaching. My brother, being the idiot he is, decided to get the girl he liked a pillow pet and roses. We walked down the Walmart aisle, searching for a suitable pillow pet. When we finally did find the stack of fluffy animal-themed pillows, we found there was only a selection between two options: a downy-soft dog and a spotted green turtle. Christopher sighed, staring at the pillows.

“Which one should I pick?”

“GET THE TURTLE!” I squeal, grabbing a turtle pillow and hugging it to my chest. He glares at me, then back at the stack of pillows.

“Alright.” he huffs, reaching for the pillow. I hold it away from him, clutching it in a death grip.

“I wanna hold it!”

“Fine! Just come on! Valentine’s day is tomorrow and I need to get her some flowers!” Heading over to the flower aisle, we stare at the large array of bouquets of roses and lilies. I pick up a bright orange tiger lily, holding it to my nose and breathing in its sweet aroma. We eventually picked out an especially attractive bouquet of red and white roses. As we exited the Walmart, I hug the turtle to my chest while he holds the flowers. As we get into his car, his phone rings.

“Hello?” he answers, as the girl on the other end of the phone began to talk, my brother grew a deep frown. His eyes began to water slightly, and he blinked rapidly. “No, It’s fine. I understand.” I listen to the soft, high pitched voice speaking rapidly on the other end of the phone, but he hangs up. I stare at him in silence. 

“DAMMIT!” he shouts, banging on the steering wheel. He turns to me. “Come on, we have to take the turtle back.” Grief fills me as I stare down at the turtle.

“No!” I whine, snuggling the pillow in my face and beginning to tear up.

“Come on, Max! She dumped me. It’s over. We need to take it back.”

“I wanna keep it!” I look at him with wide puppy dog eyes, lip quivering as a tear trickles down my cheek.

“Fine! Keep the stupid turtle!” I grin ecstatically, bouncing in the seat.

“I’m going to name it Turtie!”

“Did you just say turd?” He glances at me as he starts the car.

“NO! TURTIE! Like turtle. Only Turtie.”

“Whatever. You have fun with your turd pillow.” I can't help but giggle. If Mom were here, she’d smack him and wash his mouth out with soap. But of course, she wasn’t, which gave us free range to speak about whatever we wanted. However, while we would normally run off on wild conversations, he was oddly quiet. The silence was unnerving, and I stared out the window, feeling the discomfort coming off my brother in palpable waves.

Then he began to speak, slowly at first, then rushing as the words came rolling off his tongue and crashing with such bitterness it shattered my heart to listen to them. I knew just how hurt he was by this break up, after all, he’d had such terrible luck with girls recently. He had thought she would have been different.

“Oh, Max,” he said softly as he drove down the busy streets, “always, always remember: the prettiest roses have the sharpest thorns.” I placed my hand on top of his, our hands resting gently on the stick shift handle. He glances at me, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“It’s going to be okay, Chris. ”

“Whatever…” He mumbles as we pull up to our house. I step out of the car, walking behind my brother down the small sidewalk to our front porch. We enter the house, and my mother is sitting in the living room, my little sister in her arms.

“Wake her, and you’ll regret it.” She growls. I nod, silently exiting the room with my brother. Naturally, we go to our bedroom and shut the door. I flop down on the gaming chair as he turns on the TV. Staring at the digital screen, the volume down, we each dive deep into our own little worlds. Boredly, he picks up a small journal and starts writing something, and I crane my head and watch over his shoulder. This doesn't do much, considering I can't read his sloppy handwriting. I pick up a few words here and there, small words like “love” and “misfortunate”. Unable to make sense of the chicken scratch, I poke him.

“Can you read it to me?”

“My misfortune was what had brought me to her. Standing before me, in all her grace in beauty, the most perfect girl...”

“Thats…” I begin to speak, breathless, “beautiful.”

“Great. It’s a story about a hot girl and how a dude falls in love with her. Except, then she's like ew no. Cooties.” He says in a high pitched imitation of a girl’s voice. I laugh at his description, though deep down I wish I could write just like him.

Suddenly, I hear a loud crash and look up, wondering if Chris heard it as well. From his expression, he did.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“But-”

“I said stay here! Play Pokemon or something.” And with that, he tosses me his DS and exits the room. I hear loud moaning from the other end of the hall. The moans grow into growls and yelling, and my brothers hushed voice progresses into screaming. I look down at the DS and back at the door. My hands shake I throw the Nintendo down onto the bed and rush to the end of the room. Pausing at the door, I crack it open a notch. Peaking out around the hall, I sneak out, tiptoeing silently and crouching behind the wall to listen. I hear my mother in the kitchen, my little sister crying, and my brother yelling. Fear stabs me like a knife, and yet I refuse to leave. Swallowing the sob in my throat, I look into the kitchen.

A pile of glass and dark red liquid lies in a puddle on the floor. My sister screams, and I see a dark round circle bleeding on her forehead. A burning cigarette lays beside her, the smoke still fuming from it. My brother continues to yell at my mother, motioning to my crying sister.

“What were you thinking? This isn't a game, Mom! You can't just drink your life away! Look what you’ve done to her! She’ll carry that scar for the rest of her life, thanks to you!” A part of me wants to run into stop the fight, though fear keeps a strong grip on me. I watch my mother raise her hand to hit him, and he lets her, her clumsy hand coming down hard on his face.

“Don’t talk to me that way! I am the adult here! Go back to your room before I knock you across the room.” My brother stiffens as she yells, then relaxes. He goes to my sister, picking her up in his arms and cradling her to his chest. He exits the kitchen, glaring at me as if to say “I told you to stay in the room.” I go with him, leaving behind my angered mother.