Your Hand In Mine

I couldn't stop the tears from falling as I walked up the all too familiar sidewalk that led up to the front door of my parents' house.

I was just about to knock on the door, but I stopped. Just being there filled my head with memories of Josh.. Like the time he pushed me off the tire swing that hung underneath the willow tree in our front yard, and my two front teeth were no longer where they should've been. I lowered my arm back down to my side and slowly turned around. The tree was still there, tire swing and all, visible by the moonlight. It hadn't changed. I closed my eyes as another salty drop trickled down my face.

"Josh!" I screamed at him as he tried to shove me off the tire. "Mom said you hava wait your turn!" I yelled at my brother, trying to push him away from me.

"But it is my turn! You've been swinging forever!" he exaggerated, pushing me for the gazillionth time.

"Stop pushing me, you meaniehead!" I yelled again. "I'm going to fall, and it's going to be all your fault! Then Mommy will take away your cars," I told him, sticking out my tongue. He stuck his out at me and squinted his eyes.

The tire was still moving back and forth, and I looked back to see if he was still behind me. He wasn't. My big brother was stomping off towards the driveway to probably go ride his Big Boy Bike. I smiled, Daddy had just tied it to the tree and said that I could be the first to try it, not Josh.

I closed my eyes and let the tire swing do its job. When it would slow down and my feet would hit the ground, I backed up as far as I could and picked up my feet, letting myself go forward.

I was too busy thinking about Sammy, my bestest boy friend who lived down the street and was going to Wisconsomething in two days to visit his Grammy, to hear my brother come up behind me. He pushed me off the tire with everything he had, and I did what Daddy calls "hitting the ground with your face."

I turned around to yell at that meaniehead who was laughing at me, but when I did, his eyes got as big as hockey pucks. They were the biggest eyes I had ever seen.

"Why are you looking at me like at?" I asked him, tasting blood in my mouth.

"Your.. you don't have any teeth!" he exclaimed. My hand flew up to my mouth, and that's when I realized I didn't have my two front teeth. I started to cry, and Josh rushed over to me, screaming for Mommy.

"I told you it was going to be your fault when I fell off!" I said, trying to wipe away my tears.

"I'm sorry," he said as he gave me a hug. "Hey, if your teeth ain't where they supposed to be, then where are they?"

"No!" I wailed. "Now the Toof Fairy won't give me any monies!"

My Dad found my teeth in the pile of leaves that I had landed in a little bit after the accident. I also got five bucks from the Tooth Fairy that night. And thanks to my brother, I was the only girl in first grade without her two front teeth. My school picture that year, it was hideous. I looked like one of those nerdy little kids with no teeth and glasses from old movies. Yeah, the one's with red hair and freckles and their pants pulled up real high? That was me, minus the red hair and waist-high pants. I got made fun of so bad, but Josh stuck up for me, threatening to beat the shit out of any boy who laughed. I smiled at that thought. I guess that's where I got it from--my feistiness.

I turned back around from the willow tree and tried to wipe away the wetness on my cheeks. I didn't want my parents to see me cry because I knew they would just be even sadder. But then I realized that they were going to cry seeing their child, only living child, even if my eyes weren't bloodshot and teary.

I finally placed my fist on the door and gave it two small knocks. Within a matter of seconds the door opened, revealing my mother. I offered her a weak smile as my eyes became watery again. She stepped out of the doorway and engulfed me in a hug. She held me close and ran her hand down the back of my hair while I stood there, my arms wrapped tightly around her. It felt like that if we were to let go, the other would be gone, too, right before our eyes.

I looked up for a moment and saw my dad leaning against the doorframe. It was the first time, in a long time, that I had actually seen tears in his eyes and down his cheeks. He never cried because he was always so strong.. But when you lose a child, all that toughness melts away.

I let go of my mom, and she stepped aside so I could give my dad a hug. I rested my head on his chest, and he laid his head on top of mine. He kept telling me that it would be okay and we'd make it out, but it just didn't seem possible.

"Come on inside," my dad said softly, letting my mom and I walk into the house before him.

"Did you..," I started. "Did you talk to Ashley yet?"

My mom gave her head a nod and sat down across from me at the kitchen table, my dad right next to her. "She said her and Ava were getting on the first flight to Pittsburgh tomorrow morning." My heart sank--Ava. I barely thought about my niece in the past few hours. She was going to have to go through life without her father. That wasn't fair to that little girl, at all; nobody should be without a father. And then there was Ashley.. The only man she had ever let into her life was gone, forever.

Nobody spoke for a little while, the only sound coming from our sobs. It had only been two hours after Josh had died, and we were still in shock, unwilling to believe it had happened.

My mom eventually got up and somehow was able to make me pancakes. She used to make them all the time when I was a kid and needed to be calmed down. I didn't know how she did it, I felt like that if I stood up I'd just fall right back down.

She set the plate of hot pancakes in front of me with the bottle of syrup next to it. "You always did feel better after you ate these."

"I know," I told her. "But somehow I don't think I'll be feeling better for a while, not matter how many pancakes I eat."

She gave her head a nod and then made her way to the family room to join her husband. She sat down next to him and put her head on his shoulder. It made me cry even more.

I let my eyes move back to my pancakes, and I suddenly didn't want them anymore. I took a bite of one, hoping it would change my mind, but it didn't. I placed my fork on the plate and gently pushed it away from me. I ran my hand through my hair and left it there, tears still falling, as I sank back into my chair.

"Hey! Those are mine!" I yelled at Josh. Mom had literally just finished making me my pancakes, and Josh thought he could just walk on in here and take one.

"What are you going to do about it, huh?" he taunted me, slowly picking apart my pancake and eating it.

"This," I told him. Before he even had time to react, my syrupy pancake was flying at his face. "SUCKER!"

He wiped his face with his shirt before taking the bottle of syrup from the table. "Don't you dare," I told him, trying to back away.

"You asked for it," he evilly smiled. He pulled the cap off and drenched me with syrup, emptying the whole bottle. I just stood there, utterly shocked.

"This is war, you asshole." I grabbed the glass of milk and threw it in his face.

After that, it was an all-out food fight. A war, really. We even made our own shelters. Mine behind boxes of cereal and pasta, Josh's behind three pulled out drawers. I started throwing stuff from the pantry while he threw stuff from the drawers and cabinets that surrounded him. Then we moved to the fridge and freezer. Since most of the stuff in the freezer was rock hard and freezing, Josh only had a limited amount of things he could chuck. I, on the other hand, controlled the fridge.

"What the hell is going on in h-" my dad yelled, barging into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the mess. Josh and I immediately froze in our places.

"Which one of you started all this?" Without any hesitation we both pointed to each other, even though it was technically my fault. "Clean this up, both of you," he said, looking at us one at a time. "Before your mother gets home at seven thirty. I hope you saved up your allowance because you're the ones who're going to be buying the groceries tomorrow, not me," he told us as he started walking away. "You just got your ass kicked by your fourteen year old sister. How's that make you feel?" he said as he stopped walking and looked at Josh. Then he moved his gaze to me. "Way to be, kiddo," he sent me a wink.

"Rematch tomorrow?" Josh asked.

I shrugged. "Getting your ass kicked by your sister isn't enough the first time? Fine with me."

"Shut up," he said then socked me in the arm.

There was a small puddle of tears starting to form on the kitchen table after I thought about the food fight we had. We eventually had a rematch, but it wasn't for another week when my mom went back to Aunt Kathy's. Josh beat me that time, though.

With a sigh, I picked up my plate and placed it in the sink. Then I walked towards the couch in the family room. "I'll be upstairs," I told my parents.

"Okay, baby," my dad replied.

I slowly walked up the steps and stopped at the first door on my left. It was his room.

I moved my feet a few more steps and turned and faced the door. I stood there for a minute or so, deciding if I really wanted to go inside. I took a deep breath and exhaled before I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. More tears poured over my eyes. Nothing had changed, it was exactly the way he had left it when he moved out.

I stood in front of his bookcase and ran my hand along a few of his hockey and football trophies; they were sort of dusty. He'd never get to take part in another game again, or even watch another game again.

"Watch my car, you damn kids!" our neighbor shouted from his driveway.

"Sorry, Mr. Hallaway! Josh has terrible aim!"

"I'd be careful what you say. You are the one in goal, after all," my brother said, winding up to take another slap shot. Because I only had his helmet on, and because he didn't have a goalie helmet, the puck hit my cheek and split it open. The immediate pain, it was fucking horrible.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" I yelled at him, crying from the pain already.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, throwing aside his hockey stick so he could look at my face.

"Don't just look at me! Go get Mom or your fucking keys!"

"Why?" he dumbly asked.

"Are you blind? You just nailed me with a puck! I have to get my face looked at. What're you doing just standing there!? Do something!"

He hesitated before pulling off his shirt and handing it to me so I could stop some of the blood. Then he ran inside, grabbed his keys, and was back before I had time to yell at him to hurry the fuck up.

He drove me to the hospital, and I got my face looked at.

"What happened, dear?" the doctor asked me.

"She fell," Josh said, nodding vigorously.

"He hit me with a hockey puck."

I still have that scar, you know. The middle of my right cheek. It did look pretty cool the next day. My whole cheek was black and blue and puffy. But I did get him back. I accidently crushed his pinkie with a hammer two days later when we were trying to fix something for our dad. The same doctor who fixed up my face, fixed up his finger. The guy laughed at the irony and told us to play nice. Funny that most of my memories of Josh usually involved one of us hurting the other. I smiled a sad smile, laying down on Josh's bed, and looked at, yet again, another scar my brother kindly gave me.

"I'm not doing this, I refuse," I told my brother and his messed up friends and our cousin, Danny. "I can't sing to save my life.

"Yes, you are," Josh said as he took another swig of his beer. That's some nasty shit right there. "Nobody can sing, that's the point. It'll be fun, trust me."

Five minutes later I was up on that damn stage with a microphone in my hand standing next to my brother.

"All you have to do is read the worddsss on the screen, Shane. It's eeaaasy," he slurred, getting very close to being plastered at this hole-in-the-wall bar.

"Where I come from isn't all that great. My automobile is a piece of crap. My fashion sense is a little whack. And my friends are just as screwy as me," we sang together. "I didn't go to boarding schools. Preppy girls never looked at me. Why should they, I ain't nobody. Got nothing in my pocket."

"Beverly Hills.. That's where I want to be! Living in Beverly Hills.. Beverly Hills.. Rolling like a celebrity! Living in Beverly Hills.." Those were the words I sang, the right words.

My brother sounded a little like this: "Bevly Billllss! That's the place I wanna go! Driving in Bevly Billllss! Bevly Bills! Rolling like thiisss shit nevverrr ennds! That's the place I wanna go!" It was hilarious, and I could barely concentrate on the words on the screen.

Danny, jumped up on stage and took the microphone away from my brother. Now it was was mine and Danny's time to shine. "Look at all those movie stars. They're all so beautiful and clean. When the housemaids scrub the floors. They get the spaces in between. I wanna live a life like that. I wanna be just like a king. Take my picture by the pool. 'Cause I'm the next big thing."

When the song ended, Josh slammed his empty Miller bottle off of a table, and he stupidly whipped around with a sharp, broken glass bottle in his hands when somebody called his name, slicing part of my upper arm.

When I pointed it out to him, he argued that he didn't do it then grabbed another Miller as if it wasn't a big deal. Danny drove me to the hospital while my brother stayed behind and got shit-faced. I'm almost glad I didn't stay and witness the rest of that night.

"Beverly Hills.. That's where I want to be. Living in Beverly Hills..," I sung in a whisper, tears rolling off my cheeks and onto the pillows.

During the three hours I laid awake on my brother's old bed, my phone rang more times than I could count, but I just let it go. I assumed that the people who knew me and my brother were leaving me messages saying how sorry they were that Josh was gone. When I finally checked it, I saw that Alexa had left voicemail after voicemail, and I had over a fifty texts from the guys--excluding Kris. I guess my parents called Lex and she felt the need to let the guys know what had happened. Some of my relatives even called, too. And as much as I wanted to talk to them, I couldn't.

While I was checking my phone, I could hear my parents talking, probably with Ashley, and discussing funeral arrangements.

The funeral. I don't even know if I can handle that.

I took a deep breath as another tear fell down my cheek. So this is what Kris went through..