Stories from the Back of His Motorcycle

He drove me home. It still didn’t feel quite real – clinging to the back of him as the entire world seemed to fly by. I had the helmet again but could see how the rush of air tore through Vaughn’s black hair. I also saw how every girl in every vehicle we passed practically turned in their seats to get a better look at him. With an emotion I wasn’t quite ready to accept, my arms tightened around him.

“Your house I believe.”

We had stopped outside of it, the chipped door distinguishing it better than any number could. I took the helmet off carefully and ran a hand through my hair. It was still slightly damp but that was to be expected - it was thick enough to take hours to dry.

It was almost dark. The streetlamps were fading from pink to yellow as I slid away from Vaughn on the leather seat. It had been strangely nice spending the day with him, not that I would ever admit it. He was still mysterious and annoying but there was something else which always coaxed out my smile. Plus he had been the first one to sit and listen to me for years, holding me even when ugly tears destroyed my last shreds of dignity. I didn’t feel so vulnerable anymore.

“Yeah,” I nodded slowly, balancing the helmet in my hands “my house.” I was careful not to use the word ‘home’. It was far too trusting and happy, things that my house certainly wasn’t.

“You okay?” He twisted around to face me, legs on one side of the bike as if he were the one about to go in. Maybe he was hoping to, or maybe he was just keen to see me leave.

“Yes and no,” I smiled wistfully “at least I have an excuse to call up my brothers now. Always the bearer of good news.” I laughed quietly at the memories which popped into my mind. “I remember all of these times I was the one to relay bad news. I had to tell Ross that his summer camp was cancelled. I had to tell Joseph that his arm was broken – he was too chicken to listen to the doctors so I yelled it into his ear in spite.”

Vaughn threw me an incredulous look. “We had our moments, my brothers and I.” He thought I hadn’t noticed his discreet movements closer but I had. Our hands were almost touching. Our legs centimetres apart.

“I had to tell Fraser that his rabbit died because everyone else didn’t have the balls to do it. I even had to tell Nick that his girlfriend didn’t like him anymore,” I shuddered at the memory, remembering how hard Nick had punched me in the arm for telling him even though it was the truth.

“So now,” Vaughn grimaced “you have to tell them that your Dad walked out.” Coming from his mouth it didn’t sound so bad.

“Yep.” It was nice to be in control of my emotions again, no longer a dripping pubescent girl. “They’re going to love me for it.”

“Don’t you speak to them often?” My eyes carefully traced Vaughn’s features in the half-light and found a naivety I’d never seen before. He didn’t have any brothers and sisters so couldn’t see how this was possible.

“No, they left as soon as they were old enough and just call once per year. I don’t even know where they live or how they are – just four mobile numbers scrawled on a post it on the fridge.” It was so easy to talk to him since the barrier had been broken earlier. He’d seen me at my lowest as I had seen him, we shared that at least.

His hand reached forward and gradually edged the helmet out of my loose grip. I watched him, his movements liquid and smooth. If I leant closer, just a few inches, something bad would happen. Something very bad. Suddenly aware of how his body was sidling forward, I slipped off of the motorcycle and stood awkwardly on the pavement.

“Thanks Vaughn,” the words were painful, admitting defeat to a war I’d been waging for weeks. He just smiled and put the helmet firmly over his head. I watched him rev down the road, a single light disappearing into the semi-darkness our neighbourhood cast.



“He what?”

“He left.”

“Left… as in not coming back?”

I squeezed my eyes shut quickly to try and relieve the headache brought on by these four separate phone calls. “Yes Ross, he even took his toothbrush.” From the last three dubious brothers I knew that this simple sentence confirmed everything.

“Oh…” His breathing was heavier now, probably the toll of trying to make sense of this great big mess. “How’s Mom?”

“Locked herself in the spare room.” She still hadn’t moved or, if she had, I didn’t know. The door was still locked. The rest of the house was still silent.

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.” I’d missed my brothers more than I had let myself realise. They were the ones who’d pulled me through the darkest days, they understood what living in our house was like and I’d missed their carefully defensive stances when it got too bad. But that had been years ago. They’d left me alone with it for a long time.

“Have you told the others?”

“They know, little good it’s done though. Fraser’s in New York and too busy to come home. Nick doesn’t want to know and Joseph sounded too stoned to even understand.”

I didn’t know the strangers who had picked up their phones. Time had weathered us all but their abandonment still felt so fresh. The past wasn’t that distant yet they had obviously all changed inexplicably in that time. I wondered if I had changed too.

“Well, it’s not exactly the best time,” Ross sighed down the phone and I suddenly let the anger, which had been floating within me, settle in my stomach.

“This isn’t some cosmic inconvenience sent down just to screw up your schedule Ross. This is Dad leaving us, Mom and I, and this is me calling to ask you, my brother, to do something to help.”

“What do you want me to do Alice?” he was obviously frustrated too although he had no right. I was the one left here to pick up Mom’s shattered pieces. Where were Ross and Joseph and Fraser and Nick when Dad had packed his bag, remembering his toothbrush, and gone?

“I want you to actually pretend that you’re part of this family for a minute.”

There was no reply to that. Ross couldn’t defend himself against the facts just as I couldn’t defend myself against the reality of my situation.

“Are you really going to leave me to deal with all this?”

“Fine.” I hated how he sounded defeated; I hated how much he didn’t want to come back here. “I’ll be there in a few days, just keep Mom alive until then, okay?”

“Oh I’ve experience with that,” I hissed, fighting down the lump in my throat and slamming the phone. It didn’t help. My family was officially screwed up and I seemed to be the one who had to try to piece everything back together. Like a torn portrait, the faces had gradually fallen away until only I remained to prop up my suddenly heavy mother.

I made myself slowly move up the stairs, through the darkness which I hadn’t the heart to destroy. It felt better for everything to be dimmed, as if it were all just one long dream. One hazed nightmare. I settled myself outside of the spare bedroom. I couldn’t hear her but I knew she was there. She was probably curled up on the bed, reliving terrible memories and feeling around for the lost pieces of her heart. She wouldn’t find them. Dad had taken them when he left.

I rested my head on the door, thinking about the feel of someone’s arms around me. Mom’s. Vaughn’s. Delia’s. I wanted that warmth again, like a child yearning for an adult’s touch. I wrapped my own arms around myself, trying to recreate the feeling.

My phone vibrated and I reached for it, scrambling almost. I didn’t want to kill whatever still lay over our house and I really didn’t want to disturb Mom. I didn’t recognise the called ID but answered anyway, just in case they tried calling again.

“Hello?”

“Alice, hey, it’s Nick.”

I blinked at the banister, as if it too could feel the confusion and shock I felt. “Nick…”

“Your brother,” he laughed somewhat nervously “so anyway I wanted to call you back. I didn’t mean what I said earlier about not wanting to know, I do want to know, I was just in shock. It’s a lot to hear in one sitting...”

“Yeah,” I coaxed him on, almost smiling at how Nick still paused for long periods of time in the middle of saying something. So they had changed but some things remained the same.

“And I’m coming home.”

Nick was the closest to me in age – four years my senior and probably the most ambitious boy to ever walk these streets. He played the guitar in such a way it fooled most people into thinking he’d been doing it his whole life. I remembered his first lesson at fourteen when everybody thought it would be just another fickle past time like all the rest. Like the horse riding, the swimming club, the choir. But he’d proved us all wrong. And we were all glad for it.

Last I heard Nick had joined a band in college, broken off from his course and perused fame wherever it took him. He could have been a multi-award winning artist and I wouldn’t have known. He’d always been the last to forgive our parents and the first to scramble for freedom.

“Home? Here? For how long?”

“A while.” His incapability to give a straight answer was something which remained the same too apparently. “Be there in a week or so. See you later.”

I was too defeated to feel mad and too thankful to redial his number. I wondered if I’d ever get an apology or proper explanation from my brothers. We were all detached creatures, raised in an environment which had counted the casualties first and the feelings hurt later. It was to be expected really – you didn’t just express emotions long buried in a long distance phone call after years of denying such emotions even existed.