Daydream of Summer
Chapter 2: To Blame Innocents
On days such as these I would find myself amongst trees, birds cooing, the wind passing through, the trees whispering, the winter breeze whispering past my ears. On these days it was then the world would be at peace, there would be no horror or pain among the living and the dead. It was days like this it was often hard to say goodbye to the one person who meant enormously to family. He tried to keep smiles all around for people to smile back, he kept himself in so many good books but his ill will for trouble was binding him to a life of death. That's where he lay. In peace, at rest with the world, and even now he kept the twinkle in eyes as I lay the rose down in the bed. His crestfallen arms could never portray how he died. Never in shame, it was a concealed truth. Not so far as a lie.
Everyone here wore the same face, the same mask concealing truth, concealing lies, and terror. Not one face here showing contempt, dishonesty, shame, no one here was original. There was family, friends, friends of friends, everyone seemed to show their respects. I was not sad, I was happy. He would not want the mood to be killed at a funeral. It was a match lit during day, there was no point. Much like this funeral, he was cheerful. He did not take his life nor was he willing to go. I wanted to slap off their solemn glances into the coffin and scream in protest. I walked away.
Everything else past the graveyard appeared live and happy. There was motion, this is what he lived for. I took a few coins out and payed for one scoop of ice cream and left to go home. There was no need to wear the dreary black clothing anymore. The world around never had to stop for a funeral but we stop because of death overriding our systems and shocking us, everybody dies. If no-one died life would have no purpose, there would be no room. A death occurs, and the world stops around the people who knew. The last breath and all you think is you hope they thought of you before dying.
The park was packed with children playing on the slides and monkey bars, they would come to understand tears. The scrapes and bruises on their knees will transfer to their hearts as people they know start dropping like flies. They will want to know what happened to all the carefree moments they had in the park, why the world couldn't be a happy place, where had their parents disappeared to. Their minds were young and fresh, naive to death. Whatever happened to when the only worries were that boys had cooties? There was no death.
The church bell across the park chimed, six o'clock taunted my panic-stricken, gray eyes. I gathered up the jacket from the park bench and ran the rest of the way home. The park had been empty, dinner was being cooked, the smell of roast taunting my nose as I stopped running at having reached the white-picket fence. I uncurled the jacket from my hands and let it slip to the floor as I saw my mother and her raging eyes. The mouth would start running soon, my ears would switch off and soon I would not be able to stop what my brother could save me from. The torment, the scream and the pain. There was always three and never one without the others. The yelling, the screaming and the slap across the cheek.
Before today it had always been that I should be a lot more like my brother. I should be a well mannered, behaved child, treating my parents with respect. My father was a coward when it came to my mother, he would agree on everything except when it came to his children, there was never one better than the other. He stood up for me then. However it never lasted. She scolded everyone as if they were three-years old and trying to snatch the last cookie from the jar. My father tried to be brave but he soon, always wore the guilty face. His eyes begging to be let off easier than the rest, his lips upturned and the grief stricken mind turned on the waterworks before she could yell at him. I picked up the jacket.
I went through the front door, avoiding the kitchen and ascended up the stairs. Walking to the third door down the hall on the left was my brother's room. Opening the door, creeping inside and sitting on the bed I glanced around at the lifeless memories that occurred in his room. Some days we would spend the whole day redecorating and rearranging his room just so he could see the night sky better, then he would spend hours, awake, at night drawing every detail of the sky describing every constellation. His favorite was the Chamaeleon, explaining that he wanted to blend into the night sky just like the legends describe. Chamaeleon the lizard, perhaps it should be noted as Chameleon. The bearer of shadowing.
Stepping off the bed, leaning down closer to the floor and groping for a small object under his bed. Soon my hands clasped around a small box, curling on tighter and pulling out the box and shifting it out into view. I pulled back the lid and pulled out the millions of pictures stored in the box and began stifling through them until my eyes landed on a photograph I don't remember him snapping.
There, underneath his arm, was a petite mousy-haired, curious-eyed girl. She wore a petite smile, glancing on further at the next few photos, everything about this girl was petite. Her mouth only just covering his mouth in one photo - my assumption was she tried to shut him up - but peaking out from underneath her hand was a glimpse of his smile. There were ten photographs of my brother and this mystery girl, my brother had never been happier than he was in these photos. I had never made my brother smile as he did with this girl.
Jealousy clouded my mind, my brow furrowed, picking up each photograph one by one I ripped them pieces. No one makes my brother smile and this girl was not going to take my brother away from me. Even if they were just friends. As I stared down at one of the ripped photographs, my brothers smile taunted my memory - he never smiled so brightly, he never tried so hard when it came to me. He never tried to make me smile, I was just his baby sister. He never had to impress me like he had done this girl. Who was she, who did she think she was imposing on family? Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing her at the funeral for my brother.
Scattering through the pile of ripped photographs, I looked for a date on any of them. I gathered a few pieces up and started to rearrange them back. As each puzzle piece fell into piece, my brothers smile haunting my memory, the date staring me in the face. It was only three days ago. I started gathering each piece and placing them into place, soon another photo fell into place and the date was five days ago.
As each photo fell into place, they dated as far back as two months ago. My brother had been seeing a girl for two months and I had no idea. That's when I fled from his room, and in a hurry each piece that had been recovered had flown across the room as the door was slammed shut in anguish. My brother had been seeing another girl and I had no idea. Another girl. When had this happened? We were inseparable. At least, I thought we were. The smile taunting my memory.
I pushed open my bedroom door and flung myself onto the comfort of the bed. Then the hot tears cascaded my cheek and the pain finally settled into a nest in my heart. My brother was dead and he had a mystery girl I had no idea about. We were inseparable. Then she came along and ruined a perfect sibling relationship. Grabbing a pillow, I willfully allowed a scream to emit from deep within and the tears flowed faster and hotter. We were inseparable.
Falling asleep with tears-stained eyes and disheveled black hair. The mind etched with my brothers wide-eyed smile and the perfect, petite girl's glowing, laughing eyes. We were inseparable before she came into my brothers life. You probably killed him, being too nice for him. That's what he wanted, another being who was kind and loving. He did not want his cynical and unloving sister. He did not want a cussing, bad-mouthing sister. He wanted someone like him, someone like her. They were a like and I was the third-wheel without even being aware of it. I was a distant memory.
I was three years old, my brother - six. He loved me from the start, never leaving me out of any daily activities. I remember his friends would complain about why he was dragging his younger sister around everywhere, he shrugged them off. When we got home he said never to listen to a word they said, he loved me and no one was going to change the facts. It was set in stone, hard and unbreakable.
There was one memory, I was crying. He set out alone that day, I had the flu and he opted to leave me at home, I was five years old then. He was eight. I thought, that was it, he was old enough now to not have his younger sibling trailing his tail, falling behind and whining that I was short-stumped. I was three steps behind their giant two steps.
He left for cycling that day, he came back much happier than I remember when he would come home with me. I remember that smile, it reached his eyes and they began to sparkle like diamonds. Each time he moved under the light, off they went, sparkling and twinkling. That's when my heart flared, I didn't know what made him happy. He was contempt with me, joyous without me.
The girl, in the photograph, she stood directly in-front of me, lifeless and two-dimensional. Her lips were moving, I was unable to read or hear the words. She was foreign, unidentified but she was a memory with no voice. Just a memory of a body. She made him happy. I was replaceable. Disposable.
Mother made him smile, three days before he died. I stood in the doorway, they were talking about what he hoped to achieve, gain in life. He simply stated, "I want to be happy. Family makes me happy." I had hope then. Mother laughed, he smiled. I felt the tiny pieces of my heart crash, it sounded to be a pettily laugh. Mocking that somewhat small ounce of hope I had, somehow my brother cared for me still. That he would smile for me.
He knew what mother was referring to, but he made a joke. However, he was serious, family did make him happy. Father entered the room from the kitchen, the room grew brighter. The hallway grew dim, I could see now how clearly this family was capable without me. In some way I was no mistake, I was meant for the opposite family. I was meant for happiness, there was a shred of hope to be happy and move on. Opposites attract.
As the memory faded, light clouded my vision. Daylight had awoken and the sun was beaming. I felt the stings of the tears from the previous night on my cheek. I had fallen asleep crying. The next thought was that mother had tucked me in last night. Even through the heated fires, there was a shred of light in her heart for me. My fire was slowly extinguishing.
My brother had been my only connection to the outside world, his friends were not my friends. I was an annoyance, a brat, someone no one wanted to hang with. They were right, I had grown cynical, love appeared to be difficult but apparent for my brother. I was recognized as a loner, in a sense I suppose they were right. There was no denying fact, my brother was the only person I spoke to at school.
It became harder when he had graduated to high school and I was still a few years behind. I sat in the corner then, payed no attention in class and left school when time deemed of little importance in that place. He was infuriated that I had given up, he saw the potential I thought I never deserved. He was the golden boy, almost the protege. Everybody loved him.
Through all this, I have never thought myself cynical, everybody else had molded their thoughts upon me and I never denied they were fabricated. I simply left the voice of reason in my own mind and moved on, as to not further aggravate their need for attention. Their thrive for attention.
I wondered if mother cared that I was left out on many school occasions, or that I had friends, but in the end I wanted to believe that she didn't care. In the end, I wanted to beg her to look at me and not see my brother, not to see me as a failure. She didn't know though, I was a distant memory to her as well.
I trusted my brother, he left me to suffer with a black hole in my heart. The wound penetrated by emptiness and loneliness. My thoughts feeding on the fears that there was no love for me. My mind had created distance between my mother and I. My father stood up to me, he knew I existed but in the end, I wondered if that was enough? If that was love, was it enough to just stick up for another being?
The mirror in the bathroom adjoined to my bedroom confirmed my previous statement, tears were dry on my face. I had visible red veins popping out and the dark circle around my eyes had become more apparent as I wiped away the dried sleep. I glanced at my lips, to my nose and how pointy it appeared, to the wide-eyed curious girl looking at me. Behind it all she appeared distressed and forlorn. Age appeared to have wearied her.
I splashed water into my face and hopped into the warm shower, hoping to wash away the memories that haunt. I scrubbed away at every inch of my body, red blotches arisen onto the skin. The mind knew I was still dirty, unclean, unwashed of these haunting memories - awaken nightmares. Nightmares that appeared during the daytime.
"You know breakfast is ready." Mother appeared outside the bathroom door, I had been scrubbing away the memories for twenty minutes. My body was adorned with scars of these memories. The scab of each sore was surfacing from the scrubbing while washing. I was still dirty. The smile animated into my mind, she was there. Still apparent in my mind. I wanted to jump back into the shower and continuing scrubbing until I was clean.
I dressed, walking down to smell breakfast. I had skipped dinner in my hast to his bedroom. I was afraid to say his name. It had become cancer in my heart, settling into the innermost part of the core of the heart - where my emotions lay. It was soon becoming foreign that I was unable to make him smile, be proud to be his sister. I knew I was only trying to make him proud of me. I was now living for myself, out of his shadow.
"School tomorrow, and no cutting classes. I have had enough out of you." The strictness from that statement lay in the atmosphere, soaking in the quietness and thickening as a blanket around the silent moment. I simply nodded and left. Breakfast was over.
I gathered up the carry bag and left for a stroll, the park was a good place to start. I sat on the bench when I arrived, noticing the children on the swing-set. Naivety among children was distinguished behaviour, not one child was a grown-up at three years old. They all wanted to play outdoors, but they grew up and adapted to the indoors with their electronics. They had lost their novelty then.
As they grew to puberty and then adolescent-adults, they became rebellious, unable to control, much like they were a child again. That's when scolding was reintroduced, hoping it would still do the trick, usually it set their mind on a rampage, demanding they weren't children even if their behaviour was erratic and selfish. Much the same as young, naive children. There was no excuse for the behaviour of people until they were adults.
Ignoring the sounds of the clock, I still sat on the bench watching as people pass by. Some hurried on, some dawdled, others were idle about their day. That's when a figure caught my eye, she loomed a shadow over my mind. Her mousy-brown hair flowed in the wind, while she waited for the lights to turn red. She was going to cross the road. Some part of me wanted to test her reaction when I told her my brother was deceased.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and ran to catch up, looking both ways before running across the road. I still had common sense. She looked back, startled to see me and started to move away. I held on closer to her shoulder blade, stopping her from moving. I blurted it all out.
"My brother's dead. I believe you knew him." Her eyes shadowed with sadness, sorry was etched into her soul. I should make myself more clear. Maybe she misunderstood, I didn't want sympathy.
"I don't think you heard correctly: My brother is Alexandre Freeland, you knew him, he's dead." Her eyes widened, sadness delved from within - now she understood. That sadness was not for me but for her sake.
"When.. when did he... you know?" I felt sick, guilt was eating away the cancer of him. She was unable to say he was dead, his own flesh and blood had already come to terms he was dead. This girl was heartbroken, she was more involved in her brother's life than she thought previous.
"Three days from today." Her mouth fell open then, tears spilled from her eyes. I felt her shock awake the sleeping cancer, the guilt encircling the heart and nausea settled into the depth of my stomach. I led her off the streets and into a secluded coffee shop. Sitting her down into an empty chair; I was going to try to be supportive.
"Are you... all right?" I was chocking on words as I stared on at her tear-stained face. Had this been me not thirteen hours ago, crying myself to sleep? I knew the answer to the question then, she was no all right. It was a cliche question.
Her body shook under the stress, the truth became apparent. This relationship between this smiling girl and the sadness captured now on her face, had somehow captured my brother's heart and he had chanced upon love or infatuation with this teenager. What was I understand about love? Nothing that my brother saw.
"Where is he... now? Is he... you know... buried?" I held out a hand, she took it in her own and I felt the tremors tumbling into the depth of my heart, the final shakedown had ensured. My heart broke in two at this crest-fallen child. A child that needed attending to, taken care of until the bruise was healed.
"His buried at the cemetery two blocks away. My parents, they wanted him close, said it would be better for them. Closer or something." I rattled off, it seemed inappropriate to have a dead loved one only two blocks away, I was seeking to forget.
"Did he mention me?" I wanted to lie and say he had. "No, sorry." Her eyes widened for a second. "Then how do you... know me?" He spoke of you all the time. "The photographs he took. They were hidden under his bed. Only I know." I was his secret keeper. "Oh, of course. He insisted, you know." I know, I never much wanted them either. "That was my brother: Persistent."
She smiled, a genuine smile. I smiled back. This was much painless than I would have foreseen if I had had another encounter with her, still I would learn her name when I was ready, as would she. I wasn't going to trust someone to soon. Especially the person that made my brother smile more than I could.
Everyone here wore the same face, the same mask concealing truth, concealing lies, and terror. Not one face here showing contempt, dishonesty, shame, no one here was original. There was family, friends, friends of friends, everyone seemed to show their respects. I was not sad, I was happy. He would not want the mood to be killed at a funeral. It was a match lit during day, there was no point. Much like this funeral, he was cheerful. He did not take his life nor was he willing to go. I wanted to slap off their solemn glances into the coffin and scream in protest. I walked away.
Everything else past the graveyard appeared live and happy. There was motion, this is what he lived for. I took a few coins out and payed for one scoop of ice cream and left to go home. There was no need to wear the dreary black clothing anymore. The world around never had to stop for a funeral but we stop because of death overriding our systems and shocking us, everybody dies. If no-one died life would have no purpose, there would be no room. A death occurs, and the world stops around the people who knew. The last breath and all you think is you hope they thought of you before dying.
The park was packed with children playing on the slides and monkey bars, they would come to understand tears. The scrapes and bruises on their knees will transfer to their hearts as people they know start dropping like flies. They will want to know what happened to all the carefree moments they had in the park, why the world couldn't be a happy place, where had their parents disappeared to. Their minds were young and fresh, naive to death. Whatever happened to when the only worries were that boys had cooties? There was no death.
The church bell across the park chimed, six o'clock taunted my panic-stricken, gray eyes. I gathered up the jacket from the park bench and ran the rest of the way home. The park had been empty, dinner was being cooked, the smell of roast taunting my nose as I stopped running at having reached the white-picket fence. I uncurled the jacket from my hands and let it slip to the floor as I saw my mother and her raging eyes. The mouth would start running soon, my ears would switch off and soon I would not be able to stop what my brother could save me from. The torment, the scream and the pain. There was always three and never one without the others. The yelling, the screaming and the slap across the cheek.
Before today it had always been that I should be a lot more like my brother. I should be a well mannered, behaved child, treating my parents with respect. My father was a coward when it came to my mother, he would agree on everything except when it came to his children, there was never one better than the other. He stood up for me then. However it never lasted. She scolded everyone as if they were three-years old and trying to snatch the last cookie from the jar. My father tried to be brave but he soon, always wore the guilty face. His eyes begging to be let off easier than the rest, his lips upturned and the grief stricken mind turned on the waterworks before she could yell at him. I picked up the jacket.
I went through the front door, avoiding the kitchen and ascended up the stairs. Walking to the third door down the hall on the left was my brother's room. Opening the door, creeping inside and sitting on the bed I glanced around at the lifeless memories that occurred in his room. Some days we would spend the whole day redecorating and rearranging his room just so he could see the night sky better, then he would spend hours, awake, at night drawing every detail of the sky describing every constellation. His favorite was the Chamaeleon, explaining that he wanted to blend into the night sky just like the legends describe. Chamaeleon the lizard, perhaps it should be noted as Chameleon. The bearer of shadowing.
Stepping off the bed, leaning down closer to the floor and groping for a small object under his bed. Soon my hands clasped around a small box, curling on tighter and pulling out the box and shifting it out into view. I pulled back the lid and pulled out the millions of pictures stored in the box and began stifling through them until my eyes landed on a photograph I don't remember him snapping.
There, underneath his arm, was a petite mousy-haired, curious-eyed girl. She wore a petite smile, glancing on further at the next few photos, everything about this girl was petite. Her mouth only just covering his mouth in one photo - my assumption was she tried to shut him up - but peaking out from underneath her hand was a glimpse of his smile. There were ten photographs of my brother and this mystery girl, my brother had never been happier than he was in these photos. I had never made my brother smile as he did with this girl.
Jealousy clouded my mind, my brow furrowed, picking up each photograph one by one I ripped them pieces. No one makes my brother smile and this girl was not going to take my brother away from me. Even if they were just friends. As I stared down at one of the ripped photographs, my brothers smile taunted my memory - he never smiled so brightly, he never tried so hard when it came to me. He never tried to make me smile, I was just his baby sister. He never had to impress me like he had done this girl. Who was she, who did she think she was imposing on family? Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing her at the funeral for my brother.
Scattering through the pile of ripped photographs, I looked for a date on any of them. I gathered a few pieces up and started to rearrange them back. As each puzzle piece fell into piece, my brothers smile haunting my memory, the date staring me in the face. It was only three days ago. I started gathering each piece and placing them into place, soon another photo fell into place and the date was five days ago.
As each photo fell into place, they dated as far back as two months ago. My brother had been seeing a girl for two months and I had no idea. That's when I fled from his room, and in a hurry each piece that had been recovered had flown across the room as the door was slammed shut in anguish. My brother had been seeing another girl and I had no idea. Another girl. When had this happened? We were inseparable. At least, I thought we were. The smile taunting my memory.
I pushed open my bedroom door and flung myself onto the comfort of the bed. Then the hot tears cascaded my cheek and the pain finally settled into a nest in my heart. My brother was dead and he had a mystery girl I had no idea about. We were inseparable. Then she came along and ruined a perfect sibling relationship. Grabbing a pillow, I willfully allowed a scream to emit from deep within and the tears flowed faster and hotter. We were inseparable.
Falling asleep with tears-stained eyes and disheveled black hair. The mind etched with my brothers wide-eyed smile and the perfect, petite girl's glowing, laughing eyes. We were inseparable before she came into my brothers life. You probably killed him, being too nice for him. That's what he wanted, another being who was kind and loving. He did not want his cynical and unloving sister. He did not want a cussing, bad-mouthing sister. He wanted someone like him, someone like her. They were a like and I was the third-wheel without even being aware of it. I was a distant memory.
I was three years old, my brother - six. He loved me from the start, never leaving me out of any daily activities. I remember his friends would complain about why he was dragging his younger sister around everywhere, he shrugged them off. When we got home he said never to listen to a word they said, he loved me and no one was going to change the facts. It was set in stone, hard and unbreakable.
There was one memory, I was crying. He set out alone that day, I had the flu and he opted to leave me at home, I was five years old then. He was eight. I thought, that was it, he was old enough now to not have his younger sibling trailing his tail, falling behind and whining that I was short-stumped. I was three steps behind their giant two steps.
He left for cycling that day, he came back much happier than I remember when he would come home with me. I remember that smile, it reached his eyes and they began to sparkle like diamonds. Each time he moved under the light, off they went, sparkling and twinkling. That's when my heart flared, I didn't know what made him happy. He was contempt with me, joyous without me.
The girl, in the photograph, she stood directly in-front of me, lifeless and two-dimensional. Her lips were moving, I was unable to read or hear the words. She was foreign, unidentified but she was a memory with no voice. Just a memory of a body. She made him happy. I was replaceable. Disposable.
Mother made him smile, three days before he died. I stood in the doorway, they were talking about what he hoped to achieve, gain in life. He simply stated, "I want to be happy. Family makes me happy." I had hope then. Mother laughed, he smiled. I felt the tiny pieces of my heart crash, it sounded to be a pettily laugh. Mocking that somewhat small ounce of hope I had, somehow my brother cared for me still. That he would smile for me.
He knew what mother was referring to, but he made a joke. However, he was serious, family did make him happy. Father entered the room from the kitchen, the room grew brighter. The hallway grew dim, I could see now how clearly this family was capable without me. In some way I was no mistake, I was meant for the opposite family. I was meant for happiness, there was a shred of hope to be happy and move on. Opposites attract.
As the memory faded, light clouded my vision. Daylight had awoken and the sun was beaming. I felt the stings of the tears from the previous night on my cheek. I had fallen asleep crying. The next thought was that mother had tucked me in last night. Even through the heated fires, there was a shred of light in her heart for me. My fire was slowly extinguishing.
My brother had been my only connection to the outside world, his friends were not my friends. I was an annoyance, a brat, someone no one wanted to hang with. They were right, I had grown cynical, love appeared to be difficult but apparent for my brother. I was recognized as a loner, in a sense I suppose they were right. There was no denying fact, my brother was the only person I spoke to at school.
It became harder when he had graduated to high school and I was still a few years behind. I sat in the corner then, payed no attention in class and left school when time deemed of little importance in that place. He was infuriated that I had given up, he saw the potential I thought I never deserved. He was the golden boy, almost the protege. Everybody loved him.
Through all this, I have never thought myself cynical, everybody else had molded their thoughts upon me and I never denied they were fabricated. I simply left the voice of reason in my own mind and moved on, as to not further aggravate their need for attention. Their thrive for attention.
I wondered if mother cared that I was left out on many school occasions, or that I had friends, but in the end I wanted to believe that she didn't care. In the end, I wanted to beg her to look at me and not see my brother, not to see me as a failure. She didn't know though, I was a distant memory to her as well.
I trusted my brother, he left me to suffer with a black hole in my heart. The wound penetrated by emptiness and loneliness. My thoughts feeding on the fears that there was no love for me. My mind had created distance between my mother and I. My father stood up to me, he knew I existed but in the end, I wondered if that was enough? If that was love, was it enough to just stick up for another being?
The mirror in the bathroom adjoined to my bedroom confirmed my previous statement, tears were dry on my face. I had visible red veins popping out and the dark circle around my eyes had become more apparent as I wiped away the dried sleep. I glanced at my lips, to my nose and how pointy it appeared, to the wide-eyed curious girl looking at me. Behind it all she appeared distressed and forlorn. Age appeared to have wearied her.
I splashed water into my face and hopped into the warm shower, hoping to wash away the memories that haunt. I scrubbed away at every inch of my body, red blotches arisen onto the skin. The mind knew I was still dirty, unclean, unwashed of these haunting memories - awaken nightmares. Nightmares that appeared during the daytime.
"You know breakfast is ready." Mother appeared outside the bathroom door, I had been scrubbing away the memories for twenty minutes. My body was adorned with scars of these memories. The scab of each sore was surfacing from the scrubbing while washing. I was still dirty. The smile animated into my mind, she was there. Still apparent in my mind. I wanted to jump back into the shower and continuing scrubbing until I was clean.
I dressed, walking down to smell breakfast. I had skipped dinner in my hast to his bedroom. I was afraid to say his name. It had become cancer in my heart, settling into the innermost part of the core of the heart - where my emotions lay. It was soon becoming foreign that I was unable to make him smile, be proud to be his sister. I knew I was only trying to make him proud of me. I was now living for myself, out of his shadow.
"School tomorrow, and no cutting classes. I have had enough out of you." The strictness from that statement lay in the atmosphere, soaking in the quietness and thickening as a blanket around the silent moment. I simply nodded and left. Breakfast was over.
I gathered up the carry bag and left for a stroll, the park was a good place to start. I sat on the bench when I arrived, noticing the children on the swing-set. Naivety among children was distinguished behaviour, not one child was a grown-up at three years old. They all wanted to play outdoors, but they grew up and adapted to the indoors with their electronics. They had lost their novelty then.
As they grew to puberty and then adolescent-adults, they became rebellious, unable to control, much like they were a child again. That's when scolding was reintroduced, hoping it would still do the trick, usually it set their mind on a rampage, demanding they weren't children even if their behaviour was erratic and selfish. Much the same as young, naive children. There was no excuse for the behaviour of people until they were adults.
Ignoring the sounds of the clock, I still sat on the bench watching as people pass by. Some hurried on, some dawdled, others were idle about their day. That's when a figure caught my eye, she loomed a shadow over my mind. Her mousy-brown hair flowed in the wind, while she waited for the lights to turn red. She was going to cross the road. Some part of me wanted to test her reaction when I told her my brother was deceased.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and ran to catch up, looking both ways before running across the road. I still had common sense. She looked back, startled to see me and started to move away. I held on closer to her shoulder blade, stopping her from moving. I blurted it all out.
"My brother's dead. I believe you knew him." Her eyes shadowed with sadness, sorry was etched into her soul. I should make myself more clear. Maybe she misunderstood, I didn't want sympathy.
"I don't think you heard correctly: My brother is Alexandre Freeland, you knew him, he's dead." Her eyes widened, sadness delved from within - now she understood. That sadness was not for me but for her sake.
"When.. when did he... you know?" I felt sick, guilt was eating away the cancer of him. She was unable to say he was dead, his own flesh and blood had already come to terms he was dead. This girl was heartbroken, she was more involved in her brother's life than she thought previous.
"Three days from today." Her mouth fell open then, tears spilled from her eyes. I felt her shock awake the sleeping cancer, the guilt encircling the heart and nausea settled into the depth of my stomach. I led her off the streets and into a secluded coffee shop. Sitting her down into an empty chair; I was going to try to be supportive.
"Are you... all right?" I was chocking on words as I stared on at her tear-stained face. Had this been me not thirteen hours ago, crying myself to sleep? I knew the answer to the question then, she was no all right. It was a cliche question.
Her body shook under the stress, the truth became apparent. This relationship between this smiling girl and the sadness captured now on her face, had somehow captured my brother's heart and he had chanced upon love or infatuation with this teenager. What was I understand about love? Nothing that my brother saw.
"Where is he... now? Is he... you know... buried?" I held out a hand, she took it in her own and I felt the tremors tumbling into the depth of my heart, the final shakedown had ensured. My heart broke in two at this crest-fallen child. A child that needed attending to, taken care of until the bruise was healed.
"His buried at the cemetery two blocks away. My parents, they wanted him close, said it would be better for them. Closer or something." I rattled off, it seemed inappropriate to have a dead loved one only two blocks away, I was seeking to forget.
"Did he mention me?" I wanted to lie and say he had. "No, sorry." Her eyes widened for a second. "Then how do you... know me?" He spoke of you all the time. "The photographs he took. They were hidden under his bed. Only I know." I was his secret keeper. "Oh, of course. He insisted, you know." I know, I never much wanted them either. "That was my brother: Persistent."
She smiled, a genuine smile. I smiled back. This was much painless than I would have foreseen if I had had another encounter with her, still I would learn her name when I was ready, as would she. I wasn't going to trust someone to soon. Especially the person that made my brother smile more than I could.