Suburbia

I can barely pull myself together to put a pen to paper once the bell has rung and the chairs have scraped into place. My mind keeps switching between who could have done it to Rory and what he had said.

We used to be close; I remember climbing trees together, laughing as we hid from our parents, their calls and the sweet tang of plums ripening in the summer air sending giddy rushes through our veins.

I don’t remember exactly when we began to drift apart; I guess it’s natural to some extent for siblings to distance themselves when they reach their teens. All I know is that by the time high school came around we really only saw each other at meals – he would steer clear of me and Craig and our dragging reputation as he slowly climbed the social hierarchy: joining the lacrosse team, going through the high school motions.

He’s noticed the changes at home as much as I have, the gaping silences, the mandatory space constantly between our parents. He responds to this by throwing himself at his social life, trying to ignore the continuous worried attention my parents pay to me as he drifts on the side lines.

I try to think back to how Rory’s been acting this past week. I’ve barely seen him, between the solitude I’ve been hunting and his never ending schedule of sport practice and parties: seeking the attention at school that he never receives at home.

I suppose it was that balance that held the tenuous strings of our relationship together: I received the attention (however unwelcome) at home and he would dominate the school life.
But overtime, my growing infamy has been overshadowing the rut he has managed to scrape for himself at school and I realise now how hard he has been trying to differentiate himself from me: rejecting his previous nickname of “Matthews” and demanding his first name instead, eating and talking as far from me and Craig as possible, never talking to me or about me, wishing for my absence. No one would guess us to be brothers unless they already knew.

It’s only now that I realise just how difficult this past week must have been on him, the complete lack of attention at home, the tidal wave of talk about me and only me at school, Rory shoved to the side lines as the psycho’s brother.

A thought suddenly grips me that suddenly sucks all the air from my lungs: that maybe that’s the very reason he was beaten up, because he’s the psycho’s brother. Maybe being my brother really is the curse he’s making it out to be.

Once that thought has sprouted in my mind, there is no uprooting it. How could I have been such a terrible brother to have not noticed what was happening right in front of me? So wrapped up in myself to not even be able to protect my little brother?

My fists clench once more and small black dots splotch upon my vision, like ink drops spreading and staining parchment. I feel an uncontrollable need to find whoever it was that hurt him and make up for all the negligence on my part, to make up for all the times I overshadowed him and left him in the dark.

I twitch in my seat, my fingers drumming against my desk until the bell goes, determined to seek Rory out, whoever he may be with, and find out who it was from him directly.

I step out of the classroom with a new sense of purpose, grand ideas of sibling solidarity already hazing my rationality. Everything around me appears saturated: colours condensing and circling my vision as I stand with my feet firm and rooted, searching for the answer to the gap between my brother and me.

But then my eyes fall upon a small cove beneath the swaying arms of a willow tree which Jackson is leaning languidly against, Riley, as ever, scuttling around beside him. It’s as though a tiny puzzle piece has slipped together behind my eyes and all the colour drains from my surroundings as the facts are left, black and white, in front of me.

I slowly make my way over to Jackson with the feeling of fatality I can only compare to the gallows walk. I reach the stretch of crinkling grass stretched before the two of them and stop.

“Did you do it to him?” I ask simply

“Come again?” Jackson’s smirk plays mockingly upon his lips

“You know what I’m talking about.” I tell him forcibly.

“If you’re talking about little psycho junior then I guess you could say I was involved.” Jackson’s shining row of teeth peek out from behind his curled lips and I feel an irrepressible anger beginning to well up through my body, filling me up, replacing my blood with liquid rage.

“How could you do that to him? To just a kid?”

Jackson throws his arms up in mock surrender, “Hey, I was just showing the kid a good time, he enjoyed it, didn’t he Riley?” Riley only shifts uncomfortably and says nothing, “You know how much he wants to play that game of social snakes and ladders, I mean you’re his brother, right?”

“Why would you bring him into it? He had nothing to do with anything!” The molten rage that has been coursing through me throws me forward and I feel my palm shove into Jackson’s chest.

At the moment of contact, Jackson’s whole persona changes and suddenly he has grasped me by my collar before I have time to breath, “Don’t you dare touch me,” Jackson growls, his lips curled back as his eyes widen to leave a terrifying craze about him.

Then just as suddenly, a smile finds its way back onto his face, now he is back in the position of power. “Hey, come on, don’t look at me like that, I warned you, I told you you’d regret it, didn’t I?”

Then Jackson releases his grip from my collar and a giddy rush of oxygen flows back to my brain and along with it comes reason: Jackson is twice my size and has had plenty practice with punching bags of all shapes and species.

“Just leave him alone, okay, he hasn’t done anything wrong.” I half order, half plead. I look over to Riley, to see if he has anything to say about the brutality that has been inflicted upon Rory, upon the kid he once thought of as an honorary brother, the kid he looked out for on his first day of school, the kid he had seen grow up. But he only averts his gaze and so I turn to walk away.

Then Jackson speaks: “There should be some sort of health insurance for knowing you Leland, like jeez, you just can’t stop hurting everyone you know, can you? First Craig, now your brother, I mean, who knows who’s next. Hey, maybe you’ll find little Rory swinging from a rope in the morning.”

I freeze.

The rage that had drained away with my oxygen supply is back, but it isn’t just filling me up now. It consumes me.

A great roaring, wave soaks my eyes and drowns my throat, leaving my wholly unaware of anything around me. All I can think of is hurting Jackson as much as he as hurt me, as much as anyone or anything has hurt me. For him to feel the sharp, numb, clawing, gnawing pain that is scratching into every inch of my being. I want him to feel that.

So with eyes hazed red I turn back around and my fist flies into Jackson’s jaw with a resounding crack before the sound is muffled as I lunge towards him, trying to get my fists to come into as hard a contact with as much of his body as possible.

For every punch I throw I feel at least two in return; to my stomach, to my cheek, to my chest. But the pain is numb and unable to control the great crimson wave that roars over my mind. I taste dirt and grass in my mouth and feel scraping stones grating down my face, but none of it is enough to restrain the great deafening beast of my despair.

Not until I hear her voice.

“Stop! Stop it, Leland, stop!”

I pause as the wave suddenly stops and solidifies at the notes of her voice. I pause just long enough for Jackson’s fist to smash down into my gut, shattering the scarlet film that had covered my eyes and reason as I fall to the ground along with the newly materialising pain.
The red washes away and my eyes are clear once more as I feel soft hands slide underneath my and lift me up onto her lap.

I hear a deep, male voice that shakes with an undertone of fear, “Just leave him alone, alright, you’ve done enough for one day.”

I squint my eyes upwards and see Johnny standing between Jackson and me and Eve. Jackson, who bears only a few bruises, seems to consider whether punching Johnny is worth the effort before he shrugs.

“Whatever, I guess I’ll just go find the other Matthews, see if he’s up for some more social climbing. I’m betting he’ll be interested in some more ‘initiations’, let’s see if I can come up with some more creative ones than last night.”

I feel my lungs filling up again with what’s left of the storming surge from before as I make one more final lunge towards Jackson from my pathetic stance on the ground but Eve holds me down with surprising firmness.

Jackson looks down at me with contempt before he chuckles darkly and lopes away, Riley scuttling after, his face contorted with fear and conflict.

I feel my whole being collapse against the curve of Eve as the pain begins to tremble and build around my body: Eve’s arms wrapped around my ribcage the only thing stopping me falling apart.