Dreams Cut Short
Dreams Cut Short
Click. The shutter of my camera snapped away at the latest object of my obsession, my precious Luna gypsy flame acoustic. Made of the purest woods with a glossy mahogany finish, my treasure appeared even more flawless behind the lens. Surely I would be photoshopping it later to give it a vintage look. Photographing this object, right here and now, was my passion. That moment would be petrified, like a bug in solid amber, until the end of time. I disliked photographing people for that very same reason; there were many faces I would prefer to just forget about.
Veronica burst into my bedroom in a fit of rage.
“Have you seen your brother?” She interrogated. It dawned on me suddenly that I had mistaken my mother for being angry, when in fact she was only worried. It would make sense, after all, considering just last week Ethan was caught sneaking in long after midnight. Her eyes blazed with something resembling annoyance when she realized what I was up to. “Have you finished your homework, missy?” I averted my eyes with guilt.
“Yes.” I said, but I’m positive my face told a different tale. Luckily, she was too preoccupied to even care if I was fibbing.
“Well, let me know if you see Ethan. If he’s out, I’m going to lock that child up for the rest of his life.” As quickly as she came, she fled the room, leaving behind a scent-trail of lavender and citrus. The odor bombarded my nose with a pungent yet sweet aroma, similar to my brother after one of his workouts. Wait…
“Don’t tell Mom I was gone.” Ethan’s blonde head popped into my doorway.
“Where WERE you?” I hissed, aware that I was whispering for reasons unknown.
“Doesn’t matter. You guys need to stop worrying so much. You’ll get stomach ulcers or something.” And on that note, Ethan and his body odor drifted down the hall, undoubtedly to shower and hopefully wash away all of the impure things he’d done last night. He was 14, and already he smelled and looked like a truck driver- the greasy kind, anyway. I shut my door to provide myself some privacy, but I faintly heard a mother-son confrontation in the other room. I couldn’t ignore the yelling when everything else was silent, so I put my iPod on full blast, matching the screaming with more screaming.
Just a normal Monday. School, half-hearted attempt at homework, dinner, photography, bed. Just a normal Monday. At least, that’s what it appeared to be at first-
“Where’s Ethan?” Veronica screeched. Yes, just a typical Monday.
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” I grumbled, not lifting my eyes from my calculus homework. If there was anything I had learned from dealing with these people for 17 years, it was that my brother’s absence on any given day was normal. After a few minutes of staring at the same problem, I realized the answer, unfortunately, would not just come to me. I sighed in defeat and retired to my bedroom to fiddle with the sepia-tone feature on my camera. If math came to me the way picture taking did, I could be valedictorian of the senior class. Too bad graduation was only a few short months away. I let this thought take me away, and I finally began to drift. The last thing I remember consciously thinking about was what was going to happen when high school was over.
Tuesday was not normal. I bounced down the steps in the morning only to find a broken-looking Veronica slouched over at the kitchen table. Her knotted hands wrung together in a nervous fashion, and trembled as she sobbed.
“Honey,” she spoke hoarsely, as if she’d been smoking heavy cigars for years like our next-door neighbor. “Ethan never came home last night.”
My blood ran cold. I had been waiting for this day…yet, I’d always dismissed the possibility of it actually happening. Now here it was, in black and white, slapping me across the face. Chiding me.
“W-What?” I choked on my own words. “You’re sure? He could be staying at a friend’s or something-”
“I already checked. Nobody’s seen him. Kelly, I…” She gave me a pained expression. “I’ve called the cops; they’re sending out a search party. You’re staying home today.” I knew it was bad when she suggested this-I couldn’t afford to miss schoolwork too often. I just hoped-God. I fought back tears, which threatened to spill. No, I couldn’t cry; I was supposed to be the tough one in the family. Ethan was a freshman, anyway. He was bound to come back, sooner or later. He was too young and innocent to die. Ethan was going to come home; for God’s sake, he had to.
The word spread around school like wildfire. Everywhere I went, someone was asking me about the excruciating details. It was harder than usual to pay attention in class when there was always someone sticking their nose where it didn’t belong:
“Is it true?” A classmate relentlessly interrogated me. I didn’t answer with words, but instead nodded solemnly. “God, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I murmured. As soon as school let out, I raced out the door-I wouldn’t be able to live with this for very long. I was determined to find his whereabouts. I asked each and every one of his known friends, but nobody had a clue-with the exception of one.
Tabby, Ethan’s girlfriend, was shaken-but appeared guilt-ridden when I asked about him:
“He liked to go to parties with me sometimes. Surely you know that, but the night he…left, I was busy with algebra homework. I think he went by himself. I just wish…ugh.” Tabby began to sob, enveloping me into a sort of pitiful hug before I could stop her. It was a bit odd, but she seemed to be in more emotional distress than I-at least, on the outside, anyway. “We have to f-find him.” She sniffed.
“Don’t worry.” I reassured her. “He’ll turn up.”
But he never did. It had been two agony-filled weeks since Ethan had failed to return home. My mom was torn to pieces. It seemed that I was the sole person with even an inkling of hope left. After school one day, I retreated home to screams of despair. Veronica was in the parlor, lingering in front of the T.V. What little makeup that had been on her face streamed in black rivers down her cheeks. I thought she looked like Satan. The funny moment passed, however, when I noticed exactly what she was watching. There, on the screen, a body had been fished out of the lake. The news people thought it belonged to a certain missing teenage boy. And then, I broke down right alongside her. We gathered onto the worn paisley sofa and cried until we were blue in the faces.
It was hours before I stopped crying-literally, hours. My mother was in a similar state. That is, until the body was identified the next morning-it wasn’t Ethan. The house, which was once damp with the moisture of tears and the stench of heartbreak, was soon enlightened with restored hope. I even got back to taking pictures again. After a long session on the phone, Veronica entered my bedroom:
“Hon, can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.” I got up from my desk to look the middle-aged woman in the face.
“I need you to take some photos of stuff in Ethan’s bedroom. We need to help the police gather photo evidence of everything in case there is something we’re missing. It doesn’t have to be right this second, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“What exactly would I be looking for?”
“Nothing specific, just of his room as a while and then some shots of his bed, the inside of his closet, stuff like that.”
“But wouldn’t that be invading his privacy?” I asked.
“Yes, but you’ll agree that at this point it’s necessary.” She sped away before I could protest further. It had been months since I’d actually been permitted inside his room, let alone forced to explore it. I was almost afraid of what I’d find. The door clicked open quietly, a sound I wasn’t quite used to-the loud slam it made whenever Ethan had shut it was all I had ever known.
At first glance, it was nothing more than a typical teenage boy’s room. Clothes were strewn about in mountainous heaps. It stunk of stale B.O. and whatever cologne/deodorant combo he used to try and cover it up. His bed was in an unmade mess. His desk was cluttered with an assortment of hair products. To say I was disgusted was an understatement. I took a few snaps of the overall scene, which looked like something directly off the show Clean House. Next, I did as Veronica told me and took pictures of specific areas. When I opened the closet, I was shocked to find a stack of empty shoeboxes from the top shelf crumble down, knocking me onto the dirty carpet. I let out a startled yelp.
“You okay up there?” A distant voice called from downstairs.
“Yeah.” I replied, scurrying in a panic to replace the boxes as I found them-in a disorganized pile. One box in particular was heavy; too heavy to be empty. I gulped in fear-would this be a clue? I carefully lifted the lid to find…his secret Playboy stash? “Oh, geez.” I rolled my eyes and put the rest of the boxes in place. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I trudged down the staircase, which felt miles long, in a setback that was more than obvious. Veronica pursed her lips expectantly, but I shook my head.
“Nothing interesting.” I reported. At this time I felt it wasn’t necessary to mention the magazines. (And surely, if he came home, Ethan would thank me for that). She sighed.
“Well, I’m going to the store, is there anything you need?”
“No.” She eyeballed me a moment, then clutched her purse and left. Once again, I was companionless. I took the opportunity to get started on my English assignment, which I’d nearly finished in the time allotted. Before I knew it, a black blanket had settled over the sky, though it wasn’t a protective one. Rain poured in gloomy sheets outside the window, and it was then decided that English would have to wait. I settled my wilted body on the living room sofa; nothing felt more wonderful than sleep now. Just as I was beginning to float away into slumber, I heard an odd noise.
The creaking of the kitchen floorboards was the most distinctive thing in the world to everyone who lived in this house. I knew right away that the intruder was not Ethan, because he would have known better than to creep around in the kitchen, of all places. This eerie fact sent an unpleasant chill down my spine. Was it safe to see who it was? I was certainly about to find out. Situated on the table was a miniature candleholder, which rose to a pointed tip that could kill if thrust with enough force.
What are you THINKING, Kelly? The intruder probably has a gun. So what are you going to do with that, FLOSS? Her inner voice taunted her. I decided I would much rather initiate the encounter than be stumbled upon. The element of surprise when dealing with someone with a gun was too much to bear. I slipped down the hall even quieter than a shadow, just on the other side of the corner leading into the kitchen. 3…2…1…
“HA!” I screamed and jumped out to face none other than Tabby. If my heart weren’t racing a million miles an hour, the scene would have been comical to me. Tabby was fixing herself a bagel with peanut butter spread at the kitchen counter, and promptly dropped the jar in surprise.
“Oh…hi, Kelly.” She grinned sheepishly.
“What are you doing here?” I didn’t even bother to hide the irritation in my voice.
“I…” Tabby was at a loss for words. She put down the butter knife. “I was looking for something, okay?” She pushed a clump of bangs out of her eyes, which glistened in the bright lights.
“Looking for what?” My eyebrows knitted together.
“His laptop.”
“But you’re eating our bagels.” I pointed out. Tabby lowered her head shyly.
“I was hungry…” She insisted. “Point is, I really, really need to find something he has on his computer. It’s important.”
“Wanna tell me what this is about?”
“I’ll show you.” I hesitated before leading Tabby up the steps. She opened the Dell and began furiously typing away until her expression hardened. There, on the screen, she had hacked into his email account. Ethan, a fourteen-year-old freshman in high school, had been dealing drugs to kids he knew. My eyes burned with hot tears. All my life, I had thought him to be my innocent little brother. Apparently, he knew how to keep a secret. That’s when it dawned on me:
“You KNEW?” I was furious. Tabby stared at her lap, as if the answer was written on her blue jeans.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me…”
“How long have you known about this?!”
“Maybe like a month or two.”
“Or TWO?”
“It’s not really a big deal-”
“Yes, it IS!” I raged. Tabby shrunk away fearfully. “Why are you even here?” Tabby’s cheeks were noticeably hollowed in, discolored. It was like someone had scraped them out with a knife.
“I wanted to make sure he wasn’t still dealing. It might have given us a trail if he was.” I cocked my head in thought.
“Well, then how did you get into my house?” Tabby pulled a brass key out of her back pocket.
“Ethan made me a copy.” She bit her lip and slowly placed it in my palm; it was clear that she didn’t want to give it up, but she knew she had to. I hoped to God this chilly feeling was just my mom forgetting to turn on the heat again.
I was getting closer to closure. It had already been a month since my brother vanished, and soon it would approach the day that we would have to accept his absence. Veronica reeled in a funny state of alternating grief and denial, but I knew deep down that it was over. Police had stopped the search parties days ago, and the evidence trail had run cold. (To be clear, there really wasn’t one to begin with).
Until today. Ethan’s body was found in a ditch by the highway, shredded horrifically with gore and grease from the road. He never knew what hit him. All the police knew was that he was alive up until this afternoon. Then, thanks to a blood alcohol content of 0.14, he stumbled into the street and was knocked lifeless at 65 mph by a semi. He was alive yesterday.
The built-up hopes, the enlightened spirits-crushed. If I thought my mom was spiraling into a state of depression before, Veronica’s mindset had turned suicidal. It was one thing when she was angry or upset about something minor-her feelings escaped like exhaled breaths within minutes. But this, the first real tragedy the Myer family had experienced in years, affected her in a completely different way. She never verbalized anything unless she was forced to. Her hair, eyes, and mouth aged her to eighty years old as opposed to her somewhat-ripe forty-two. Every step she took seemed to pain her. I seemed to be the only thing that kept everything else in the household from shattering into a billion pieces.
The funeral was the hardest thing yet-closed coffin, of course-and it was said many times that a man could make an eighth ocean with all the tears that were shed that day. We cried for Ethan like we’d never cried before. Even his best friends, supposedly the most macho kids in his year, turned into sniffling children at his side. Most of us did not look our years. And me? I sat in the corner by myself, avoiding anyone who attempted to console me. I mean, what were they supposed to say to a girl with a dead brother? “I’m sorry”? I wanted to avoid that awkwardness altogether, so I didn’t bother associating with anyone. It was so much easier to just watch everyone milling around and chatting, even laughing, as the memories were sometimes humorous. This made me feel like I was watching a movie. It was like it wasn’t even real, and it would somehow end on a positive note, as they often do. The only problem with this mindset was that the curtains would never close until I myself was dead, too.
“Kelly?” A soft voice came from beside me, but I chose to ignore it until it came again. “Hey, are you okay?”
And with a burst of emotion that was very unlike me, I snapped:
“Do I look okay to you?”
“Well, I’m s-”
“Don’t even say it, Tabby. I’ve heard enough apologies to last me a lifetime. It’s not like you’re the one who killed him.” She was silent for a few blissful moments. Then she had to ruin it again.
“Look, I know you’re upset. And I know you don’t want to talk to anybody. But come on, you’re not the only one who’s at a loss here. I was his girlfriend. For Christ’s sake, I loved him, too.” She looked me dead in the eye as she said this. “We can get through this, I promise. It’s going to be hard, but he’s in a better place. Would you rather have him live the rest of his life severely crippled?”
“He was killed instantly.” I corrected her. Tabby threw her hands up.
“That’s not the point, okay? He’s in a better place now. Nobody wants you to be upset about this the rest of your life. Is that what you want?” I didn’t answer, so she took it as her cue to continue. “He wouldn’t want it for you. And they’re reaching out to you, Kelly. So let them.” She stole my hand and yanked me up. “Come on. I hear there’s cookies and coffee in the basement.” I still did not answer, but I followed her reluctantly. When we entered the room with all the food, everyone else filed out-and I knew why. When the close family of someone was grieving, people avoided them like the plague. It wasn’t because they weren’t pitied; it was more like the others believed the sulky mood was contagious. I was actually thankful for this, and I almost wished Tabby were like the others. But, she was in the same boat as I was.
…I suppose the least I could do was welcome her aboard.
“So, have you been missing him as much as I have?” I asked.
“Every minute of every day.”
*
Veronica burst into my bedroom in a fit of rage.
“Have you seen your brother?” She interrogated. It dawned on me suddenly that I had mistaken my mother for being angry, when in fact she was only worried. It would make sense, after all, considering just last week Ethan was caught sneaking in long after midnight. Her eyes blazed with something resembling annoyance when she realized what I was up to. “Have you finished your homework, missy?” I averted my eyes with guilt.
“Yes.” I said, but I’m positive my face told a different tale. Luckily, she was too preoccupied to even care if I was fibbing.
“Well, let me know if you see Ethan. If he’s out, I’m going to lock that child up for the rest of his life.” As quickly as she came, she fled the room, leaving behind a scent-trail of lavender and citrus. The odor bombarded my nose with a pungent yet sweet aroma, similar to my brother after one of his workouts. Wait…
“Don’t tell Mom I was gone.” Ethan’s blonde head popped into my doorway.
“Where WERE you?” I hissed, aware that I was whispering for reasons unknown.
“Doesn’t matter. You guys need to stop worrying so much. You’ll get stomach ulcers or something.” And on that note, Ethan and his body odor drifted down the hall, undoubtedly to shower and hopefully wash away all of the impure things he’d done last night. He was 14, and already he smelled and looked like a truck driver- the greasy kind, anyway. I shut my door to provide myself some privacy, but I faintly heard a mother-son confrontation in the other room. I couldn’t ignore the yelling when everything else was silent, so I put my iPod on full blast, matching the screaming with more screaming.
Just a normal Monday. School, half-hearted attempt at homework, dinner, photography, bed. Just a normal Monday. At least, that’s what it appeared to be at first-
“Where’s Ethan?” Veronica screeched. Yes, just a typical Monday.
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” I grumbled, not lifting my eyes from my calculus homework. If there was anything I had learned from dealing with these people for 17 years, it was that my brother’s absence on any given day was normal. After a few minutes of staring at the same problem, I realized the answer, unfortunately, would not just come to me. I sighed in defeat and retired to my bedroom to fiddle with the sepia-tone feature on my camera. If math came to me the way picture taking did, I could be valedictorian of the senior class. Too bad graduation was only a few short months away. I let this thought take me away, and I finally began to drift. The last thing I remember consciously thinking about was what was going to happen when high school was over.
Tuesday was not normal. I bounced down the steps in the morning only to find a broken-looking Veronica slouched over at the kitchen table. Her knotted hands wrung together in a nervous fashion, and trembled as she sobbed.
“Honey,” she spoke hoarsely, as if she’d been smoking heavy cigars for years like our next-door neighbor. “Ethan never came home last night.”
My blood ran cold. I had been waiting for this day…yet, I’d always dismissed the possibility of it actually happening. Now here it was, in black and white, slapping me across the face. Chiding me.
“W-What?” I choked on my own words. “You’re sure? He could be staying at a friend’s or something-”
“I already checked. Nobody’s seen him. Kelly, I…” She gave me a pained expression. “I’ve called the cops; they’re sending out a search party. You’re staying home today.” I knew it was bad when she suggested this-I couldn’t afford to miss schoolwork too often. I just hoped-God. I fought back tears, which threatened to spill. No, I couldn’t cry; I was supposed to be the tough one in the family. Ethan was a freshman, anyway. He was bound to come back, sooner or later. He was too young and innocent to die. Ethan was going to come home; for God’s sake, he had to.
The word spread around school like wildfire. Everywhere I went, someone was asking me about the excruciating details. It was harder than usual to pay attention in class when there was always someone sticking their nose where it didn’t belong:
“Is it true?” A classmate relentlessly interrogated me. I didn’t answer with words, but instead nodded solemnly. “God, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I murmured. As soon as school let out, I raced out the door-I wouldn’t be able to live with this for very long. I was determined to find his whereabouts. I asked each and every one of his known friends, but nobody had a clue-with the exception of one.
Tabby, Ethan’s girlfriend, was shaken-but appeared guilt-ridden when I asked about him:
“He liked to go to parties with me sometimes. Surely you know that, but the night he…left, I was busy with algebra homework. I think he went by himself. I just wish…ugh.” Tabby began to sob, enveloping me into a sort of pitiful hug before I could stop her. It was a bit odd, but she seemed to be in more emotional distress than I-at least, on the outside, anyway. “We have to f-find him.” She sniffed.
“Don’t worry.” I reassured her. “He’ll turn up.”
But he never did. It had been two agony-filled weeks since Ethan had failed to return home. My mom was torn to pieces. It seemed that I was the sole person with even an inkling of hope left. After school one day, I retreated home to screams of despair. Veronica was in the parlor, lingering in front of the T.V. What little makeup that had been on her face streamed in black rivers down her cheeks. I thought she looked like Satan. The funny moment passed, however, when I noticed exactly what she was watching. There, on the screen, a body had been fished out of the lake. The news people thought it belonged to a certain missing teenage boy. And then, I broke down right alongside her. We gathered onto the worn paisley sofa and cried until we were blue in the faces.
It was hours before I stopped crying-literally, hours. My mother was in a similar state. That is, until the body was identified the next morning-it wasn’t Ethan. The house, which was once damp with the moisture of tears and the stench of heartbreak, was soon enlightened with restored hope. I even got back to taking pictures again. After a long session on the phone, Veronica entered my bedroom:
“Hon, can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.” I got up from my desk to look the middle-aged woman in the face.
“I need you to take some photos of stuff in Ethan’s bedroom. We need to help the police gather photo evidence of everything in case there is something we’re missing. It doesn’t have to be right this second, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“What exactly would I be looking for?”
“Nothing specific, just of his room as a while and then some shots of his bed, the inside of his closet, stuff like that.”
“But wouldn’t that be invading his privacy?” I asked.
“Yes, but you’ll agree that at this point it’s necessary.” She sped away before I could protest further. It had been months since I’d actually been permitted inside his room, let alone forced to explore it. I was almost afraid of what I’d find. The door clicked open quietly, a sound I wasn’t quite used to-the loud slam it made whenever Ethan had shut it was all I had ever known.
At first glance, it was nothing more than a typical teenage boy’s room. Clothes were strewn about in mountainous heaps. It stunk of stale B.O. and whatever cologne/deodorant combo he used to try and cover it up. His bed was in an unmade mess. His desk was cluttered with an assortment of hair products. To say I was disgusted was an understatement. I took a few snaps of the overall scene, which looked like something directly off the show Clean House. Next, I did as Veronica told me and took pictures of specific areas. When I opened the closet, I was shocked to find a stack of empty shoeboxes from the top shelf crumble down, knocking me onto the dirty carpet. I let out a startled yelp.
“You okay up there?” A distant voice called from downstairs.
“Yeah.” I replied, scurrying in a panic to replace the boxes as I found them-in a disorganized pile. One box in particular was heavy; too heavy to be empty. I gulped in fear-would this be a clue? I carefully lifted the lid to find…his secret Playboy stash? “Oh, geez.” I rolled my eyes and put the rest of the boxes in place. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I trudged down the staircase, which felt miles long, in a setback that was more than obvious. Veronica pursed her lips expectantly, but I shook my head.
“Nothing interesting.” I reported. At this time I felt it wasn’t necessary to mention the magazines. (And surely, if he came home, Ethan would thank me for that). She sighed.
“Well, I’m going to the store, is there anything you need?”
“No.” She eyeballed me a moment, then clutched her purse and left. Once again, I was companionless. I took the opportunity to get started on my English assignment, which I’d nearly finished in the time allotted. Before I knew it, a black blanket had settled over the sky, though it wasn’t a protective one. Rain poured in gloomy sheets outside the window, and it was then decided that English would have to wait. I settled my wilted body on the living room sofa; nothing felt more wonderful than sleep now. Just as I was beginning to float away into slumber, I heard an odd noise.
The creaking of the kitchen floorboards was the most distinctive thing in the world to everyone who lived in this house. I knew right away that the intruder was not Ethan, because he would have known better than to creep around in the kitchen, of all places. This eerie fact sent an unpleasant chill down my spine. Was it safe to see who it was? I was certainly about to find out. Situated on the table was a miniature candleholder, which rose to a pointed tip that could kill if thrust with enough force.
What are you THINKING, Kelly? The intruder probably has a gun. So what are you going to do with that, FLOSS? Her inner voice taunted her. I decided I would much rather initiate the encounter than be stumbled upon. The element of surprise when dealing with someone with a gun was too much to bear. I slipped down the hall even quieter than a shadow, just on the other side of the corner leading into the kitchen. 3…2…1…
“HA!” I screamed and jumped out to face none other than Tabby. If my heart weren’t racing a million miles an hour, the scene would have been comical to me. Tabby was fixing herself a bagel with peanut butter spread at the kitchen counter, and promptly dropped the jar in surprise.
“Oh…hi, Kelly.” She grinned sheepishly.
“What are you doing here?” I didn’t even bother to hide the irritation in my voice.
“I…” Tabby was at a loss for words. She put down the butter knife. “I was looking for something, okay?” She pushed a clump of bangs out of her eyes, which glistened in the bright lights.
“Looking for what?” My eyebrows knitted together.
“His laptop.”
“But you’re eating our bagels.” I pointed out. Tabby lowered her head shyly.
“I was hungry…” She insisted. “Point is, I really, really need to find something he has on his computer. It’s important.”
“Wanna tell me what this is about?”
“I’ll show you.” I hesitated before leading Tabby up the steps. She opened the Dell and began furiously typing away until her expression hardened. There, on the screen, she had hacked into his email account. Ethan, a fourteen-year-old freshman in high school, had been dealing drugs to kids he knew. My eyes burned with hot tears. All my life, I had thought him to be my innocent little brother. Apparently, he knew how to keep a secret. That’s when it dawned on me:
“You KNEW?” I was furious. Tabby stared at her lap, as if the answer was written on her blue jeans.
“I didn’t think you’d believe me…”
“How long have you known about this?!”
“Maybe like a month or two.”
“Or TWO?”
“It’s not really a big deal-”
“Yes, it IS!” I raged. Tabby shrunk away fearfully. “Why are you even here?” Tabby’s cheeks were noticeably hollowed in, discolored. It was like someone had scraped them out with a knife.
“I wanted to make sure he wasn’t still dealing. It might have given us a trail if he was.” I cocked my head in thought.
“Well, then how did you get into my house?” Tabby pulled a brass key out of her back pocket.
“Ethan made me a copy.” She bit her lip and slowly placed it in my palm; it was clear that she didn’t want to give it up, but she knew she had to. I hoped to God this chilly feeling was just my mom forgetting to turn on the heat again.
I was getting closer to closure. It had already been a month since my brother vanished, and soon it would approach the day that we would have to accept his absence. Veronica reeled in a funny state of alternating grief and denial, but I knew deep down that it was over. Police had stopped the search parties days ago, and the evidence trail had run cold. (To be clear, there really wasn’t one to begin with).
Until today. Ethan’s body was found in a ditch by the highway, shredded horrifically with gore and grease from the road. He never knew what hit him. All the police knew was that he was alive up until this afternoon. Then, thanks to a blood alcohol content of 0.14, he stumbled into the street and was knocked lifeless at 65 mph by a semi. He was alive yesterday.
The built-up hopes, the enlightened spirits-crushed. If I thought my mom was spiraling into a state of depression before, Veronica’s mindset had turned suicidal. It was one thing when she was angry or upset about something minor-her feelings escaped like exhaled breaths within minutes. But this, the first real tragedy the Myer family had experienced in years, affected her in a completely different way. She never verbalized anything unless she was forced to. Her hair, eyes, and mouth aged her to eighty years old as opposed to her somewhat-ripe forty-two. Every step she took seemed to pain her. I seemed to be the only thing that kept everything else in the household from shattering into a billion pieces.
The funeral was the hardest thing yet-closed coffin, of course-and it was said many times that a man could make an eighth ocean with all the tears that were shed that day. We cried for Ethan like we’d never cried before. Even his best friends, supposedly the most macho kids in his year, turned into sniffling children at his side. Most of us did not look our years. And me? I sat in the corner by myself, avoiding anyone who attempted to console me. I mean, what were they supposed to say to a girl with a dead brother? “I’m sorry”? I wanted to avoid that awkwardness altogether, so I didn’t bother associating with anyone. It was so much easier to just watch everyone milling around and chatting, even laughing, as the memories were sometimes humorous. This made me feel like I was watching a movie. It was like it wasn’t even real, and it would somehow end on a positive note, as they often do. The only problem with this mindset was that the curtains would never close until I myself was dead, too.
“Kelly?” A soft voice came from beside me, but I chose to ignore it until it came again. “Hey, are you okay?”
And with a burst of emotion that was very unlike me, I snapped:
“Do I look okay to you?”
“Well, I’m s-”
“Don’t even say it, Tabby. I’ve heard enough apologies to last me a lifetime. It’s not like you’re the one who killed him.” She was silent for a few blissful moments. Then she had to ruin it again.
“Look, I know you’re upset. And I know you don’t want to talk to anybody. But come on, you’re not the only one who’s at a loss here. I was his girlfriend. For Christ’s sake, I loved him, too.” She looked me dead in the eye as she said this. “We can get through this, I promise. It’s going to be hard, but he’s in a better place. Would you rather have him live the rest of his life severely crippled?”
“He was killed instantly.” I corrected her. Tabby threw her hands up.
“That’s not the point, okay? He’s in a better place now. Nobody wants you to be upset about this the rest of your life. Is that what you want?” I didn’t answer, so she took it as her cue to continue. “He wouldn’t want it for you. And they’re reaching out to you, Kelly. So let them.” She stole my hand and yanked me up. “Come on. I hear there’s cookies and coffee in the basement.” I still did not answer, but I followed her reluctantly. When we entered the room with all the food, everyone else filed out-and I knew why. When the close family of someone was grieving, people avoided them like the plague. It wasn’t because they weren’t pitied; it was more like the others believed the sulky mood was contagious. I was actually thankful for this, and I almost wished Tabby were like the others. But, she was in the same boat as I was.
…I suppose the least I could do was welcome her aboard.
“So, have you been missing him as much as I have?” I asked.
“Every minute of every day.”
*