An Undead Boy

I can't forgive myself for ruining Danielle's birthday. I left her yesterday at the bottom of her driveway, her eyes still red from crying. I wouldn't blame her if she never forgave me, either.

Just being in my room makes me feel empty. It's nothing like Danielle's; where hers is a sanctuary, mine is a coffin. Her dreamcatchers trap and repel bad dreams but I'm living in the midst of them all, swathed in them. I can't shake it off.

I think I'm depressed. Can a zombie become depressed? I suppose there's a lot of time to mull your life over, being dead already. I'm still capable of thinking as well as I did when I was breathing. God, I'm trying to be optimistic but it's near impossible when you can see years stretching out in front of you, completely unchanging.

What was I like before? I think I was happy. No - I definitely was. Being how I am now, I can honestly say, hand on heart, that I was happy. Since when did I become all doom and gloom? Since when did I turn away girls who wanted to kiss me? When did I become the practical one, the responsible one?

I can't remember who I used to be.

The bite of my nails on my cheeks brings everything into clear focus for me. I'm not even aware that I'm sobbing until my door creaks open and my mother is looking at me, a basket of washing in her hands, her face passive.

"I can't remember who I used to be." I choke, slipping off my bed and knocking my knees on the floor. I don't even feel pain and this sets off fresh hysterics. "I can't remember."

Suddenly, my mother has her arms around me, the clothes from the basket strewn across the landing and my bedroom. She wants to shudder away from my cold skin and waxy appearance but there's no denying that I am her son, no matter what state I may be in. Her hands are patting my hair flat, or rubbing my back, and I wish I could absorb the feel of it. I never want to forget this.

"Oh Charlie." she cries, moving back a little to stare at my face. Her own is shining with tears. "My poor, poor baby. What's happened to you?"

I feel like a child again, my arms hugging her waist. I'm rocking backwards and forwards, breathing in the smell of her perfume. She hasn't worn it in a long time but I can catch the faintest trace of it in her clothes and on her hair. It calms me slightly.

"I don't want to be dead anymore, mum. I want to be alive and I want to be in the park with Mark and James. I want to wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night and I want to grow up."

My mother inhales sharply and pries my arms from her with care. I panic, fearing that I've said too much to her but she doesn't leave. She leans back against the wall, sitting opposite me, and as she observes me with a glum expression, she seems to age with every passing minute. So wrapped up in my own distress, not once did I really stop to think about my mother. Someone else I've let down.

Her eyes, exactly the same shade as mine, are bloodshot and lined with dark circles. I wonder what she thinks when she looks at me? To see her eyes staring back at her from the face of a monster.

"We both know you can't go back to how you were before. I thought I taught you that you can't always get what you want." she sniffs, fresh tears sliding down her face. "No matter how much you want it."

"But I can't do this - "

Anger flashes across her features. "I can't do this, either. This hasn't exactly been a picnic for me, Charlie. You - you died."

I don't say anything. She's been holding this in for a long time and I know that she wants to scream it from the rooftops. She wants to be listened to and whereas I've had Danielle, she has had no one.

"They offered me grief counselling, you know. Grief counselling when you're still...still here. How can they expect me to accept your death when I see you in the kitchen or hear you move around in your room, or see your shoes left at the bottom of the stairs like always? I had your gravestone picked out. I'd nearly settled on a date for the funeral, just in case the hospital decided to let you go."

She picks up one of the shirts from the floor and twists it in her hands.

"You're my only child. It pains me to know that even though you're still here, your life is over. And I hated you - I hate you." she amends, blinking at her own words. "Because I'd rather have you dead than live this life. But you came back, you've cursed yourself."

"I didn't choose this!"

She hasn't heard me and is still muttering under her breath.

"And your father - "

"What about him?" I cut across briskly. I've never heard my mum talk about my father freely. It usually has to be drawn out of her by me or Grandma Thelma.

"How can I tell him what's happened? Because he knows you exist, Charlie - of course he does. I send him photographs every year, just in case he...he wants to change his mind and get to know you. But how can I tell him that his first born is a - is a.."

"Zombie." I say. "Wait - first born?"

"Oh God." she gasps, covering her face with her hands. "Oh God, I should never had said that. I promised not to - "

I'm on my feet, looming over her. "And why not?! WHY WOULDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT I HAVE - HAVE A BROTHER OR A SISTER? Because I have, haven't I? I have a sibling."

Her hands drop to her sides and she meets my gaze dead on. A part of me is pleased that she is actually looking at me again but I stamp it down.

"Because your father didn't want you to know. Because that's the kind of man he is. He stopped talking to Grandma Thelma, made me swear not to tell her his home address and told me to never, ever reveal to you his other family."

"Is it a brother or a sister?" I ask quietly.

"You father has two sons and a daughter."

My whole life is a shambles and a lie. My father never wanted me, my mother doesn't want me now and I have siblings who I never knew existed. They will never know me, or at least the me I used to be.

"I guess meeting them is out of the question now. I have brothers and a sister - " I seethe, clenching my pale hands into fists.

"Half brothers and half sister. And it was never an option, Charlie."

Something just didn't add up for me though. If my mother hated my father, which is what I was led to believe all these years, then why was she doing him favours? Protecting him from Grandma Thelma? Covering up my half-siblings for him?

"Why are you letting him get off so easily? Why are you helping him? I don't understand - "

"Because I'm not like him! I think about everyone else, I look out for the people I love. I don't rush off and abandon family."

I storm to the door, glancing back at her before I leave.

"You already have abandoned family. Where were you when I needed you? I still need you. You're everything my father is and more. You've been lying to me all this time and I always thought you were this one, stable thing in my life. I guess I was wrong and Grandma Thelma is right - you are a coward."

I already know where I'm going before I walk out of the front door, leaving my mother on my bedroom floor and as still as a statue.