Limbo

I woke up early in the morning. I glanced first at the alarm clock on the side tabled beside me; 5:32. I then glanced across the room to my older brother's bed. Of course he was already gone. He worked 2 jobs to pay for us to live there, in the tiny, rundown, disgusting apartment. It was truly awful. But it was home, you know?

I never thought I'd have to stay there for the rest of eternity.

I pulled back my covers and got out of bed. I walked across the hall to our tiny bathroom. After relieving myself, as I was washing my hands, I looked up in the mirror. I studied my light brown hair and pale grey eyes. My fair skin, a few freckles here and there. I pulled my hair back into a bun and put on my glasses.

I headed into the kitchen to make myself food. I opened the door to our refrigerator. 3 yogurts, some grapes, a jug of milk, and a carton of orange juice. I sighed and pulled out the orange juice, a long with a yogurt. As I poured myself a glass of orange juice, our home phone rang. I pulled the phone off the holder on the wall and put the phone to my ear.

"'Ello?" I said, my mouth full of yogurt.

"Janie, I'm glad you answered." The voice on the other end sighed with relief. It was my older brother, Ryan.

"What's wrong?" I said, swallowing the yogurt.

"I got to work like, 30 minutes ago. The second I walked in the door, my boss had the nerve to tell me I have to work tomorrow. I'm real sorry, Janie." He said, hesitating over his last few words.

"What?!" I shouted. I heard a muffled shout from downstairs, which only fueled my hate fire.

"I know, I know. I trie-"

"No, it's okay Ryan. Work the hours you have to. We can celebrate when you get home, right?" I said meekly. I heard him sigh on the other end.

"Sure thing Janie. Happy early birthday." He said quietly. We said our goodbyes and he hung up.

Too sickened to eat, I dumped the orange juice back in the container and put the yogurt back in the fridge. A new sudden wave of depression hit me. One worse than the usual. I trudged back down the hall and into our bedroom. I pulled on one of my brother's sweatshirts and crawled back into my bed. Soon enough, I fell back asleep.

~~~

I woke up to the front door opening and shutting quietly. Glancing at the clock for the second time today, I noticed it was almost 1:30. Ryan was home for lunch, but he probably knew from the silence inside that I was fast asleep. I jumped up and ran into the living room.

"Hey hey, birthday girl!" He said, opening his arms. I ran straight for him and wrapped my arms around him. He always smelled like the place he worked, like oil. But it smelled nice on him.

"It's not my birthday yet," I said, rolling my eyes. He ruffled my hair and sat his bag on the table. Even on gloomy, rainy days like that one, and when sad things happened, he lit up any room he was in. He had this way of making even the most depressed person want to sing and dance and love. A trait I never got, mind you. I had a way of bringing people down.

"So how old will you be? 6? 7?" He said, opening a cabinet.

"Real funny, jerk." I said punching him in the arm. "15."

He pretended like the answer had been on the tip of his tongue, and hit himself in the forehead. He put one of his arms around my shoulders.

"Look kid, I'm real sorry I have to work tomorrow." He said, pulling me into his chest. I inhaled. I felt him jerk into unusual movements. Glancing up, I noticed tears streaming down his face.

"Ryan, really! It's fine! I can hold up the fort until you get home tomorrow. Then we'll eat some frozen grapes, alright?" I said. He shook his head.

"I wish you didn't have to go through this, Janelle." I knew he was serious then. He never called me Janelle. I could tell he was hurt.

"Ryan, you know how I feel when you talk like that. I love it here. With you, not mom, remember?"

He pulled away from me and slammed his fist on the counter. I stepped back. He never got this mad unless we talked about mom.

"This is her fault! If she had known what she was doing when she decided having a baby was the right thing to do, we wouldn't be here! I could have gone to college! You could have had a better childhood! She ruined it for all of us!" He yelled. Now I was crying, too. Because it was true. She had ruined every chance Ryan and I had. The worst part is, Ryan feels guilty about it. He thinks it's his fault, because he was born first. He thinks he drove her into drugs. But I know it isn't true. To be honest, it was probably me. Ryan was born perfect. He was perfect. When he was 9, I was born. I was born with fluid in my lungs, so that was another week and the hospital and another few grand on the bill. Even when my mom was pregnant with me there was issues. I was breach, and she had gestational diabetes. After I was born, for a short while, everyone thought me to be autistic. I wouldn't talk. I'd sit in my room, and draw pictures of our family. I remember one day, I guess my mom had had enough of me not being the perfect little girl she'd wanted.

I was sitting at a little table in the corner of my bedroom. My mom burst into the room, her eyes bloodshot, and with a nosebleed. She'd been doing drugs. She grabbed me by the arm and threw me to the ground.

"Why don't you talk?! Do you know how hard it is to take care of a little hellian who won't even tell you what's wrong? What's wrong with you?! I just want to take care of you and you make it so difficult! I wish you had never even been born! I regret you! Just leave my house! Get out and go find your dead-beat dad! See if he wants you!" She screamed in my face. I remember Ryan standing in the doorway, horrified. He was about 14 then. He ran up to our mother and pulled her away from me before she could hit me. He picked me up and ran to his room, locking the door. We sat on the floor next to his bed for a while in silence.

"I didn't mean to." I said. Those were my first words. I didn't mean to.

Snapping back to reality, I watched my brother cry. He went into the living room and laid down on the couch. I followed him in there and watched for a few seconds before laying down next to him. I snuggled in close and inhaled again. I could hear his heart beat, and his nose sniffling. I laid there for what felt like hours, just listening to the steady thump of his heart, knowing that he had a special place in there for me.