Hearts Like Ours

The bed was far too comfy for Harry to really consider getting out of. Downstairs, he could hear his mum shuffling around the kitchen, pulling out various pots and pans. He moaned in protest of the morning sun that broke through his window, the alarm clock beside his bed read 10:30 AM.

Usually on his first day home from tour he’d sleep longer, but he was too happy to be home. His stepdad was undoubtedly downstairs at the table, having a cup of tea and reading the paper. Everyday routines sounded so wonderful to him, he smiled into his pillow.

Outside his window, Harry could hear various lawn mowers. The day was cool, getting closer to fall now, but his window was thrown wide open. It was all so familiar, a little thing he had never appreciated when he still lived at home but now took the time to take in.

He poked his head out of the sheets, dragging his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the mess it had become in the night. He tiredly rubbed his eyes and reached to his bedside table, grabbing the journal that had become his companion in the last few weeks.

Throughout the rest of the tour, his morning routine had become something new. Where he would usually wake up fifteen minutes before he had to be in the car and on the way to the venue, he now woke up earlier, eager to greet the day by escaping into a cool Seattle day. The only problem with this routine was the amount of pages he would find himself blowing through. He had to limit himself to two pages a day, and though the journal was thick, he felt he was about to reach the end.

Most of the entries weren’t too exciting. For the most part it was Charlie writing her musings on her friends and family, still upset as to how she was constantly treated as a bystander in her own life. Throughout the duration of Harry’s reading, Charlie had distanced herself more and more from both her friends and her family, and it saddened him to see her that way, which was strange since he’d never personally met her.

The thing was that it felt like he had. He felt a connection to this girl somehow. This distant stranger in another country, looking at another ocean another lifetime away had changed his life in a way he never expected. By focusing on her life, he had regained control of his.

Charlie felt like a friend, though she had no idea of his existence or his intrusion on her personal life. He still felt a pang of guilt every once in a while, but swallowed it back as he turned the pages. It was a strange addiction, but it had positive effects.

He flipped open the book, finding his place marked by the leather strap attached to it. The handwriting was messier, scrawled against the page heavily. The change was noticed immediately by Harry’s deep green eyes. He scanned the page, straining to read the words. He could barely make them out, but he continued to attempt it, desperate to know what was happening.

I hope to keep this short. Everything happened so fast tonight and I’m not quite sure where to start. Everything has fallen to shit so quickly and I never bothered to write any sort of backstory. I never thought this would come back to haunt me. My entire existence can change with one word.

Emmett.

The scene still sticks out so vividly in my mind. Eleven years old, cowering in my shared room while Emmett and my mother hurled fire at one another in the kitchen downstairs where they thought I couldn’t hear. Seventeen years old and he thought he knew best. Isn’t that the way it goes? The stereotypical high school senior, dropping out of school, throwing his life away, running to get away from the expectations of my parents.

Emmett never reacted to them quite the way I did. I never wanted to let them down and they made me feel as if I never could. Emmett was more of the dreamer, which I guess I inherited in part from him, but he could never really grasp the balance between those dreams and reality. You can’t build life on imagination, and that’s something he never came to terms with.

So here I sit beside a pile of college textbooks, and there was Emmett in Southern California, living day to day by hopping the couches of various friends and acquaintances.

Eight years of silence now broken.

Dad’s on his way to the airport now, catching the next flight to LA. Mom’s in the kitchen, downing her third glass of whiskey. I’m pretending I can’t hear her crying. None of us ever wanted this, and I know how Emmett’s probably feeling, laying in his hospital bed a state away.

We must seem so despicable to him. He left in a fit of rage, probably expecting my parents to reach out to him, beg him to come back and admit their wrongs. And here we are, eight years later, the perfect family of three living in our house on the higher end of the city, and he’s wandering the streets of SoCal alone, no family to speak of.

I was lying in bed when Emmett came in, shoving clothes in his bag as quickly as possible. I watched him, eyes wide, horrified as he flew through the room, grabbing this and that. He turned to me then, sitting down at the foot of my bed.

“I’ll visit you,” he promised, kissing my forehead. “I might even be back soon. I just can’t stay here right now.”

I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t notice my wet eyes. He lifted his finger to wipe away the tears. I pulled back, ashamed, but he persisted.

“It’s okay. I love you,” he told me, pulling me into a hug. He let me go, ruffled my hair, and stood to leave.

“Emmett,” I called after him. He paused in the doorway and turned to look at me. I held my personal bank out to him, a collection of coins kept in a mason jar, with stickers and various photos of pop stars glued to the side.

“I’m not going to take your money, Charlie,” said Emmett with a shake of his head.

I stood up, crossing the room and planting the jar firmly in his hand.

“It’s not much, but it will help,” I told him quietly. He looked at me solemnly, reluctant to take my life savings but aware that he would probably need it.

He leaned down, looking me dead in the eyes.

“I’ll pay you back,” he swore. I nodded in response and he leaned in to kiss my forehead again. And then he was gone.

Dad got the call this morning that he’s in the hospital. He was apparently jumped by some kids he borrowed money from. Unable to pay them back, they chose to take action.

I know it hurts mom to see Emmett end up this way. She only ever wanted what was best for him and he always fought back. She was the one who pushed him past his breaking point and sent him out on the street, but it was his choice not to return.

He broke his promise. He also broke a few ribs. C’est la vie.

Harry closed the book, unable to read on to the next entry. This was the first time any of her writings had gone beyond petty complaints. There was a heaviness in his chest like he had never felt before. In his hazy world of parties, concerts, and moments at home, he had forgotten there was a real world out there with real problems. He felt disgusted with himself for this.

Here he was, living a life people only dreamt about, and he was complaining about it? He wasn’t home enough, he didn’t have enough time off, he couldn’t find the time to think properly, he was never left alone, he was always busy. But he was doing what he loved, seeing a world and experiencing cultures he’d never even see otherwise. How had he reached this point?

There was a knocking at his door. Startled, he looked up just as his mom poked her head in. A warm, pleasant smell wafted through the crevice of the doorframe.

“I made pancakes,” Anne said with a smile. He thanked her before pushing himself up from where he’d been lying on the bed. His feet hit the warm hard wood of the floor. The sky was dotted with small clouds, lazily floating across the endless blue sky, which he took note of as he passed the window. The smell of freshly cut grass mingled with that of the pancakes and filled the house as he made his way downstairs into the kitchen.

Robin sat at the kitchen table, exactly where Harry had imagined he’d be. A newspaper was open in front of him, but he folded it and lay it down in acknowledgement of Harry’s entrance. He took a seat across from his stepfather before crossing his arms on the table in front of him and letting his head drop with a quiet grunt. He only realized how physically exhausted he was when he stood to get up from bed.

“Didn’t mean to wake you. We can heat these up later if you want to sleep longer,” Anne offered, hovering a plate full of pancakes above the table top, unsure of whether or not to sit it down in front of her son. He lifted his head, running a hand over his face before putting on a smile for his mum.

“Can’t say no to pancakes,” he told her, reaching for the plate. She handed it to him as she sat down in the chair situated between her two men. Her eyes followed his every move as he buttered the cakes. He tried to ignore her eyes, feeling analyzed beneath them, though he knew she was only appreciating his presence after his long absence. It was rare he would get any time off to return home. Most of the time he did have free he’d spend with friends in London or LA, but it felt right for him to go home this time. He’d been longing for it for months.

“What are you up to today?” Harry tried to change the subject as he poured maple syrup over his stack of steaming pancakes.

“I was going to do some work on the yard. It’s quite nice out,” Robin answered before lifting his tea to his lips. Harry nodded in response, his eyes shifting to his mom as he waited for her answer.

“There’s some grocery shopping I need to get done, but I can probably put it off.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she said this, a sure admission of her feigned nonchalance. The truth was that she didn’t want to leave him after not having seen him for so long. He could read this plainly, though she tried to play it off so he wouldn’t think she was hovering. A sad smile grew on his lips. He was happy to be home.

“I’ll go with you,” he told her before taking his first bite of breakfast. Her eyes flashed to him, hopeful.

“You don’t have to do that, sweetie. You haven’t had a proper lazy day off in a while. You should stay in.”

She was arguing for his benefit. It was obvious to him she wanted nothing more on this earth than his presence in a grocery store, things going as they had four years before. They could pretend things were normal again, that he hadn’t gone to an audition and never returned or that every person in that supermarket didn’t know his face, hadn’t heard the legend of the class clown transforming into one of the most famous faces in the world.

“I’ll come with you,” he resolved as he shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

How ironic. He needed a distraction from his distraction.

He shoved thoughts of Charlie’s journal entry from his mind as a smile grew on his mother’s face. Robin watched amusedly, appreciating the mother-son interaction.

“If you insist,” Anne told him, pulling Robin’s newspaper in her direction. Harry’s stepdad stood, taking his cup to the sink and rinsing it out before putting it in the dishwasher. Without another word, he stepped out the sliding glass door to the back yard and started toward the shed.

This slow-paced life felt so foreign, yet so distantly familiar. This, he realized, was happiness. If only he could travel back to when Charlie wrote her journal and let her in on this secret. Admire life as it comes to you, whether it be tragedy, love, or tests of faith. You won’t have these moments for long, and you’ll be stronger when you make it through to the other side.