Learning to Live

I see Ben walking down the hall towards me. His right arm was outstretched, and he held a .45 in his hand. I have no clue where he got the gun. Being 17, he could never have bought the gun. Maybe a pawn shop had been so desperate to get rid of the gun they had sold it to Ben without even asking for an ID.

That's when the bullets start flying. I can feel them brushing past me, so close that my hair is raised by the wind they make during their flight. It's then I notice his eyes. The eyes of my big brother. The blue pools that were so familiar to me are now dark blue eyes filled with rage and the thought of revenge. I don't recognize this boy as he brushes past me and continues his shooting spree. This is not Ben, this is what he has become.

I trail slowly behind him and run my fingers lightly across the fresh holes that Ben has shot into the lockers. They are still hot, but the pain doesn't faze me. My feet came in contact with glass, bullets, and their shells, but I don't stop following Ben. He steps over the bodies of students writhing in pain, those faking dead, or the few that he has actually killed. His face is devoid of emotion.

The first time Ben starts looking nervous is when he walks up to the window and peers down at the grassy hills and pathways that are along the side of our school. I stand beside him, trying to see what he sees. Police line the green grass with their guns ready to fire. He sees them at the same time they see him and he quickly walks away from the windows as they are shattered by incoming bullets. He doesn't flinch as he is narrowly missed, and nor do I.

He starts checking his watch then. Silently counting minutes in his head. I know how long the shooting spree has been going on - exactly 14 minutes. I know what comes next. I know I'll turn away. Ben reaches into the pouch on his waist holding the massive amount of ammunition he has somehow managed to acquire. He reloads the shotgun and tentatively raises it to his head.

This is the only part I'm unsure of. For the next 20 seconds thoughts are running rampant through his mind. Am I in those frantic last moments? Does my face flash in his mind as his finger slides into place? It doesn't matter. When those seconds pass my brother will be shooting the final bullet in his spree. I turn away, but I can somehow hear him pulling the trigger slowly.

I sit up in a tangle of sweat and sheets as I realize it was all a dream.

I mutter to myself, "It's all okay. It's all okay."

I repeat this simple sentence over and over to myself aloud as I reach slowly for the switch on my bedside lamp. I nervously pull my legs over the edge of the bed, as if there's something waiting underneath it that will pull me under and never let me come back to here and now. My feet meet the carpet as I push myself up and stand on weak legs.

The door only creaks slightly as I open it and quietly make my way downstairs into the kitchen for a glass of water. When the glass is filled with the chilled, clear liquid, I make my way back upstairs and sit indian style on my bed. The sheets are damp but cold. This isn't the first time I've had this dream.

In the weeks after the shooting happened I could barely sleep because all I would dream about was Ben during the shooting. I would always wake up right as he was about to pull the trigger, but missing his suicide didn't make the rest of the images from the dream any easier to cope with. I hated seeing my brother as the monster he became that day. I wanted to remember him as he was before that: the nerdy older brother I thought I would never have to live without. I was so wrong.

My cell phone is charging on my nightstand when I reach for it. I start to dial Shawn's number when his name pops up on my screen instead. He's calling me.

"Hello?" I answer in a hushed tone, my voice coming out more hoarse than I thought it would.

"I saw that your light was on. What's wrong?" He sounds sleepy and I can hear his blankets rustling in the background.

"Bad dream. Nothing major," I try to play it off.

"You sure?" I hear him turn over.

"Positive," I tell him as I glance at the clock.

It's 3:30 in the morning.

"What was it about?"

He's pressing for details and I'm not sure I want to provide them. I hear more rustling and walk to the window. I peer across into Shawn's room. He's now sitting up in his bed, leaning against the wooden backboard.

"Look out your window," I tell him, avoiding the question.

I see him oblige and a smile forms when he sees me peering back at him.

"You're a creep, Rachel," He laughs jokingly.

"Oh, quiet. You love it," I smile back.

"Yeah, you're right," He pushes himself out of bed and walks over to his window.

I don't mind that he's shirtless and only grey sweatpants hang loosely from his tanned hips.

"You sure you don't want to tell me what it was about?"

"It's honestly not that important," I force a smile at him and shake off his questioning look, "You should be getting back to bed anyway."

"It's 3:30 AM on a Saturday. I don't think I've got anything important to wake up for tomorrow."

"Good point," I laugh.

He runs his fingers through his hair in what seems like an attempt to make it look less like he's just been woken up before the sun.

"Put on something warm and meet me outside," He says quickly and hangs up, closing the blinds so I can't question his demands.

I laugh to myself and slip my feet into the slippers I bought a week ago at a spa store. I conveniently forget a jacket and sneak silently down the stairs and out the door in my blue shorts and black Phantom of the Opera t-shirt. It's colder than I expected, so I'm grateful to see Shawn already standing at the spot where our property meets.

"I thought I said to put on something warm," He smirks as he eyes the shorts I'm wearing.

I shrug, "I didn't think it'd be this cold."

But he wraps his arms around my already shivering body. I smile at the warmth his body heat transfers to me.

"I wanna stay like this forever," I mutter to myself.

"Hm?" Shawn mumbles.

I lean my head back and peer up at him with a smile, "Nothing. Can we go up to your room? I don't really feel like staying alone tonight."

He nods and takes my hand as we walk to his house. I already know his parents are gone for the weekend like they so often are, and my parents aren't likely to check if I'm still in bed when they finally wake up.

I walk behind Shawn up the stairs after he's locked the door behind us. His room is warm and familiar, and he pulls off the hoodie he had slipped on to meet me outside and discards it into a pile of laundry by his closet. The slippers my feet are clad in are taken off by the side of the bed and I slide under the covers and snuggle in.

"You know, I think you spend more weekends over here than you do at your own house," He smiles and slides into the bed next to me.

I scoot next to him and lay my head on his bare chest as his arm wraps around me to pull me closer. I'm lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat.