When They Were Young

Dead bodies look different in real life.

There’s no artificial glow, no halo of peacefulness surrounding someone that, if you didn’t know any better, could just be sleeping.

That’s the first thing I remembered thinking when I found my mother dead on the floor of our living room, tiny pie fork still curled up in her perfectly polished fingers.

“These are special forks, Brandon.” She’d breathe with a smile. “These are only used when you’ve got something really spectacular to share.”

There’s no smile now. No words of wisdom. Just my mother, dead on the floor at age 31, eyes open and glassy, mouth fixed in a frown.

In real life, dead bodies just look like death.

+

11:02 am and my dad was dragging me next door to a pool party I had zero interest in attending. Apparently it was important to take them up on the offer, get to know the complete strangers that just moved into Mrs. Tilly’s house. I didn’t see the point, but I guess I didn’t see a point to much of anything anymore.

His fingers wrapped around my forearm in a vice grip, bands of iron squeezing against my flesh. As if I’d have the courage to actually run away.

My gut clenched around a solid lump of anger as I watched his square, white teeth flash a smile of greeting as he ushered me inside. I hadn’t seen my dad smile in months. I’d forgotten how disarming it could be.

“You must be Brandon!” A short, round woman with curly blonde hair and dimples enthused. “I’m Claudia. You dad has told me so much about you! We are so lucky to have gained such nice neighbors in the move.”

My eyes narrowed. Nice? She didn’t know a thing.

“Well go on, son. Introduce yourself.” My dad pressed, a subtle crease appearing across his wrinkled brow.

An uncomfortable silence stretched forward, and I couldn’t help the twinge of guilt I felt as Claudia’s smile faltered.

“You’ll have to excuse my son. I think the time away from school has impacted his social skills.” His accompanying laugh, forced and awkward, echoed against the mostly unfurnished area of their living room.

“That’s okay. We’re not all social butterflies, after all. Why don’t you go outside to the pool? Mikey is hanging out there with some snacks. I think you two are going to be in the same grade this school year.”

My feet were moving before the end of her sentence. Anything to get out of that awful interaction.

The sun was blinding as I walked outside to the pool. I saw you out of the corner of my eye, but pretended not to as I plopped myself down into a lounge chair with a sigh.

“Um, hi?” You said, voice wavering like a question.

I ignored you in favor of shutting my eyes and leaning back into the seat. I heard the scrape of your chair as you stood up, the shuffle of your flip-flopped feet scraping nervously towards me.

You sat down in the chair next to me, small body turned in my direction. Determined to be seen.

“What’s your name? Are you our neighbor? Mom said she was inviting someone over today. How old are you? Have you always lived here? I have some apple slices if you want, here.” You fumbled around in your pocket for a minute, cheeks flushing as you handed me the bruised fruit.

I don’t know if it was the flush on your cheeks, the ridiculous way your curly hair flopped in the wind, the way you looked unflinchingly into my eyes, or the stupid pocket fruit, but it got me. Somehow, you got me.

“You ask a lot of questions.” I huffed in spite of myself, reaching out to inspect the fruit.

“Yeah, I’ve got that ADHD thing. Sometimes I think really fast and words come out without me really wanting ‘em to. Sorry.” You flushed again, looking down at the sparkling water.

“I don’t care. I mean, about that. Doesn’t bother me.” I replied, not really knowing what to do with myself.

Your gaze twisted in a frown, head tilting towards me in yet another question.

“You seem angry. Are you angry a lot?” You asked, kicking off your flip flops and tucking your scrawny pale legs under yourself. I bet you were three sizes smaller than me.

“Yeah, I guess so. Most of the time.”

“About what? Did someone push you in the hallway at school? A fifth grader at my old school used to mess with me. I hope that doesn’t happen here.”

I didn’t know how to tell him that it most definitely would.

“Well, maybe we can be friends at school? I hope we get in the same class. Are you going into 4th grade too? You can even call me Mikey, if you want to. But I don’t want everyone else doing it. To everyone else, I’m Michael. Oh, wait! You didn’t even tell me your name yet!”

I found myself blinking in his direction, not even sure where to start. I hadn’t spoken to anyone that much in months.

After I’d found my mom and left school early, things got blurry for awhile.

“Brandon.” I breathed out, unclenching my jaw. “My name’s Brandon.”

You flashed a happy smile and stuffed fruit into your mouth, launching into another burst of chatter about your favorite comic book characters. I found myself slowly relaxing, body sinking into the seat underneath me as I listened to the easy lilt of your excited voice.

Of course I didn’t know it then, but that’s the moment when everything changed for me. When you changed everything for me.

+

Many weeks and backyard get-togethers later, I watched the panic melt from your eyes as I motioned for you to sit next to me on the crooked cafeteria bench. I felt a smile forming on my lips as you shuffled in next to me, Spider-Man lunchbox in tow.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to sit next to the weird new kid,” You joked, a hint of truth laced into the words. “Um, people have been calling me gay all day because I told Josh Needles during recess that I don’t want a girlfriend, but I don’t even know any girls yet? I just-“

“Mikey,” I interrupted, anger bubbling in my chest. “Everyone else here sucks, and Josh Needles is a stupid idiot.”

Your thick-lashed hazel eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, um,” Your words fumbled and I marveled at the fact that I managed to make you speechless, if only for a moment. “Cool.”

You handed me a chunk of your semi-squished “good luck sandwich” - a concoction made of white bread, peanut butter, marshmallows and fruit loops. Even though I pretty much hated all of those ingredients, it was one of the best things I’d ever eaten.

+

Later that afternoon as I sat in the principal's office with Josh Needles’ tacky blood crusting on my knuckles, I didn’t feel bad at all.

I closed my eyes against the harsh words of my father echoing in the small office.

I let myself think of you.

I thought of the way you breathed softly against the back of my neck as I’d sobbed angry tears into your Ninja Turtle bed sheets after telling you about my mom. About the imposter that had taken over as my dad. Remembering the determined clutch of your tiny arms wrapping around my shaking body, the damp heat gathering between us as I let myself cry for the first time since the night I found her lying there. How you didn’t even care that I snotted all over your favorite Donatello pillow. The warm milk you brought me after to help me calm down.

No, I thought, picking at the drying blood on my skinny forearms. I didn’t feel bad at all.