(Then) Brody

Seattle

Somewhere in the house a door slammed, waking me up abruptly.  I rolled over and squinted at the clock.  4:37am.  I sighed and shut my eyes, hoping to fall back asleep quickly.

I was almost asleep when my bedroom door flew open.  Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light, was my older brother Ken.   "Dude," I said, "I have to be up for school in two hours.  Go away."  He ignored me, and stumbled in.  On the way, he almost sent my lamp flying.  Ken sat down heavily on my bed.  I recoiled from the stench of stale beer and cigarettes.  "Come on, man," I tried again.  "You smell like a bar, it's 4:30 in the morning, and I have school.  Please."

"Why don't you ever want to hang out anymore?" he slurred.

"Because you only seem to want to hang out at 4 in the morning after you've put away a case of beer," I snapped back.  I yawned.  "Seriously, dude.  If you want to hang out, be home tonight when I get home after track practice.  We can hang out then.  I miss you.  But for right now, I really need to sleep."

Instead of leaving, Ken laid down on the edge of the bed.  "Seriously?" I muttered.  I shook him, but he just groaned and pushed my hand away.  "Fucking hell, man."  I climbed over him, shoved him into the middle of the bed, grabbed my pillow and a blanket and went down to the couch.  I flopped on the couch and pulled the blanket over my head.  What a disaster.

I woke up barely an hour later to my little sister Jen screeching about the rain from the hallway.  I rolled off the couch, grabbed my pillow and blanket, and walked back to my room.  On the way I nudged her in the back and said, "We live in Seattle, dingo.  It rains every day."  She screeched at my back as I walked past.

Ken was nowhere to be seen.  He must have woken up at some point and gone to his own room.  I yawned as I dumped my stuff on my bed and walked into my bathroom.  Hopefully a shower would wake me up.

As I stood under the hot water, I thought about the disaster that had become my family since Heather's death.  I had thought things would slowly return to normal, but it was almost 18 months later at this point, and things were only getting worse.  Ken was out almost every night, boozing and smoking and probably doing drugs.  When he was drunk, he was being an asshole.  Jen was even screechier than she used to be, though maybe that's just what 15 is like.  Mom held it together on the outside, but I'd heard her crying when she thought we weren't paying attention.  Dad was...well, he was being Dad.  Philandering, controlling, and overpowering. When he wasn't gone playing football. Actually, even when he was.  Always his M.O.  At least one thing was constant.

And me?  Well, I was doing everything I could to get out and stay out.  School, track, working at the local radio station doing their bitch work.  I tried not to think about what it would be like for my mom when I left in August for school in Miami, but I was going crazy here.  I felt like I was walking on eggshells all the time.  I was doing well in school and track, and behaving myself because mom had enough problems without worrying about what I was doing, but being the good kid was starting to become suffocating.  I wanted to be able to do what I wanted without worrying that it would make my mom cry quietly in her room by herself.

I had been sort of dating Kaylee Connors for awhile too, except then we got to that point where she wanted to come over for dinner or something to meet my family, and I just couldn't do it.  I don't blame her for being mad or breaking up with me.  I probably won't be dating for awhile.  I just want things to settle down here, but I don't think it's going to happen.

The water started to turn tepid, and I suddenly realized I had been in the shower for a really long time.  I jumped out, dried off, and got dressed.  I pulled a comb through my hair and brushed my teeth and ran down the stairs.  As I grabbed my backpack, I heard my mom from the kitchen.  "I don't care how late you are, young man, you will eat breakfast!"  I rolled my eyes and jogged to the kitchen.  My mom held out a piece of toast on a paper plate and a banana.

I kissed her on the cheek as I grabbed it.  "Thanks, ma!" I called as I made for the door.

I pulled up to school 3 minutes before the final bell.  There was nowhere to park in the student lot.  I briefly considered taking a chance on the staff lot, but thought better of it and drove out to park on the street.  I skidded into first period 3 minutes after the bell.

"Mr. Adler, it's so nice of you to join us," my history teacher said sarcastically. "And just in time to turn in yesterday's assignment."  Mr. Johnson stood a foot away from my desk as I rifled through the contents of my backpack, not seeing my assignment.  Shit.  My history stuff was laying on my desk, where I had finished it the night before.  I cursed myself for not putting it right back in my backpack.

I gave Mr. Johnson my most charming smile.  The girl next to me giggled.  "I seem to have forgotten it at home," I said.  "I'm really sorry."

"The only one who's going to be sorry is you," Mr. Johnson said with a shrug, walking away.  The girl next to me giggled again, but looked away quickly when I turned my smile on her.

After class, as I was gathering up my notebook and pen, Mr. Johnson called out to me from the front of the room.  "A word before you go, Mr. Adler?"  I sighed and walked slowly up to his desk.

When the last  of the stragglers had filtered out, I started talking.  "Look, Mr. Johnson, I know that I've been a little scattered lately, but--"

He cut me off.  "Save it, Adler.  I just want you to know that I know this is all out of character for you.  If something is going on, whether it be in another class, girl stuff, track stuff, at home, whatever, if you need someone to talk to, I'll take one for the team."  I studied his face for a second.  He looked genuinely concerned.  I nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson.  I appreciate that.  Can I go?"

"You can.  Get that assignment on my desk by the end of the day and I'll forget you didn't have it with you for class."  With that, he turned to erase the board.  I jogged to my next class, not wanting to be late.  At lunch, I signed myself out (the best thing about being 18 during your senior year) and drove home.

I didn't have much time, and I barely saw my mom sitting on the couch as I flew into the house.  "What--" she started, but I was already up the stairs.  On my way down, I stopped.

"Forgot my history homework," I explained.  I noticed her red eyes and wet cheeks, and saw a corner of a photo album sticking out from under a pillow.  I sat down and hugged her hard.  "I love you, mom," I said, feeling guilty for not saying it more, for not paying more attention.

"Oh, sweetie," she said, sniffling a little.  "I love you too.  Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, baffled.  Did my mom just thank me for loving her?  Or saying I loved her?

"For being you," she said simply.  "Now get back to school!"

Now I knew I had to keep up my good kid routine for a few more months.