In Memory (8 page)

He followed me slowly, taking each step deliberatel
y, as if trying not to fall. W
ondered if I should offer my arm as a support to him, but never followed through, knowing he probably wouldn’t accept it anyway.

(I didn’t need to go to my locker, since I always take my backpack to English, cause it’s the last class.)

As soon as we left the school, he tripped on the low step out the main door, and nearly stumbled headlong into the bike rack. He did not, however, as I managed to grab his arm and pull him back upright.

He winced visibly at my touch; now I know why he’s always hesitant to let people touch him. No doubt I would aggravate the inevitable defensive wounds he had sustained after returning home early.

He glanced up at me after regaining himself, looking apologetic.

B
it my lip, debating on d
oing what impulse commanded. G
ave in to its demands; tentatively, I reached for him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. I did so bracingly, but loosely enough that I didn’t put pressure on any of his wounds.

Upon touching him, (my hand brushed the back of his neck) a tumult of emotion washed over me, into me, became a part of me.

I was crying inside, screaming for help, but it never reached my voice. It rose and fell in my chest, this weird surging
frustration,
it almo
st made me want to throw up. T
asted blood in my mouth, from where I was biting my lip to suppress screaming.

He looked at me, his usually impassive face tweaked with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“
How…?”
I began, searching his pale blue iris, “How do you manage?”

He looked confused until I elaborated, “This pain, you feel it all the time,” I held my hand to my chest, “How can you stand there like that?”

The usual expressionless look.
He surveyed me evenly, before replying with his eyes downcast, “I don’t remember feeling any differently.”

This floored me. He… felt like that all the time? That roiling, shrieking agony was all he could remember?

Fathoming this made me want to cry.

I did start to cr
y, (my damn empathy). F
elt a hot tear roll down my cheek, and watched his eyes follow it down, dropping rapidly as it fell from my jaw.

His gaze remained downcast, and he slowly pulled away from me.

Couldn’t move. C
ouldn’t even speak. The pain was still surging through me, pulsating angrily in every drop of blood.

He began to walk away, and I remained immobile, staring after him.

Follow him, call to him, reach for him,
go
to him!
My mind roared at me, forcing me to move.

D
ashed forward, catching his arm and pulling him into an awkward hug.
My
hand
touched his
neck
, and I felt those horrible emotions renew in my chest, followed by a refreshing surge of both happiness and surprise.

‘
He followed me…’

His thoughts permeated my mind, the soft lilt like anaesthetic to the harsh emotions.

H
eld him against me, letting the new, less painful emotions seep into me, breathing a sigh of relief as that horrible pain relinquished its grip on me.

After about thirty seconds, I pulled away, smiling as I noticed the small blush on his face and his hesitance to let me go.

I turned, indicating the way we should go. He followed beside me, holding the strap of his black
shoulderbag
.

We walked in companionable silence for a block, when he stopped.

“What’s up?” I asked, stopping beside him.

“I… have to…” he stepped backwards, staring past me.

“Eh? What?”

“I have to go. Just-” he turned, breaking into a run.

I stared after him for a couple seconds, thrown by the abruptness of what he just did. I followed after him, running full pelt after him.

“Hey! Why are you running away
!?”

He sped up, running up the hill on Sherlock Street.

I tried to catch him, I really did.

Unfortunately, I am not in shape for that sort of running, and I soon lost sight of him.

Huffing and puffing, I walked back to where we were when he ran away, passing a couple of the guys in my class. I nodded a hello to them, brushing my hair out of my face.

They sort of glowered at
me,
I’m assuming this is their way of looking tough and aloof or something.

So I just walked home by myself. Sigh.

I was going to make rigatoni too. Maybe I’ll just make macaroni and cheese.

SIGH!

153 Days, 27 September, Saturday

So I went to the grocery store today, and there I ran into Ruth again. She asked me how I was doing, you know, the polite little old lady general greeting.

After exchanging pleasantries for a little while, she asked me quite a compelling question.

She asked me quite bluntly if I would consider being a nude model for her drawing class. Apparently, there is a huge shortage of models available to draw in the city, and they all happen to be women. Also, male models are more in demand for some reason.

At the time, I sort of gaped, and blushed and then stammered something like “I’ll think about it.”

D
id a little research on it, and it seems that nude models get paid pretty well t
o just sit around for hours. G
uess the pay comes from allowing people to ogle you for said hours and record their interpretation of your nakedness on paper.

T
hink I may end up going for it. I mean, they’re little old ladies, it’s not like they’ve never seen a guys junk before, right? Plus, it’s only a couple hours a week, and it could really help with buying groceries and paying utility bills.

However, I don’t think I’ll let Terra know about it, at least for the time being. She may not approve of me stripping down for large groups of people.

Haha
, I just read
how that must have appeared. W
ill not be a stripper, just a model. There’s a fine line. No pole dancing. Hahaha.

So out of all the groceries I got today, only the milk wasn’t on sale. Milk is never on sale at this store, it’s like a law.

When I got home, Terra greeted me at the door, and helped me with the groceries, because, as usual, I bought way too much.

But they were on sale. I love sales.

We stayed in tonight and watched movies. And we ordered pizza, which was great. We usually don’t, so I asked what the special occasion was.

“Because I love you and I owe you.” She answered, obviously making reference to our conversation last week.

“Owe me for what?”

“You got the tomato sauce stain out of my white blouse and I have a date tomorrow. So endless thanks, lovely brother!”

We laughed about that for a while, and I fell asleep on the couch before the movie ended. When I woke up, I had a piece of pizza on my head, and she was just about to poke a breadstick up my nose. This resulted in a flail
from me and raucous laughter from her
.

H
ave to say, I really love my sister.

152 Days, 28 September, Sunday

T
hink the very best thing about Sunday is the general acceptance that there really isn’t anything anyone has to do. Stores close, people sleep in, nothing to do. Well, I guess those people who frequent church. Frankly, I figure that Sundays are meant for sleeping in. You know, the whole ‘on the seventh day he rested’ thing. Obviously, we’re supposed to rest on the seventh day, not go out and do stuff.

On this day I rested. The most ambitious thing I did was
make
hot chocolate.

Terra got home at about 11:30, a little bit tipsy, with marinara sauce down the front of her white blouse. She was giggly,
and promptly went up to bed. Thought
I should go get her blouse, but she probably fell asleep wearing it.

There goes her nice w
hite blouse then. Oh well.
G
onna
go to sleep then.

151 Days, 29 September, Monday

Noah showed up at lunchtime today, and came to sit with me in the cafeteria. He was wearing a bright white long-sleeved shirt, with a silver chain peeking out from the collar. Weird, I’ve never known him to wear jewellery. But I guess I’ve only known him for a month.

He sat down, resolutely looking down at the tabletop. I shrugged, and pushed him his part of the lunch I packed today.

“I must apologise.” He said eventually.

“Hm?” I swallowed, “For what?”

“I left you without so much as an explanation. Apparently, that is not something that is considered polite. I apologise.”

“Hey, no problem.”

“You forgive me for doing wrong?”

“Oh, c’mon, ‘doing wrong’? You just had sudden errands or something, right? It’s no big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t think of it again, then.”

“So what did you do all weekend?” I asked, steering the conversation into more casual waters.

“I read the Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Edgar Allan Poe. It was very interesting.” He paused. “What did you do?”

“Well, I stayed in, watched movies with Terra.”

“Who is Terra?”

“Oh, she’s my older sister. I live with her.”

“You don’t have parents?”

“Nope, they died when I still lived overseas.”

“I guessed that you were from another country. You have a peculiar accent.”

“Like half-Irish, half-Canadian, right? Yeah… Terra’s is even worse.” I laughed, and he smiled mildly.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Terra and I do just fine on our own. I’m really happy with my life.”

“Do most people accept death so readily, or are you an exception to normal standards?”

“I’
m
prolly
an exception. F
igured it’s nice to see the silver lining in things. For instance, if they didn’t die, I wouldn’t have moved here, and then wouldn’t have met you!”

“That’s very interesting. You are unique.”

“
Haha
,
thanks.”

“You’re welcome to my observations.”

I chuckled, “That’s good to know.”

He smiled again, this time it reached his eyes, and delicately picked up his sandwich.

After English, he walked with me
in the hallway to the exit. W
as just about to ask him if he wanted to come for dinner tonight, when he spoke first.

“I am sorry, but I must go to the Elementary School now.”

“Hm? For what?”

“I am going to escort my sister home.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister too! What’s her name?”

“May. She’s in the second grade.”

“Would you mind if I came along? I’d like to meet her.”

“…Is this another thing that friends do together?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I could say that?” He looked genuinely confused.

“It’s an
expression…?”

“…I don’t understand it.”

“Oh well, it’s not important. Shall we?”

When we got to the Elementary School, there were young kids in school uniforms runni
ng around, sitting,
and waiting
. L
ooked around for May, despite not k
nowing what she looked like. F
igured
she must look something like Noa
h.

A girl with brown hair in pigtails watched us
closely,
she was sitting on the stairs with a book open in her lap. A brown stuffed cat sat beside her. The cat was wearing a pair of glasses.

She stood up, and stowed her book in her bright red backpack, and picked up her stuffed cat with considerable care. She hurried over to us, beaming.

“Hi big brother! How are you
today?” She was so cheerful. S
omehow pictured her being as dark and serious as him. She was like day to his night.

Noah took her hand, and we began to walk back the way we had just come.

“We learned how to work with fractions today. I can cut pie into equal portions now. It’s a useful skill for the future, isn’t it, big brother?”

Okay, they are similar. I have never once in my life heard a seven year old say ‘it’s a useful skill for the future’. They are a peculiar family indeed.