Door Slam
I try to block out the sound of their voices. But I can't. It's too hard.
Eli's voice is harsh. His words carry venom and hatred. I long line of swear words echo from the front porch into the living room, where I am currently sitting. I look down at my sheet of math facts. Numbers float around the page. Mocking me, teasing me. It's hard to decipher numbers when your dyslexic. It's even harder when all you can hear is the fight that's going on between your brother and his girlfriend.
Another long line a swear words fall from my brothers mouth. Julia's voice is strained. She apologizes for the hundredth time. Eli tells her to leave. Julia apologizes. A hundred and one times, and counting.
I wish my parents were home right now. I wish they weren't at dinner with their friends. I wish they weren't having fun. I wish they were sitting here with me. Praying to the God, that they don't believe in, that Eli will not do anything to harm Julia, physically that is.
He tells her that he hates her and never wants to see her fucking face again. Eli will regret his choice of words in the morning, I know he will. She might have cheated on him. But he still loves her. He always will.
I hear Eli slam the front door shut.
Door Slam. That means Eli is pissed, he doesn't want to talk to anyone. So I pretend to be busy with my homework. He walks down the hall and into his room. He slams his bedroom door shut. Another Door Slam. He's really pissed.
Quivering Lip
The next morning I woke up to an empty house.
I checked my parent's room, they weren't there. I know they came home last night, they checked in on me to make sure I was sleeping. I pretended to sleep, for their sake. But now, why weren't they home?
I turned Eli's bedroom door knob and opened it carefully. He didn't like people in his room, but I didn't know if he was home or not. I had to check. He wasn't home. His room was a wreak . Clothes, books and CDs littered the floor. His bed wasn't made. Which was strange. Don't get me wrong, Eli was as messy as the next teenage boy. But when it came to his bed he was kind OCD about it. He always made his bed. Always.
I walked out of his room and down the hallway, into the kitchen. I spotted a green Post-it note stuck to the kitchen counter. I picked it up and read the chicken scratch handwriting.
Julia is in the hospital. Call me when you wake up.
Dad
I read the small note over and over and over again. I hoped that my dyslexia was confusing me. I hoped that what I thought I was reading wasn't actually what was written.
There was only one way to find out. I picked up the house phone and dialed my father's cell phone number. It rang twice before a tired voice answered. It didn't sound like my dad. The quick witted, smart-ass voice that I have came to love was replaced with a voice that held sophistication and worry.
"Dad. What going on?" I whisper into the phone. I can hear mumbling from the other side of the phone. I push the plastic object closer to my ear, trying to hear what they are saying.
"Julia was hit by a car last night. The doctor's don't think she's going to make it." He said.
I suck in a quick breathe. The note wasn't lying.
"How's Eli?" I question. Memories from last night flood my brain. His yelling. Her pleading. It all seems like so long ago.
"Elijah's holding up." He tells me. "Do you want me to come get you and bring you over?"
I'm quiet for a moment. I don't know if I want to go. I hate hospitals. But I need to be with Eli. Even if he doesn't want me there.
"Anastasia?" My dad asks. "Do you want me to come get you?" he repeats.
"Yes."
The hospital is white. White walls. White chairs. White tables. White uniforms. White faces. Eli's being the whitest of them all.
He looks almost dead. Like there is no soul left in his skinny body. Just a hollow shell. I feel like I should hug him, comfort him, tell him that everything will be alright. But I don't want him to crumble. Hollow shells are fragile.
I sit next to him in the white chair. I ask him how he is. His bottom lip quivers.
Quivering Lip.
His quivering lip means he's about at his breaking point. This living hell is crushing him. Controlling him. Destroying him.
I hug him. The hollow shell in my arms crumbles. The white room is filled with sounds of a sobbing fifteen year old boy.
Silence
Julia died an hour after I arrived. Eli sat emotionless in the chair. He hadn't moved since the doctor came into the waiting room and told them the news.
Julia's family hugged one another and cried. My family and I sat awkwardly.
The car ride home was silent. No one talked. No one had anything to say. Mom made us dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs. No one talked. No one had anything to say. The only thing I heard was forks hitting the bottom of plates. Every one was focused on the food sitting in front of them. Everyone but Eli. He didn't touch his food. He starred at the glass of water in his hands. His mind was somewhere else. His hollow shell refusing to say a word, eat a piece of food, or make eye contact with anyone.
I want to hear his voice. Even if it just one little word. I want to know that he is still capable of speaking. Of communicating. But he just sits there. Eye focusing on the glass of water, body stiff and guarded.
Silence.
He wants to be alone. That's why he's not talking. He doesn't want to be sitting at the table. He wants to be in his room. Alone. Curled up in a ball on his bed.
He puts down the cup on the table. Not saying a word He walked down the hall and into his room. He shut the door.
Empty Plate
It's been a week since Julia died. Eli hasn't said anything to anyone. He barely leaves his room. He never leaves his room. Mom is becoming worried. She afraid me might try to kill himself. Dad reminds her that Eli is a smart boy. He will not do anything like that. He's just going though a hard time. Mom thanks him and tells him that he is right. Eli wont do anything to hurt himself. I wish I was as easy to convince as my mom.
Eli hasn't eaten lately. Mom makes him food and leaves it by his door everyday. But it's always in the same place when we wake up the next morning.. He needs to eat. If not,will die. But maybe that's what he wants.
I decide to take matters into my own hands. I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Peanut Butter on one piece of bread and Jelly on the other. Put them together and then cut it down the middle, then peal off the crust. That's the way Eli taught me to make it. I put the plate in front of his door and walk to my room.
Looking in the mirror I see a girl. But she doesn't look like me. Her dirty blonde and green eyes resemble the ones I have. But her face is different. It looks tired and scared. That's not me. I don't look like that.
I lift my hand up to my face and rub my cheek. The girl in the mirror does the same.
It is me.
I go to bed and try to sleep. I can't. I look at the dark wall across from my bed. On the other side of the wall, Eli is laying on his bed, probably not sleeping either. I think of the scared looking girl in the mirror. I'm scared. But what am I scared of? I think and think. I wonder and question until I figure out why the girl in the mirror looked the way she did. I'm afraid Eli is going to die. I'm afraid he is going to take is own life. I'm worried just like my mother. But I won't believe anyone when they tell me he would never do anything to hurt himself. I won't believe it when someone tells me he's to smart to do something like that. Eli loves Julia. He will do anything to be with her. I know he will.
I get out of bed and walk across my room. I sit next to the wall and place the ear on it. I don't know what I am listening for.
Movement?
A voice?
A heart beat?
I just need a sign. A sign that tells me Eli is alive.
I walk out of my room next morning, trying to look like got some sleep last night. The truth is I didn't.
I stop in front of Eli's room. An empty plate sat in front of his door. I bend down and pick it up. A small smile spreads on my face.
Empty Plate
He is alive.
Wide Eyed
Eli hasn't gone to school in two weeks. I don't know why my mom and dad aren't forcing him to go. I would if I could.
I walked home today from school. My parents hate when I walk instead of taking the bus. I'm 13. I think I can handle walking two miles.
I opened the door and walked into the house. I tossed my back pack on the couch and entered the kitchen. I turned on the light and gasped at what I saw.
Eli sat against the refrigerator. A beer in his hand. Seven or eight empty bottles of beer surrounded him. My eyes met his. His eyes widened when he saw me.
Wide Eyed.
He didn't mean for this to happen. He didn't mean for me to see him like this. He didn't want me to see him like this. That's what his eyes said.
He tried to stand up, but he fell onto the ground. He fell on to the beer bottles, crushing them. A line a swear words fell from his tongue. For a brief moment I listened. I haven't heard his voice since the day before Julia died.
He had glass sticking out of his hand. His eyes were wet. But Eli didn't cry. I walked over to him and helped him up. I wrapped my arm around his waist and carried him to the bathroom. I set him down on the toilet lid. I opened the medicine cabinet and took out bandages, antibacterial cream and tweezers. I sat down on the floor in front of him and began to remove the glass in his hand.
"I'm sorry." His words were slurred.
"About what?" I asked. It was strange. I haven't heard my own voice almost as long as I haven't heard his.
"Everything." He said. I didn't know what "everything" is. I don't think Eli does either.
I nod my head and continue to work on his hand. I pick out the glass and place them in the garbage can.
I look over his hand before I put on the bandage, making sure I took out all the shards. I rub some cream over his hand and then wrap it in the bandage. The bleeding isn't bad, but there is some. I don't know if I should call 911. I decide against it. I'll wait until mom and dad come home and tell them.
Eli stood up from the toilet and walked out of the bathroom. Before he walked into his room and looked at me.
"Thank you." He slurred.
Sharing
I'm sick. Mom thinks in food poisoning. I stayed home from school today. Mom didn't think it was a good idea for me to go if I'm not feeling good. So now I'm laying on the living room couch watching TV, wrapped in a warm wool blanket. Canada has really cold winters. I look outside and see white. It's snowing hard.
Eli is at school. My parents forced him to go a month after Julia died. It's been three months since the day. Eli refuses to see a therapist. He says there I no need. I think he should. But I don't have a voice in that decision.
I hear the front door open. Mom said she would probably drop by to check on me. But instead seeing my mom I see Eli.
"What are you doing home?" I ask. He should be here. He's skipping. He shouldn't be skipping. He's so far behind in his school work as it is.
Eli took off his heavy black coat and hung it up on the coat rack. He slipped off his boots and gloves and tossed them off to the side.
"Calm down Anastasia. I have back to back study hall. Mom won't care that I'm home." Eli said and he walked into the living room. He sat down on the couch next to me. I sat up, my shoulder rest against his. He pulled the blanket that was covering me, over his legs. The two of us sat on the couch, watching a horrible made for TV movie, and sharing a blanket.
Sharing
We haven't shared a blanket since I was five. It was thundering and lighting outside that night. I was terrified. I sat in the corner of my room, curled in a ball. Eli was sent by my dad tocheck on me.
When he saw me he pulled a blanket off of my bed and sat down on the floor next to me. He wrapped us in the blanket. I was surprised that he had done that. He usually ignored me, mostly when we were outside playing. It wasn't cool for eight year old to hang out with the five year old sisters. That night he sat next to me and told me that everything was going to be okay. That the thunder and the lighting wouldn't hurt me because he was there with me.
Even though Eli was going thought a hard time. He wanted to know that was still here for me. That's why we were sharing a blanket.
Smile
The summer after Julia's death was long. It was hard for Eli. Julia's 16th birthday pasted. We went to her grave for the first time. Eli cried. That was the first time I saw him cry since the hospital.
On Eli's 16th birthday, dad, Eli and I went looking for a car. Eli ended up buying a vintage hearse. Morty, that's what he named him. It pretty cool, in a freaky way.
Eli started a new school this week. Mom and dad thought it would be a good idea. A fresh start. Eli wasn't happy about it. But he went.
I was doing English homework on the table when Eli walked into the kitchen. He was skimming threw the mail. Muttering "Junk, Dad, Mom, Junk, Bill." He set the pile of mail on the counter and looked at me.
"Hey." I said.
"Hey." He said back.
"How was school?" I questioned.
"School was okay. What about you?" He answered.
"It was okay. My dyslexia was getting annoying, but I made it though the day." I said.
Eli's eyes showed sympathy. He knew how much I hated my learning disability. He saw one of my melt downs before. I'd get so frustrated with the floating letters and numbers that I would just break down crying. I tried not to have them in front of people. But sometimes I just couldn't help it.
"I have an English partner now. We have to edit each other's work." Eli said, thankfully changing the topic.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Her name is Clare." Eli said. And for the first time in 10 months. Eli smiled.
Smile
Eli liked Clare. I could tell.
I don't know how bad this is. But I'm hoping it's not that bad. It was just something that was floating around in my head. Please review and tell me what you think.
Oh and OCD is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. In case you don't know (: