"Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high/There's a place that I've heard of/Once, in a lullaby." --Somewhere over the Rainbow

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters belong to Jonathan Larson. General situation debt to alwaysflying.

Before I went out, I paused to give my baby brother a cuddle. He was approaching that cute stage—finally sleeping through the night, and starting to smell more like baby and less like poo. That night, I checked that his eyes were open and shining, his lips slick with drool as he reached for the stars on his mobile, before lifting him into my arms.

"Ha! Ha! Haa!"

That was about the extent of his communicative abilities at that point. He giggled as I bounced him a couple of times then kissed his hair.

"Ugh." Someone needed a change.

I cast about me, as though a parent might miraculously appear, then sighed. "All right." I set the baby down, then slipped off my jacket. If he peed or spit up on my shirt, that was fine, it was just another breast-pocket button-down, but the leather was… maybe not more precious than my brother. Probably equal.

I set the baby on the changing table, stripped him out of his diaper and wiped him clean. I distinctly remember that he giggled while I was doing this, and I believe I referred to him under my breath as a "homosexual in training".

Well I was wiping poo off my brother's rear end, I needed something to distract me!

When he was clean and powdered and diapered again, I set him in the crib and went to the bathroom to scrub my hands. The poo smell washed off. The talcum powder did not, and it was not unpleasant, anyway.

I visited him again to pick up my jacket, chuck him under the chin and say, "See ya, Sparky."

I sang him a lullaby and waited until he was fast asleep, his fat cheeks bulged out and spit pouring around the thumb stopperring his mouth.

Then I was gone, probably down the fire escape.

-

Pride demands downfall.

Pride means taking one last suck off the joint outside the building, following it with a gulp of cold air and scuffing the thing out on the pavement. That is precisely what I did. I stood outside for a moment, enjoying the chill in the air, hands jammed into my pockets. I bounced on the balls of my feet, trying to warm up.

Then I headed in.

I should have used the fire escape. Really, if I had been clever at all, I would have climbed up the fire escape, picked my way quietly into the bedroom, and slipped under the covers before anyone heard a sound.

A year ago, I would have done just that. A year ago, I would stand only a one in a million chance of being caught, if that.

A year ago, I didn't have a baby brother sharing my bedroom. Not that I mind, by that point: his cries woke me easily, and I was used to taking him into my bed and wondering why my mother wasn't doing this. Proximity, I decided.

When I snuck out, he was sleeping through the night. I was sure he would not wake.

It's easy to be sure after two beers and more than a few sucks off a joint, no matter how cheap those beers and even if the herb was half marijuana and half oregano. It's easy to be sure after spending a handful of hours lounging about with mates, smoking and drinking and eating and watching pornographic films.

I let myself into the apartment through the front door and closed it softly behind me. I locked the deadbolt slowly, holding my breath in the dark corridor, listening to the apartment breathe. I tried to keep the chain from clinking as I slid that lock into place.

When the latch fell, I sighed, feeling somehow that with the locks in place I was home free. It was only a few feet to my bedroom, then under the covers and to sleep. No one would know the difference.

A grin spread across my face.

Then stars exploded before eyes. My head pulled away from the door, steely fingers grasping my hair.

Shit.

Dad threw me onto the floor and flipped on the light; it's too bright. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Fuck," I moaned, pissed at myself for being caught, at the light for being bright, at my dad for being a dick.

"Answer me, God damn it!"

Like shouting will make me more responsive. Or kicking me, the sonuvabitch. "Where were you?"

I wasn't going to say anything. Maybe I was too high. Maybe I was too disappointed. But the bastard kept kicking me, kept shouting. I heard scuffling in the next room: Mom was up.

What made me move was the crying. From down the hall, my – our – bedroom, I heard a loud wailing. It made my father stop hitting me. I took the opportunity to lower my arms and glare at him with utter contempt.

"You happy now, asshole?"

I stood and shoved past him. Maybe Dad just wasn't used to the wails of children, but something in my brother's cry shut him up. I stalked down the hall and slammed shut the door to our bedroom.

My lip was bleeding. Other than that, I had no sense of my injuries. I lifted the baby out of his crib and sat on my bed, leaning against the wall, cradling my brother in my lap. I held him and rocked and waited for him to quiet down.

He fell asleep, but I was up for a long time.

-

Mom made me breakfast the next morning: French toast and eggs sizzling in a pan while I sat at the table coaxing my brother to eat. "Come on, Sparks… just a few bites. Look: lookit the airplane… nrrrooww… Good boy, Sparky!"

"Roger, please. He's not a dog," Mom protested.

I hunched my shoulders and took the napkin off the high chair tray to clean his face. "Aaw, but he's nearly as cute. Aren't you?" He burbled and giggled at me. "Yes. Mark," I added, and tossed a grin at Mom.

"Thank you. Here." She place a plate in front of me. "You have your breakfast and let me give him his."

"Thanks, Mommy." I bit into the fare gladly, shoveling scrambled eggs down my throat as she fed Sparky Marky. "You know," I said, though she couldn't possibly, "I'm leaving today."

Mom sighed. "Roger…"

"I'm leaving, I'm getting away, and I think you should come with me. You can bring Mark. I wish you would. I'm leaving and I'm never looking back."

She shook her head. "Roger, you're not thinking."

"I'm thinking I wanna be safe."

I wanted her to come with me. Mom had a set job and a steady income. I would work. Together we could manage easily, and look after the baby. Maybe it would be a while before I returned to school, but at least we would be safe.

It didn't work out that way.

TO BE CONTINUED!