He sighs, looking up at me from the wet grass and heavy dark mud. The rain is coming down in a much softer drizzle, beating down on my black umbrella, no longer spraying onto my flushed face. My footsteps are uneven in this mush, and I would have cared about Christinas reaction to letting me borrow her black shoes, but right now, I couldn't care less. Again the sigh leaves his lips, and he fumbles into his pocket for a square package, his slate green eyes narrowing as he pulls out a lighter alongside a white and blue box. His bronze and brown hair is sticking to his lined forehead due to the rain, and his eyes host dark circles. The grey and purple indentations looking like bruises on his pale skin, I watch as he pulls out a neatly wrapped white and orange cylinder. He stares at it for a moment before grimacing and putting the cigarette between his lips, and zipping the lighters metal together, creating that quick snap and spark as a small flame is born. I let out a miserable huff of a laugh, my brother raises his eyebrow at me and draws in a puff, pulling it from his lips before offering it to me. I feel my eyes narrow, "I thought you quit," I say,
"You don't want it?" He asks looking offended,
"And aren't you a doctor?" I fight, "And what the fuck? Smoking at their funeral?" He glares at me as he puts the butt back in his mouth, fingers holding it captive as he robs the fumes from the nicotine packed killer. I scowl at him and suddenly he puffs the smoke out, glaring at me and snapping the strings holding us together, "No one is fucking here Beatrice, it doesn't matter,"
"No no, you're right," I agree sarcastically, "They only died together in a fire, you know, choked on the smoke that turned their lungs black and killed their brains before the fire started getting to them," I say to him quickly, turning away from him and his toxic cloud of misery, "Beatrice!" He yells, I don't listen, and somewhere along the way from the burial sight and my brother I lost my umbrella, and the rain has picked back up. The world looks grey and dark and miserable, and this rain is oddly cold for the end of spring. My blonde hair sticks to my back and neck, and my shoes are having a hard time with this dirt, a frustrated yelp leaves my lips as I stumble onto the street towards my black car.
Now that I'm in the shelter of my old Mitsubishi, I register the stinging in my eyes and it only takes a second for me to understand that I'm crying, again for probably the hundredth time this week. Hard to believe that the woman who would comb my hair and sing to me is dead, and the man who tossed me onto his shoulders in the fair grounds so I could get a better look at the world was eaten up by a fire with her. My fingers grip on my steering wheel tightens and I wince as my nails are pushed back into the beds of my fingers, I feel like screaming. Like sobbing, like those heavy earth shattering cries that your neighbors can hear, like the kind your mom would run up to you and hold you as you ruin her robe. But instead of doing that, I shiver and look out my window at the figure of my brother, who is too alone, who is too ignorant and intelligent at the same time to find a way to make a home for himself in someone else.
My fingers hook around the handle and then I'm out in the rain again, walking back over to him slower. Letting the rain ruin my clothes and hair, not that I cared much about it when my mind is still having trouble believing the truth of my parents demise. He drops his cigarette and stomps it out, smothering it in mud and grass, slowly I reach out and lace my fingers with his like we used to when we were kids. "Hey," I say, he looks over at me, and he doesn't look angry, doesn't look shocked that I came back, he just looks, sad. His fingers are like ice against my palms and wrists but I squeeze tighter, "Hey," He says back.
"What are you going to do?" I ask him. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, and then suddenly his other hand pulls me closer to him and he hugs me tight to his body. His suit has long been soaked through, and smelling of his cologne and cigarette smoke. "Caleb?" I ask him, nails gripping at his dress coat, he nods against my neck and shoulder. "I'm not coming back here, to this house, to their grave,"
"I know,"
"Are you?" I ask him,
"I think, I'm going to visit with the Blacks, they've always been hospitable," I nod against him, squeezing tighter and fighting the tears. Then I pull away from him, instantly I miss his heat and his familiarity. He looks at me wearily as I give him a sad smile, "Take care Caleb," My fingers squeeze his hand, and he faintly squeezes back, nodding to me but not looking at me. He's staring at the flowers set over the overturned dirt. "Bye, Beatrice," He says, and then I brush past him, pulling his hand making him turn and look at me before I leave. The last time I saw my parents was over a month ago, I don't want this to be the last time I see my brother.
So! I will say welcome to the new story, the idea blew up on me while I was at a bar in Florida, I fell in love with it, but couldn't type it out due to lack of internet, the hotel fiasco was crazy. The power was out the first night I was there and the internet was out the entire week. Sucked. Only thing I can say I liked about Florida, was the music, and perhaps the beach. Anyway! Tell me what you think. The titles of each chapter will be song titles by a woman named Aurora.