Chapter 5:
Wirt awoke in confused state. Frantically looking around, he met eyes with Sara who was standing in the doorway of her living room. She began to laugh.
"You should've seen the look on your face!" She chuckled. Wirt smiled too, until he remembered that he fallen asleep on her couch. He had no idea how long she had been up. Wirt immediately blushed at the thought.
"Ah, jeez Sara, I'm so sorry I fell as-"
"Dude, don't worry about it at all. I actually had a lot of fun, watching movies with you and stuff." She smiled, and then pointed towards the kitchen. "I hope you like your eggs sunny-side up."
It was a particularly grim saturday morning. Outside, the clouds showed their darkest greys, and before long it started to heavily rain. Wirt put on his orange sweater as he walked into the kitchen, but not before neatly folding the blankets and placing them on the side of the couch.
Sara's house was nice. As Wirt looked around, he noticed that the family preferred a dark and clean look. Unlike his house, the kitchen was recently renovated, with all updated appliances. Wirt couldn't remember the last time his family had bought something as simple as a toaster. As he thought about it more, he realized it was around the same time Greg was born. His heart ached.
They sat at a small round table in the corner of the room. Sara was chatty, but quickly realized that her friend was not feeling it. He looked down at his plate of eggs and poked at them with his fork.
"Come on, Wirt, they're sunny-side up. Just how you like 'em," she said, holding her plate and waving it in his face, hoping for some sort of response. She got nothing.
Sara sighed, and looked at Wirt, who was sitting across from her. There was a moment of silence, and then instinctively Sara grabbed Wirt's hand. He quickly looked up and her, blushing.
"Wirt, I'm your friend. I'm not like Jason where I'll be judging your every word. I'm here for you, and you can tell me what you're feeling, ok?" Wirt gave a soft sigh, and looked at her. His eyes started to water before he even moved his lips.
"Sara," he began, "I'm such a terrible person. I gave Greg such a hard time, and I didn't listen or want to talk to him, and I ignored him," tears started rolling down his face at a rapid rate, "Even while he was sick, I hated him. I hated him since he was born, because of my stupid parents, but he had nothing to do with my dad leaving! He had nothing to do with my mom marrying that idiot guy! What was I thinking? Now, Greg is dead, Sara. Dead! And I didn't appreciate him at all when I should have. He probably died thinking that I was some sick monster!" He was bawling now, and Sara was listening to every word, rubbing his hand with her thumb.
She didn't tell him shh, she didn't tell him everything would be okay, she didn't say anything. Sara just let him cry all he needed.
After a few minutes, Wirt's breathing slowed and his cries turned into sniffles. He looked up at Sara, and while he didn't do this verbally, he thanked her. She could see it in his big brown eyes.
Sara nodded her head towards the door and said, "Come on. Let's go over to your place, and I can give you feedback on your clarinet piece. I know that marching band auditions are coming up." Wirt gave a small smile and blushed. Clarinet helped him calm down, take his mind off of things. He loved that Sara remembered that.
They placed the rest of the plates in the sink, grabbed their belongings and walked out on their way to Wirt's house. It was just as cold outside as it had been all week. Wirt shivered, and Sara put her arm around him. He blushed, but didn't pull away. They both smiled. If there was one good thing that came out of this tragedy, it was how close Wirt and Sara became.
Meanwhile, beyond the graveyard gates and over the garden wall, a small boy came out of a deep stream, panting and coughing. He laid down on the damp grass, on his hands and knees. Greg lifted his head, looking around.
"I made it. I made it," he said with every heavy breath. He finally stood up, and dusted himself off. "Don't worry Wirt. I'm coming."
Greg, not realizing he was completely covered in mud, head to toe, started his journey through his old town and to his home. He clutched his rock, and walked (making sure he didn't step on any cracks. He was not willing to break his mother's back).
"Um, excuse me?" Greg turned his head in shock. His mission was to see Wirt, and not anyone else he used to know when he was alive. That would completely ruin everything. "Are you alright, little boy? You're filthy." Greg was greeted by a mother in jogging pants with a baby in a stroller. He didn't recognize her, but more importantly, she didn't recognize him. She was right. He was filthy. The mud covered every part of him, making it almost impossible to tell that it was Greg.
"Oh, uh, yes ma'am! I'm perfectly alright. So alright, that I'm going to go home right away and clean myself, pronto!" He saluted her like a soldier and began to march away. She shrugged and continued on her walk. Greg sighed a sigh of relief, and continued. At least he had some sort of disguise.
The rest of the walk went smoothly. Nobody, even people he had previously known could tell it was him. They simply thought it was another little boy that had wound up in the mud.
He turned the corner on Viribus Street, and stopped. He saw his house. His home. The home where he learned to walk, talk, read, ride a bike. The home where he was loved by his mother, father and brother. The small, two bedroom cottage-like home. Greg felt a rush of energy like nothing before. He wanted nothing more than to see his mom and dad, go to school and play with his old friends and walk around to greet all of his old neighbors, but there was a job to be done. Greg, the hyperactive seven year old who collected frogs, knew that. He walked up to the small bird bath at the edge of his yard and wiped the mud off his face.
He turned his head towards the front of his home. The door was wide open. Someone was home. Actually, now that he looked through the windows, two people were home. One person got a glance at Greg, and stopped, staring at him. He slowly walked closer to find that it was no other than Sara the Bee! (Greg had been calling her that ever since the football meet last halloween.
Sara turned towards Wirt, who was standing in the living room, assembling his clarinet. "Uhh, Wirt?" She said, still staring at Greg, but still oblivious to who it was. Greg continued to walk closer, slowly. "Wirt, there's someone at the door."
Wirt put down his instrument, and curiously, he stepped next to Sara in the doorway. He squinted his eyes.
"Hello?" He said. "Are you los-," Wirt froze. His heart started to beat faster than he felt it ever had. Sweat started to form on his forehead. The overalls. The rock. The, face!
"Wait. Wait. Wait. What?" Sara started. She caught onto this as well. A visage of pure confused formed.
"Whhh. Whaatt-. What?" Wirt mumbled. There was a moment of silence. Pure, empty silence.
"Wirt?" Greg said, tearing up and stepping forward. Sara gaped and held onto the doorframe for support.
"Oh fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit." He was shaking his head violently. "This is impossible! This is crazy! You're dead! This isn't real. This isn't. It can't be. This is impossible! Greg, you're dead! This isn't real!" Wirt screamed, backing up and falling over the coffee table. Greg put his hands up, waving him to stop.
"Wirt, it's me. I'm here! Let me expla-."
"This can't be happening." He was going bezerk. His entire body shaked. His eyes were frantic and all over Greg, trying to make sense of what was happening. Sara remained frozen in the corner.
"Wirt, Wirt, Wirt, it's ok. It's me. It's me, I'm here," Greg repeatedly said, slowly walking closer towards his older brother. Wirt was on the floor now, looking up at Greg in utter shock, but not saying anything anymore. They stayed in that position, all three of them, for more than half an hour. They just couldn't understand why this little boy who had died of cancer, was now standing in their living room, trying to calm everyone down.
It took a very long while, but Greg managed to bring both Wirt and Sara to sit on the couch next to each other. They had both thrown up more than two times now, and even though Greg's legs ached from standing for hours, he pushed through.
Sara was the first person to speak.
"H-h-how? How are you here, Greg? I'm going crazy, aren't I? Oh my God!" She threw her face onto her hands. Wirt remained speechless.
"Guy's, this isn't crazy. You're not going crazy. The Unknown can do weird things when it needs to. Like, right now." Wirt then found the urge to speak.
"Weird? You call this weird? ARE YOU INSANE? This is-is-is beyond weird! You were dead, and no what, you just crawled out of the ground?" He started to cry. "Oh, don't tell me you crawled out of your grave!"
Greg looked disgusted. "No, I didn't! I'm not some sort of zombie! I'm Greg. I only got muddy from the dirt near on the riverbank."
Wirt sighed, but just barely. Greg understood it would be a bad reaction at first, but he didn't expect it to take this long. Sara and Wirt looked at each other. Wirt began to slowly cry, a sad, whimpering cry. A cry of a broken boy. He stood up, and bawling, kneeled in front of Greg. He stared at his eyes. They were the same, big blue and beautiful eyes.
Wirt grabbed his brother and brought him into his arms. Greg began to cry. They continued to hug for minutes on end, before looking at each other. They touched each others heads, like trying to make sure they weren't dreaming. They weren't. Greg was here. He was here to help Wirt, and his first step was complete.