3
Won't you kiss me
on that midnight street,
sweep me off my feet,
singing
'ain't this life so sweet'
(David Gray)
"Don't do that again," Jude said from the doorway by way of announcing himself. He could have been admonishing her for staying out too late, such was the economy of his words.
Callie stood up off his bed and bridged the gap between them. She lowered herself to her knees and hugged her brother tight. Almost, but not quite, immediately she felt him push her away. He walked to the far end of the room and turned round.
"Don't run away again," he repeated. It was a grown-up command, not a plea. "I'm not an infant who forgets stuff after enough time has elapsed – the horrors of a former home, former foster carers...the abuse inflicted upon a sister when she tried to protect him." Callie flinched. "Did you expect me to forget you? Did you expect me to sit back and feel lucky because I had gained three new siblings for the price of an old one?"
"Stop it!" Callie cried. "You're 12, not 20."
"If I'm a child, then don't leave me again." This time he sounded his age. It broke Callie's heart – the hurt and bewilderment and disbelief, but it was infinitely preferable to missing out on years of watching Jude mature from child to adult naturally. "I didn't mean to make you leave," he threw into the space between them.
"Jude..." Callie yearned to pull him to her again. Every fibre of her being cried out to her. But she didn't know if he wanted that or not. It was the first time she had ever doubted her intuition concerning her brother and she felt cold with terror that she had permanently damaged the link between them. "You didn't make me leave. I thought my feelings for Brandon were more than they were. I thought my leaving would make me think differently." It was a lie, she knew. She had left because of Jude; to ensure his future with the Fosters was not jeopardised.
But she had come back when she came to her senses and remembered that she and Jude were partners in their lives, and everyone else was a means to ensure they survived and flourished. It had ever been thus.
Callie silently gasped and went wide eyed when Jude ran to her and threw himself into her arms.
She had nothing of her mother's – nothing to touch or look at, except the younger brother she had gifted her with. Nothing more than that and she wanted nothing more. There was no need to touch something her mother had touched when she could still feel her hand on hers, hear her words of comfort in her head as she laid down each night. And to have her brother close by; watch him grow up and flourish.
But, then, Callie didn't need possessions of any kind really: ipods, xboxes smartphones etc. Joy was not in things, but in people; conversation; company and, newly discovered, in cuddling and touching. She dragged her conscious back and blushed – she was supposed to be thinking about her brother!
"I remember I used to think mom wouldn't have... left us if I hadn't been there to hear the news," Jude said. Callie sympathised. She had gone through a similar blame process herself. "If you couldn't find me to tell me," he continued, "I thought she could still be alive until told otherwise."
The confession dragged back the memory of the worst day of her life. Not her mother's death, but having to tell Jude. She had insisted to the social worker that she be the one to tell him, and the bastard agreed without hesitation. She didn't even ask her if she was sure she wanted to do it, instead grasping at the opportunity to hand over the responsibility to a young girl.
"What did you both do all the time you were gone?" Jude asked suddenly. "And remember I'm 12 not 20; I don't need all the details."
Callie laughed and blushed.
The second week had been the best. She had gotten used to not having her brother around – a dull ache instead of a shooting pain, and the sense of adventure set in. A fly on the wall would have sworn Callie and Wyatt had been force-fed with Sunny Delight concentrate and set free to indulge their young-adult fancies, driven berserk by E numbers and the lack of adult supervision. It was brilliant.
Of course, they had felt themselves mature, in no way childish or over-excited. The mature did not dance around in their pyjamas when the alarm clock rang. There were no photos. It did not happen.
She would push open the door of the motel room each morning. There had been a glorious view and smell of the sea. And the Sun had always shone. It had felt like being drenched in light as if fired from a water cannon. Like standing face to face with Van Gogh's Sunflowers.
One evening the two of them had sat on the beach until late. She had worn a dress with a neck line so low it had nowhere left to go and by the end of the night had drunk so much she had to carry her shoes to prevent her from tripping. Another day they had spent two hours in a coffee shop drinking espressos. That night they had bounced with caffeine. Another afternoon they had sat on a park bench drinking an illicit bottle of wine with crackers and cheese. It had felt like a movie.
However, they had both known they were living a dream. Modern fairy-tale characters required money and they were running out. Also, beyond their blinkers they couldn't help discerning the real world around them. Austerity and life's responsibilities were more prevalent in the eyes of those they passed, and the views through the windows of bars and diners more often evoked Edward Hopper than How I Met Your Mother. Glacial small-screen dramas rather than romcoms.
Still, they always had their own bubble of unreality to shield them.
They hadn't been goofy-happy. There had been a sense of jeopardy, but it was such that they never lost sleep. They went to a thoughtful place occasionally, but it was mostly about the adventure.
"I'm surprised you came back," Jude said when Callie had finished. "It all sounds so great."
"Silly," Callie said pulling Jude to her, squeezing him and tousling his hair.
They sat silently, bodies touching, for several minutes.
"Are you scared?" Callie asked her brother without warning. "Scared of losing all this, that it might all be a dream?" One of the reasons – one of the few, why she had left was the fear of relying on the Fosters too much, and the need to prove there was a liveable alternative – two Paradises! "Aren't you scared?" She modified her question when the first did not produce a quick response.
"No."
"OK. That's cool."
to be continued.