Last winter, the winter I turned twelve, was the winter Brandon came. Ever since then, things were either Before Brandon or After Brandon. Today, twelve months After Brandon, my mother and Sam and I get another evening alone.
Sam and I sit on the sofa, staring at Jennifer, my mother, looping holes with string, creating intricate patterns on the scarf she was knitting. Should I tell her? Does she even realize?
“Jennifer,” I blurted out, shattering the cold silence that had fallen between us, “we gotta tell somebody. We gotta go get help. We can’t let him do this anymore. He’s mistreating us and he’s mistreating you, too, Mother. We gotta get away from him!”
“Don’t you say that about your father, Sophie!” Jennifer scolded, her eyes flashing, abandoning her knitting to rise up to stand above me, “Brandon was kind enough to take you in and he’s the one who pays for your food and your clothes and your home! He’s trying his best! Don’t you dare talk that way about your father ever again, you hear me?” She stormed out of the room.
Sam’s hand shook, tightening his hold on my arm. His lips trembled. A single tear traced down his cheek, then the tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling on his face, “I’m scared of Brandon, Sophie. He’s big and scary and he says he’s gonna kill us if we tell anyone about him.” His cries filled the room, sobbing in my arms unceasingly. I’m scared, too, Sam. We all are. I held him, silent, rocking him as his tears soaked my shirt.
“Then we go, Sam, “ I whisper, stroking his hair with my hand, feeling his heaves slow into breathing, “We can, like, go take a train and get far, far away from him. And like, we’ll go live in our own house and make sure he’ll never find us. And I’ll bake you your favorite cookies and we can play in the snow...” He’s gonna find out. He gonna find out that we’re running away and then, then… I take his hand, trailing him behind me as we watched the snow melt under the sinking sun through the hole on the door. The snow covers the roofs of the houses, decorating the trees with thick pillows of white. The Christmas tree that I had salvaged from a neighbor's backyard stood, a lonely trunk covered by some shriveled leaves, shaking in the wind, harsh and bitter and cruel. The blue bauble that I found under my chair hands on to the fragile branch for its dear life. My hand pushed against the scratchy surface of the pine wood door, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, the pain of an old bruise flared up like fire, spreading red hot through my body. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. By forty seconds, the sharp pain had finally settled into dull ache. I pull my sleeve further down my arm, covering the red and purple and blue spots, turquoise veins that flowed down through my arms, the bony fingers that stuck out like branches of a fallen tree.
“Guess we can only look from here, then,” I whisper. I’ll stay here, for now, I think, maybe I should just wait.
“Hey, I’ve got a Christmas gift for you,” I say softly, squeezing Sam’s hand. He brightens up instantaneously, his face filled with a warm glow of wonder.
“A-a gift? Show me, sh- show me!” he stammered, unable to hide his excitement. I grab the box that had held my last pair of shoes, holding it out to him precariously with my hands. Sam nearly leaps with anticipation, taking the box with his trembling fingers. Peering into the slit on the box, he screamed with delight. “A caterpillar!”
The tiny caterpillar is curled up in a ball, its yellow dotted back trembling slightly with cold. Sam’s arms wrapped around me. Time seemed to fade away as we held each other, brother and sister, as if we would float away with the wind the moment we let go. The rays of the sun reach through the hole on the door, filling the room with its warmth. I stroke my hand through his hair, glancing out towards the tree basking under the sunlight. The blue bauble fell onto the ground, breaking the blanket of snow that hid the shards of rocks that lay underneath.
“I’m going to tell somebody, Sam. I have to. Trust me.”
Spring is coming soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment