Back to You

“Mike? Where are you?”

“I don’t know. The blue house across from the grocery store.”

“What?” Aaron said, sounding confused. “Why are you there?”

“Mommy made me come here. She said she had things to do and I couldn’t stay home tonight. I need you to come get me. I don’t want to be here.”

“Oh, buddy,” Aaron said, his voice sounding strange. “I can’t.”

“Please?” Michael said, trying to keep his voice calm as he glanced toward the kitchen doorway.

“Mike, I’m with my friends…I can’t…”

“Please?” he said again, and this time his voice cracked, much to his embarrassment. “I don’t like it here. I’m scared. I want to sleep in your bed.”

In the three years since his father had left, sometimes he would sleep with his brother when he felt scared, or sad, or { display: block; text-indent: 5%; font-size: 0.88rem; margin-top: e 29 when his mother was on the rampage. And even though Aaron was sixteen now, he never objected.

“Mike,” Aaron said, his voice almost pleading, and then he took a breath. “Shit. Okay. Shit…alright. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Aaron exhaled heavily and mumbled another curse.

“Thank you,” Michael said, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t you be sorry. Don’t you be sorry,” he said, his voice taking on that strange quality again. “Love you, Mike. I’m coming.” And then he hung up.

Michael hung up quickly and slid down off the chair, struggling to bring it back to the table without making noise. As soon as he did, he grabbed a napkin off the counter and wrote a note to the old woman, telling her he went home. And then he grabbed his pillow and his turtle and tiptoed through the living room to the front door.

He turned the knob slowly, his eyes on the sleeping woman the entire time, and gently squeezed out onto the porch, shutting the door softly behind him.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there on the porch in the dark, hugging his pillow and stuffed animal, but eventually he saw a pair of headlights coming down the road, and he smiled widely, walking down the steps and onto the sidewalk. As soon as he reached the bottom step, his smile fell slightly. The car had stopped a few houses down, and Michael realized with dismay that maybe it wasn’t Aaron. Just before he could step back up onto the porch, the car lurched forward, coming to a sudden stop again, and then it swerved slightly to one side before righting itself and continuing slowly up the street.

Michael stood there, his hand clutching the banister, the fear growing in his stomach. He should have waited inside the house.

Just as he was about to turn back, the car passed below a streetlight, and he recognized it as Aaron’s. Michael gri

Michael climbed in hurriedly, smiling over at his brother.

“Hey buddy,” Aaron said, his voice still sounding strange, and Michael stopped smiling.

“Are you mad at me?”

“‘Course not!” Aaron said a little too loudly, waving his hand at him dismissively.

Michael looked down at the stick shift in between them. “You’re acting different.”

“Nah,” Aaron said. “Just don’t feel good. I need some sleep,” he added, leaning over to help Michael with his seatbelt.

Michael leaned back slightly, away from the strange smell that seemed to be coming off of his brother.

“Are you sick?”

Aaron laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m a little sick. It’s all good though.”

That should have made Michael feel better, that there was a reason for his brother’s strange behavior, but it didn’t. He hugged his pillow into his chest.

“Sorry I made you come get me when you were sick,” he murmured.

“No need for sorrys, Mike. You know you can always count on me.”

Michael looked down and chewed on his bottom lip. The more his brother spoke, the more unsettled he became. Something about his voice wasn’t right. Maybe he should call the doctor?

“Hey,” his brother said suddenly, leaning over to turn Michael’s face over his"> shoulder toward him. His expression was serious. “I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Michael nodded slowly, and Aaron smiled, letting go of his face as he turned toward the road. His brother had uttered those words to him hundreds of times, but tonight, they sounded so wrong on his lips.

“Okay,” Aaron said to no one in particular, shaking his head quickly, and he shifted the car into drive and stepped on the gas. They lurched forward slightly, the right wheel going up on the curb before he righted the car. Michael flinched as a few branches slapped against the passenger window.

“Whoops,” Aaron said. “Sorry.” He blinked a few times and widened his eyes, gripping the wheel and leaning toward the windshield. “Just…be quiet, okay? I have to think.”

“Okay,” Michael said softly, squeezing his pillow against his chest and closing his eyes. He just wanted to be back in his house, where his brother could lie down and take some medicine and feel better.

Michael kept his eyes closed, aware that the ride seemed exceptionally bumpy, that they stopped more often than they should have.

Then suddenly, too suddenly, it felt like they picked up speed. “Shit. Shit!” he heard his brother shout, and Michael whipped his head up and opened his eyes just as Aaron cut the wheel sharply to the left.

Michael felt himself fly across the seat toward his brother, and instinctively his hands reached out for something to grab onto, something to steady himself. He clutched frantically, his hands finding no purchase. Things were flying by the windows, colors and lights, and then he heard a horrible sound, like metal crunching.

“Aaron!” he yelled, but a loud screech drowned out the word, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Michael barely registered the feeling of little pinpricks dancing across his cheeks and his hands before there was a thunderous bang and the car jerked violently to the other side, ripping him away from his brother and throwing him back toward the passenger door.

His right side slammed against something hard. It felt like someone had punched him, and he knew he must have cried out, although he didn’t hear it. The pain in his side was excruciating, the intensity of it doubling and tripling until he was sure he was being ripped in half. He opened his mouth to scream, and then miraculously, as suddenly as the pain began, it stopped. Just like that. Like someone had hit a switch and turned it off.

As soon as the pain ceased, so did the sounds around him. It was deathly quiet, although they were still moving. He could see that. He could see the world outside the window in blurs and flashes, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t be as quiet as it was. He should have been thankful—the silence was such a relief from the horrible sounds that filled his ears before—but instead, it terrified him.

They were going one way, and then another, before there was another violent jerk. His head slammed against something hard, bringing little fuzzy stars into his vision.

And then the movement stopped.

Slowly the silence was replaced with an empty, buzzing sound. His eyes were wet, he didn’t know with what, and the more he blinked and swiped at them, the worse his vision got until finally he didn’t know if his eyes were opened or closed.

He knew his mouth was moving. He knew he was saying his brother’s name over and over, although he still couldn’t hear anything but a soft humming.

And then everything went black.

as he pressed his lips to hersg leEventually, the blackness was broken up here and there with random things, flashes of images and sounds. Everything seemed blurry and unfocused: a white room. A soft beeping sound. Unfamiliar faces. Some of them looked sad. Some of them were smiling softly, saying words he couldn’t hear. Sometimes there was agonizing pain, and other times there was a peaceful dizziness that felt like floating. He didn’t know what was a dream or what was real, and he was just too tired to try to figure it out.