Here's to Now

by Teagan Hunter

  “Are you saying I have big feet?”

  “Heavy, not big. Although big wouldn’t be so bad. You know what they say about big feet…”

  “Big socks?”

  “The biggest.”

  I slink over to her side of the bed and she smiles when she sees me. “I think you farted in your sleep last night.”

  “That was you, Gaige. Girls don’t fart.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, since I have a vagina and I am a girl, yes, I’m positive.”

  “It’s too early in the morning for lies.”

  Her tired eyes flutter as her lips twitch at the corners. “Fair enough.”

  “I’m gonna get going before Rae catches me.”

  “She’d probably try to whoop your ass if she did.”

  “She’s feisty, so I can see that happening.”

  “Watch yourself out there,” she says before rolling over and burying her head under her pillow.

  I quietly make my way to her dresser and scribble down a note.

  Hales,

  Girls do too fart.

  G

  “Are you ready?”

  Graham, my eight-year-old little brother, nods once, a scowl lining his face. We haven’t spent much time together and there may be a sixteen-year age difference between us, but there’s no denying this kid is my brother. From his dark brown locks to his bushy black eyebrows and brown eyes, right down to the glower on his face, he’s the spitting image of me at that age.

  Who am I kidding? He’s the spitting image of me now too.

  Mercy shakes in front of me, another problem of hers since the stroke. She shakes often and is hardly able to stand for long periods of time without assistance.

  “Drive safely. I’m trusting you.”

  Although Mercy’s voice sounds anything but trusting, I nod. “I will. And thank you.”

  Her washed-out, pale blonde hair swishes as she nods and returns her attention to the book in her lap, dismissing Graham and me. I take one last glance at her, noticing how much weight she seems to have lost since I saw her a week ago and hating how frail she’s becoming before I usher Graham from the room, calling out to my other brother and sisters.

  “Gia! Gunner! Gillian! Let’s move!”

  Gia strolls casually down the hallway, pulling a purse across her body. “The twins are already in the car. I was just grabbing some snacks in case Graham gets hungry. He didn’t eat much for dinner.”

  Although Gia is only fourteen, I swear she’s more of an adult than I am. She’s always been that way—independent, smart, wise. I didn’t spend a lot of time with her before I left home, especially since I continually avoided her, and I regret it. I could have learned a lot from my sister, despite our ten-year age difference.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, leading the way to the car.

  I spy the twins ignoring one another in the backseat of my Civic. I pop open the back door and let Graham crawl over Gillian’s lap to the middle. Gia slides into the passenger seat and I instruct them all to buckle up. I watch in the rearview mirror as Graham obediently follows my instructions then drops his head, staring down at his lap, his earbuds in place as he shuffles through his MP3 player. The twins both huff but follow the order. Gia was buckled before I even had to say anything, already settled into her seat and reading something on the e-reader I gave her for Christmas last year.

  I may have dropped the ball for way too many years, but I’ve been trying to wiggle my way back into their lives again. I know buying someone’s affection isn’t real or true, but I have to start somewhere. I’ll never forget the smile on Gia’s face when she ripped the wrapping paper to reveal the black box, or the squeal she let out as she opened it up. I’ll never let go of the feeling in my chest as she wrapped her arms around me and whispered a tearful thank you.

  Last Christmas was a good time.

  The twins, who are just fourteen months younger than Gia, both received their first smartphones. While Mercy was annoyed, they were quite taken with me. Graham was harder to shop for. We’re not close—at all. Hell, I can count on one hand the number of actual words he’s spoken to me. He’s a fairly surly eight-year-old, but I know he loves music. So, I went with my gut and bought him a record player along with Metallica on vinyl.

  Mercy gave me a good talkin’ to over that one.

  It was worth it, though, especially since I swore the corners of his mouth tipped up and his eyes shone a little brighter. He’s been more communicative toward me since.

  I’m not entirely sure where to go when we pull up to the school so I follow the line of cars wrapping around the parking lot.

  “I can walk up with the kids while you find a place to park,” Gia says, already unbuckling herself.

  I begin to correct her, letting her know she’s a kid too and will need to wait for me, but I decide against it. We’re stopped near the auditorium entrance and I can’t see a single open space to pull into.

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” I agree. “Just make sure Graham gets where he needs to be and find enough seats for all of us. I’ll be in shortly.”

  She nods and they all shuffle out of the car, following Gia without hesitation. I wish I could get a quick response from them like that. They hardly ever see me as an adult figure. It’s more like I’m a long-lost uncle who only comes around once every couple years and expects everyone to know everything about him.

  I grip the steering wheel tightly, annoyed with myself. And whose fault is that, jackass? Mine. Solely mine.

  It takes me almost ten minutes to finally score a spot at the back of the lot. I jog to the entrance, hoping Gia managed to find us all seats together.

  I walk inside just in time to see a kid that looks familiar slip down into the stairwell, the door swinging closed behind him.

  Was that Graham?

  I race to catch the door before it latches, following down the dimly lit stairs. I can hear the echoes of his feet hitting the steps ahead of me. Then they stop.

  One floor down, I find my little brother sitting on the ground, head tucked between his knees, hands covering his ears. He’s rocking back and forth a bit, his breathing clearly uneven. What the…? Is he okay? Does he need help? How the fuck can I help him? I can barely even talk to him!

  Hang on. I’ve seen this before, not from Graham, but from myself.

  He’s having a panic attack.

  Holy shit. This little boy is so much more like me than I thought.

  Spending a lot of time on my own as a kid wasn’t always the best. Whenever I had to do anything in public for too long, it would cause these strange flutters in my chest. Those flutters led to immense pressure, which escalated to me being unable to catch my breath. My head would spin like a merry-go-round, images and voices swirling around me so fast I could hardly catch them. The first time it happened, I had no idea what was going on, which made everything so much worse. It wasn’t until I found a quiet, secluded place of my own that I could calm down. The second time it happened, I was more prepared and quickly removed myself from the situation I was in.

  From my own experiences, I can see that’s what Graham is doing. He’s looking for a calm to the storm inside of him. While my hands ache to reach out to him, to pull him close and hug him, let him know everything is going to be just fine and to breathe, I can’t.

  I slowly begin my retreat, but halt any movements once his head jerks up at the squeak of my shoes breaking through the silence.

  He stares at me wildly, like he has no idea if I’m real or not.

  I bring my hand to my chest, pressing it hard, showing him I’m corporeal. His eyes dart to the movement, and the first ray of light shines through the thunderstorm in his head. Slowly, his eyes shine brighter, his breathing evens out, and his body unwinds itself from the tangled mess of tightly coiled muscles.

  “Kid?”

  He stands quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away, clearly ashamed. Graham keeps his head down as he steps aroun
d me, careful not to look my way or touch me as he tries to flee. Reaching out quickly, I clasp a hand on his small shoulder, halting his movements.

  He instantly stills, but doesn’t look back at me.

  “Whoa, kiddo. Slow down,” I say. “Let’s take a moment, huh?”

  I press a little harder on his shoulder, urging him to face me. He reluctantly follows my request, but continues to refuse eye contact. Whatever, that’s fine. I understand.

  “Want to sit down a minute? Maybe take a breather?”

  He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he removes himself from my grip and returns to his spot on the floor, bringing his knees up tightly to his chest. I follow him, matching his pose. We sit in silence for almost a full minute, which isn’t a long time, but when you have so much you could be saying, it is.

  “Does…” I pause, knowing how necessary it is to phrase my questions appropriately. “Does this happen often?”

  I glance over at him, expecting a nod as a response. I’m surprised when his mouth opens, even more shocked when he speaks.

  “Y-yes.”

  Hearing him speak rips the air straight from my lungs. It always does. I don’t understand why we don’t communicate, but it’s like Graham knows how royally I’ve fucked my family over and won’t talk to me, like he doesn’t trust me.

  Actually, fuck. That’s it. Graham doesn’t trust me.

  How is it I’ve managed to lose the trust of an eight-year-old kid I’ve barely been around? Because you’re a complete screw-up, that’s why.

  “Why?”

  He peeks over at me, his eyebrows drawn together. Instead of speaking this time, he shrugs. I hold in a sigh.

  “Is there something that maybe…triggers it?”

  He shrugs again. This time I do sigh. Just when I thought I was making headway.

  He picks at his black dress pants, folding together the crease running down the center, doing anything but looking at or talking to me.

  “Graham.” His head rears back at his name coming from my lips. I realize then it’s the first time I’ve spoken it aloud to him. Strange. He’s my brother; I should say his name to him often. Yet, I don’t. “You have to tell me what triggers it. Maybe I can help.”

  When his eyes lock with mine, I want to scramble away from the intensity I see in them, the wisdom. He’s the younger brother, but somehow I feel like he’s older than me. His stare is scolding and sure. I know mine is skittish and uncertain.

  Hudson’s daughter Joey is just a year younger than Graham. She’s never looked at me like this. In fact, her eyes are always filled with wonder, happiness, hope. Graham’s exude knowledge, sadness, and acquiescence. There’s nothing childlike in his gaze, something I know I’ve lent a hand to, and that fucking hurts.

  “Help,” he mutters, scoffing. “Right.”

  Leaning my head back against the brick wall, I close my eyes. “Look, I know I suck, okay? I get that. I’ve been a shitty brother, and I’m beyond sorry for that, but you have talk to me, kid. You have to let me in.”

  “Why? So you can let me down like you always have? No thanks,” he huffs.

  I steel my jaw, biting back words I want to throw out so badly. Opening my eyes, I stare over at him. “Is that what Mercy says? Is that where you heard that from?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I know it’s true.

  “Awesome.” Only it’s not awesome. It’s so fucking far from awesome. Great to know my aunt badmouths me to my siblings when I’m not around. Glad I’m only seen for my past and not my present or future in her eyes.

  Just fucking awesome.

  Graham shuffles around some then sighs. “Is that not the truth?”

  “No. Yes. No. I don’t know, kid. I really don’t. Did I mess up? Yes. Did I hurt a lot of people? Yes. Do I regret it? More than you can imagine.” He meets my stare, his hard eyes softening just the slightest. “But am I still that person? No. Not even a little bit. And I haven’t been him in a long time.”

  He’s quiet as he looks away, his lips pursing together. He picks at his pants again. I notice then it’s a habit of his, always having something for his hands to do.

  Huh.

  “Crowds.” The sudden noise causes me to jump. It’s only a whisper, but it seems so loud, speaks volumes. “Crowds make me feel like I’m…suffocating.”

  My throat works double time to get rid of the lump suddenly lodged in it. I can’t let him know how much him talking to me, opening up, is affecting me; I don’t want to scare him away. I push everything to the side and approach this separately, not giving anything away.

  “Do you have to find somewhere quiet to be able to breathe again?”

  “Every time,” he answers right away.

  If I were standing, I’d stagger backward at the way he’s speaking so freely right now. “Ya know,” I begin. “I used to have these…moments too.” I stop myself with a small laugh. “Used to. That’s a lie. I still have them. They’re just a lot less frequent now and not as…big.” He’s staring up at me with curiosity. “They were pretty bad. It was like everything was happening at once. I could simultaneously hear every conversation around me. Then I’d get these spots in my eyes, like my vision couldn’t keep up with the voices, as if the two had something to do with one another. Then the spins started. Slowly but surely, I’d start to feel like I was just swinging around in a circle, no real direction or destination. If I didn’t find somewhere to sit down and ground myself to at that point, it was going to be a bad day.”

  Graham blinks, and then shakes his head a bit, turning away from me. “That’s what it’s like for me too,” he whispers quietly.

  I nudge him with my arm. “I figured, kid. We’re a lot alike.”

  “Not sure I want to be like you.” It was quiet, but he said it.

  “Based off what? What Mercy’s told you? That’s not fair. You should probably learn now to not base your judgments of people off other people’s opinions. That’s an unfair way to live life. You’re not only cutting yourself out of the lives of great people, but you’re also cutting them off from you.”

  He doesn’t move the entire time I’m talking, but I can see the words sink into him…I think. When all he does is scoff and give a stiff nod, I’m sure I’ve lost him.

  He stands abruptly, wiping at the back of his pants to remove any dirt. “I have to go. I told the teacher I was going to the bathroom.”

  I nod. “Go on then. I have to find my seat with Gia and the twins.”

  He spins on his heel, about to the exit the small space before he turns back and says, “I’m sorry for judging you.”

  I take a physical step back, jarred to the bones by his words. “I-it’s okay, Graham. Good luck tonight.”

  He mutters something that sounds like “I’ll need it” before he stalks up the stairs and back out into the main building.

  I stand there in shock for too long. Not only did I just have my first real conversation with my little brother, I learned the kid is way too fucking old for his age. It worries me. I had to grow up too fast; I don’t want that for my brothers and sisters. I want them to be kids, to be able to be kids. They don’t have that right now.

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I square my shoulders and go find my seat, pushing down all the guilt I’m feeling.

  Something that’s become my normal lately.

  Looking at the four kids sitting in front of me is doing something weird to me. I feel…fuller, more alive, like I’m supposed to have felt all along. I don’t want this feeling to go away any time soon.

  We’re crowded around a table at the local ice cream parlor. The twins share one side of the booth while Gia and Graham share the other. I’m seated in a metal chair with an uncomfortable red vinyl cushion at the end, happily watching as they all slurp away at their bowls of sugary desserts in front of them.

  Why am I staring at them instead of indulging in my own bowl? Because I’m genuinely shocked this is even happening. Surprised Mercy’s letting me ha
ve time with them again. Stunned we’re now sitting down like a normal family having a treat. Amazed it’s so…civil.

  I left home when I was barely sixteen. When I say I left home, I mean I was a complete and total fuckhead and was told to never come back again after a brutal fight with my parents. A fight where I punched my father. A fight where I shoved my mother…while she was pregnant. A fight where my father hit me back and physically shoved me from the house without a shirt or shoes in the middle of the night.

  A fight where I deserved that and much worse.

  My parents and I never got along. How could we? They never wanted me, never truly loved me. Affections came few and far between, attention was never paid, and I was often left to myself. I was nobody to them. So, when they started pretending they wanted to be a family when Gia came along, I was furious. A ten-year-old should never carry around that much anger and hatred toward anyone, especially their OWN parents.

  I’ll admit now that I was one hundred percent out of control by the time I was sixteen. Hell, I was out of control way before that, but it festered until it became rotten, until I became rotten. Until I was so infected with poisonous and vile feelings that I exploded. After my parents approached me with the news of their last five-month pregnancy, I lost it.

  I lost my family.

  I lost me.

  I walked away from it all without hesitation. That’s when shit got really messed up.

  “You’re not having any?” Gia’s soft voice drags me from memory lane.

  I throw an appreciative smile at her, thankful for her unknown rescuing, and shake my head. “Nah. I’m good right now.”

  Don’t get me wrong, the ice cream is calling to me hardcore, but I don’t want to break whatever this moment is, this peaceful, natural moment I’m having with my siblings. It feels too good to let go.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” Gillian asks.

  Glancing around, I find it at the back of the parlor. “Back there,” I tell her, pointing my finger toward it.

  “May I be excused?”