Closed Doors [#Wattys2016]

A Visit From Dylan

"I laugh, I love, I hope, I try, I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too. So we're really not that different, me and you."

-Colin Raye

As I approach, I see Dylan and Jena sitting together under a huge maple tree playing a game. They've set cans up in a row on an old rail-road tie, and are taking turns tossing rocks to knock them down. I hear Jena laugh as she hits her target. Dylan then gives her an encouraging high-five before he takes his turn, his grey eyes narrowed in concentration. I notice that his dark hair is cut short, and also that he looks like a giant beside Jena.

I look around; I don't see Smith's truck anywhere and my nerves calm slightly because of it. At least I don't have to deal with him right now. I don't want this dream of a day to turn into a nightmare; not yet. I know it'll come eventually, but at least for now I can enjoy things for a little bit longer while he's gone. He's probably out dealing or high out of his mind somewhere, and I know that when he comes back things are going to be hell. He's not very pleasant normally, but when he's coming down off of a high, you don't want to be seen or heard. You don't want to breathe or even exist in his proximity.

I take a deep breath and try not to think of that future dread. There's no way of escaping it or lessening it in any way, so there's really no use in dwelling on it. I'll deal with it when it comes.

"Danielle!" Jena is the first to see me. She springs up automatically and runs over, nearly knocking me over as she wraps her tiny arms around my waist with force. The bag of bread buns are knocked to the ground. "I was really worried! You were gone for so long!"

"I'm perfectly fine, Jena. Just got held up for a bit," I reassure, feeling her body shake. "It'll be all right." She's still holding on to me tightly though, as if she's afraid to let go. I rub her back and glance over at Dylan.

"Hey," he weakly says, looking as if the scene in front of him is making him uncomfortable. Like me, he's never really had a lot of affection in his life, and doesn't know how to react when he sees it. "Been keepin' okay?"

I shrug and keep my face passive. "I'm alive."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he asks bitterly, "Smith still being Smith?"

I sigh and steady my hands on Jena's shoulders. "Been like a blizzard lately."

I can see the muscles tense in his face. I know that he wants to let a string of expletives out, yet he's refraining because of Jena's presence. Dylan has always had a lot of rage in him since his father died, and rightfully so. He was thrust into responsibility from a very young age, with no choice in the matter. He's the oldest of four and, like me, was forced to live off of the land to survive and provide for his family. His mother went into a strong depression after the sudden death of her husband, much like my own mom, and resorted to alcohol and drugs as a way of escape. She attempted to find work, and managed to get a few part-time minimum wage jobs here and there, but they never lasted long. She had never worked a day in her life until she was forced, and couldn't find any enthusiasm for it despite the four children depending on her. She'd always call in so much that they'd eventually let her go. It was always a predictable cycle with her, or so Dylan has told me.

Lately, though, her health has been rapidly deteriorating and she couldn't work even if she wanted to. She's been bedridden by her doctor and can't even walk around without the help of an oxygen tank. Dylan has had to shoulder all of the responsibility, taking care of his siblings and making sure all of the bills get paid. As soon as he turned sixteen, he had to drop out of school and pick up two jobs, and he's been working them ever since. I rarely get to see him anymore because of it, but I understand why.