Redemption

33 - Back in Time

Chapter 33 - Back in Time

For two months after Dad passed, me and Isaac resided at Jasmine's large estate in the suburbs, a five-bedroom mansion that presented a terracotta roof with acres of green grass surrounding it. The windows were made of dark wood, the nicest hue of brown I had ever seen. Some of them were arched, while others stretched almost as tall as the cream-colored walls. Isaac had never been there before, his face full of awe and eyes wide as saucers as we pulled up the long asphalt driveway, the pavement sparkling like diamonds under the sun. He leaned over and whispered to me, "Do you think they'll adopt us?"

We slept on silk sheets, washed our hair with the most expensive shampoo and conditioner, a television stationed on the wall in each of our rooms, flat screens. Every morning I was brought breakfast in bed, served on a tray that had legs to stand on.

Mom never told us why we were going there, I had assumed she figured out some type of agreement with Jas's mom, but it wasn't until Ben died that I learned Mom never contacted anybody, it was Jas.

Even so young, Jas was there for me to lean on, working wonders in the background, the glow to my star, the root to my flower. We would go days where we wouldn't talk, just sit in silence, sometimes in her room, sometimes in mine. She would bring in a jug of ice cream with two spoons, always Ben & Jerry's, no trace of a smile on her face, it wasn't the place, not the time.

She would pull back the comforter, get all snuggled up next to me, put on a romantic comedy, the beginning of my distaste for them, and hand me a spoon, communicating with her eyes. She didn't want to talk either, all she wanted to do was be there with me, offer whatever relief she could, but she knew better, even at her age, that no words could console me. The best next thing would be her presence, so that's exactly what she did.

Sometimes she would paint my nails or give me a facial, a cheap one you can buy at Target, still no words passed between us, just the soft murmur of the TV or her iPod plugged into its speaker.

I never knew how much of an impact she had on Isaac either, not until all these years later. I just didn't notice how she supported him like she supported me, the grief blinded me too much.

He showed up days after I was discharged from the hospital, a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, memories of Dad's death rushing back. It was surreal, opening the door to my full-grown brother, back in the place where we lost everything that completed us. He said no word of this when I was in the hospital, that he would come to Jasmine's, not even the slightest mention.

We were on the patio that night, just me and Isaac. I put Jasmine to bed with a little help from her mother, tucking her in tightly and making sure a romantic comedy hummed in the background, a little blast from the past, a past I hoped we would never revisit.

The crickets sang around us, no sound of cars driving on the freeway in the distance, secluded from the world. He told me then, what Jasmine did for him all those moons ago. She convinced her brother to lend Isaac his Xbox, so every night, or sometimes in the middle of the day, she would creep into his room to play games with him. On his favorite nights, she would bring up a tray of snacks, littered with junk food, a kid's dream. On other afternoons, she would take him to bike trails, speed racing down them with huge smiles on their faces. Jasmine would say, "Okay, imagine you're leaving it all behind, the grief, your dad not being here anymore, pedal so fast that it could never catch up with you even if it wanted to."

There were quite a few wipeouts, Isaac recalled, a ghost of a smile on his face as he did. I remember Jasmine coming into my room with scraped up knees, the occasional band-aid on her arm. I never thought anything of it. I knew she still had a life; I didn't expect her to stop living it just because mine stopped.