The Well

1

"I wanna go with you," Austin said, cornering me. He picked up the bucket that lay by the front door and started to swing it back and forth—a little too enthusiastically. It slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the ground. He crouched, lasered it up, then started to swing it again, as if to say, See, light and easy. "I wanna see the well."

Of course, I had known this day would come. He was always curious, always wanted to explore, always asked questions. The other day, I'd caught him stuffing dirt into his mouth. He had wondered if it would taste the way it looked.

"Ew" had been his simple review.

"I want to carry the bucket, too," he said.

Of course, of course, of course.

I pictured him struggling to carry the full bucket. There were other images that came, unbidden, after his declaration. But this was one of the strongest. This was the one I hoped for: Austin refusing to ask for help, his small arms straining to carry the bucket as its content sloshed dangerously. Of course, a different image replaced it: Austin by my side, silent, disgusted, wanting nothing to do with the bucket that I carried at all.

Of course, of course, of course.

I had yet to find my voice.

His wide, pleading eyes pulled mine close. "Please?"

Mother roared with laughter from the kitchen. The creaking sounds of her wheelchair preceded her as she rolled into the entryway. Though she remained seated, she seemed to tower over Austin, to absorb him in her shadow. Her eyes sparked as she asked, "Really, Auz? You want to go with Cameron?"

He nodded with all the overeager enthusiasm of a bobblehead.

Mother shrugged as her eyes met mine. "Looks like he's made his decision."

"No," I said. Austin's face fell. The water bucket stilled in his hands. I took it away from him and set it on the ground. 

"You'll take him," Mother said. 

"No," I repeated, "not yet."

"Next time you go?" Austin asked. 

I didn't look at Mother, but still felt the gnawing pressure of her eyes boring into the side of my head. Naturally, I hesitated just a moment too long for Austin's taste.

"If you don't take me, I'll follow you," he said, igniting a chuckle from Mother.

"Told you, Cam, he's made up his mind."

"I don't care," I said.

Mother shook her head. "Will you talk to me outside?"

"No."

"Cam—"

"Be quiet, Auz," Mother chided. She pinned me with a stare. There were dark rings beneath her eyes. Her irises were sunken things, forgotten in her flesh. "Cameron, you will take him next time. You have to eventually." She turned to smile at Austin, allowing her gaze to soften. The smile split her face like a crack. The upper half containing her eyes was steely, frozen in place, though her lips and cheeks suggested warmth. "Besides, look at how excited he is." Those steely eyes flitted to mine, making sure I noticed. 

Yes, he was excited. That much was clear. He was almost vibrating in place.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

As Austin's arms enveloped me in a hug, my own felt too numb to reciprocate the motion. In the next moment he was gone. A dribble of too-quick steps sounded down the hallway. 

"Thanks, Mom!" he called over his shoulder.

Mother laughed again in response. I watched her until the roaring sound of her laughter became a chuckle, and the chuckle faded into deep, uneven breaths.

Silence fell upon us, inflating itself until I felt it pressed against the walls, straining at the ceiling, molding itself to the contours of my chest. It was always, always hot, but somewhere between my inhalations and exhalations the air thickened until the point of boiling. It would cool just enough to allow me another slow, simmering inhale, but by my next exhale it was boiling again. 

"Ironic, isn't it?" Mother finally asked.

"He'll never drink again," I murmured.

"Cam. Cam." She sighed. "Cameron, look at me."

I couldn't. I was looking out the window, remembering an image from yesterday: Austin crouched down in the dirt, parting it with his eyes and fingers, searching for something. Squirrels, it had turned out. It had been months since we had last spotted one, but Tim had seen one the week before, or so he'd claimed. So, Austin had performed his own inspection. Of course, nothing.

Always the jokester, Tim.

"Cameron, will you look at me, please?"

"No." That was all the air I could spare. 

Mother scoffed. Her wheelchair complained as she moved back into the kitchen.

My eyes fell on the bucket. Then I picked it up and headed to the well.