The Well

6

The next morning, I found Austin sitting in the living room with the television on—tuned to static—his gaze intently fixed on the boiling black and white particles on the screen. I worried that the sound of my breathing would break his trance. Moving as silently as I could, I positioned myself cross-legged beside him. He held the remote in his hand and flipped through channel after channel. The same hissing static greeted him each time. 

After a few moments, his gaze softened, unfocused, then dropped. 

"I thought it would work this time," he said. 

I moved to turn the television off, silencing the static.

"Mom said I can't go outside," he pouted. He looked around the living room, at the now-black television, with helpless unsatisfied wonder. His fingers fiddled over the remote's useless buttons. 

Right. His sunburn. His skin seemed didn't seem so red in the dim living room, though. And most of the distractions that I had planned involved outdoor activities.

"Did she, now?" I asked, making a point to glance toward the empty hallway. "Is she still in her room?"

He nodded. "Still sleeping." 

This brought a frown to my face. Mother was usually up first. I expected to find her sitting by the television with a book in her hand, making certain Austin went nowhere. But this was better after all. I wouldn't have to watch her eyes follow me from across the room. I wouldn't have to hear her say You have to you have to you have to. 

I looked at Austin. His hair was disheveled, stuck to his scalp in sweaty, matted clumps. His fingers continued their exploratory motions over the remote, pressing buttons at random. He belonged in motion. 

"Is your skin hurting?" I asked. 

A light sparked in Austin's eye. He shook his head no. 

"Why don't we spend some time outside, together? Look for squirrels?"

He nodded with his whole body, shaking all the way down to his feet. His instant, undiluted happiness brought a smile to my face. "Let's go!"

I couldn't help but keep the smile there, reflecting his. 

Then he was out the door. The screen swung shut behind him, but the main door remained open; breath-warm air blew into the entryway, and a harsh rectangle of sunlight branded the wooden floor. 

My smile fell. I took a breath, readying myself to follow him into the sunlight, only to pause in front of the door.  

I thought of the skull.

Austin had found it on the last occasion he had managed to drag me outside with him. Ever since then, I always told him I was too tired--from the heat, or the walk to the well--to follow him outside. Of course, he had tried to get me to change my mind. 

One day, I raised my voice at him, and he finally understood that my no meant no. A pang of guilt nearly overwhelmed me when his shoulders stiffened, then slumped, at the sound of my shouting. 

"Cameron is too old for these sorts of games, Auz," Mother had told him, though her eyes never left mine. "Why don't you go on alone?"

I'd smiled at him, in way of apology, and that was enough. His crestfallen mood ricocheted back to his usual upbeat attitude. 

The skull must have belonged to a small animal--perhaps a cat or a dog. There was no telling how long it had remained there, bleaching itself in the heat, drifting along the ground, but it had been months since the last pet had been put down. Austin lifted the skull from the twig-like remnants of the sun-burned bush he had been rummaging in and held it up to me, saying nothing. I shook my head, indicating this was his to keep.

I read nothing but amazement on his face as his fingers absorbed every curve of the strange find. It glowed a sickly, blinding white in the midday sun.

"Do you know what you've found, Auz?"

He shook his head. His torso, his legs, his arms--all whipped to the side at once. 

"This used to be someone's pet. Maybe a cat or a dog. This is all that's left over now—part of a skeleton. It's called a skull."

"What's a skeleton?" Austin asked.

"It's what inside you and me. It's bone. It's hard and keeps our shape."

"Where did the pet go?"

"Away."

"Away where?"

"The pet's dead, Auz." 

"Like—"

"Yeah." I couldn't look at him, couldn't look at the skull. I looked at the sky, let the sun burn everything away. "Like Dad."

Austin pursed his lips, absorbing this newfound piece of information. Now he held the skull with the tips of his fingers, as if it were a hot, constantly shifting puzzle. Eventually he set it down, deep in the bush, and stepped away. His eyes wouldn't meet mine. "So, the pet's gone." We had talked about death as something final, as something done, but not as something bad—no, never bad.

I had hoped to avoid talking about it again for some time longer.

"Hey. You know Dad loved you very much." I reached for him, enveloped him in a sticky hug. 

Dad's face threatened to appear in my mind, but I fought against it, pictured Austin instead. 

My hand landed in Austin's hair, ruffled it into further disarray, before pulling him against me. When I felt him squirming against me, I released my arms; he immediately took off at a sprint, heading behind the house. I wasn't sure what drove him this time—what had caught his eye, or what fleeting new thought now occupied his mind.

The lie pressed down on me, slowed down my limbs. I couldn't follow him, couldn't match what powered his legs. I needed a moment—or two—inside, away from the blinding sun.

I found no relief from the heat inside. Mother sat in the living room, her gaze deep into a book. She looked up when she saw me enter.

"Austin asked me about Dad," I said.

No reaction yet. "And?"

"I lied."

She pursed her lips and went back to her book. She said nothing, gave away nothing, as I moved toward my room. Later, I thought, she would tell him the whole truth. But she didn't.

Moments later, I heard the front door open. Austin asked for Mother's permission. She must have nodded her assent, because there was no audible response. His shuffling footsteps sounded down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Three mouthfuls of water, followed by a satisfied sigh.

"You coming?" Austin called beyond the door. 

The sound of his voice startled me back to the present. 

"Right behind you," I said.