Still Holding On

seventy-one

The news arrived as if almost covered in thorns.

One would think that the concern and panic fade off into a rather easeful tension within the gap of time when you practically can't do anything about a situation. But that is a plain lie.

The concern never fades away. It makes space and builds itself stronger in your chest till it turns into fear. And this very fear seeps into your body—like the spread of infection—turning evermore deadly with each passing moment.

It's almost nostalgic. And funny in a grave manner. This is exactly what happened a few summers ago.

We arrived late yesterday evening and ever since I can't help but remind myself about the last time we were in this situation. Granny has been praying just the way she did. Dad's taken off from work. Mom tries to cheer us up every once in a while but then again, that has more to do with reassuring herself.

Later yesterday, when I couldn't sleep, when I rumbled in my bed wondering about things I had no certain control over, I slipped out into our backyard. There was something almost soothing about laying down as the cut grass swindled against my skin. Memories—pretty ones, the ones that hurt the most—were a constant when I shut my eyes. But somewhere amongst the reminders of him, I found a moment to breathe and fall asleep—plain and numb, almost like nothingness.

I lost track of time. I opened my eyes to the sky—darkness seething heavy at the moment where one couldn't differentiate between day and night. My eyes fell onto Allan's window where the lights remained on.

I stumbled onto my feet and walked back into the house. A sudden wave of curiosity laced my steps as i rushed. Right before I climbed the stairs I heard his door creak. I suddenly hid behind the side and watched Grandpa walking out of Allan's bedroom.

From all that I could see, he wiped off a teardrop from his cheeks. And then another. And another as he stood outside the door.

I felt a lump rise in my throat as I swallowed hard. A grave shudder passed as though i'd witnessed something that wasn't meant for anyone to see. It was wrecking to see him cry. Grandpa wasn't exactly transparent when it came to emotions. He was quiet at it whilst he kept his emotions to himself. He had always been a sort of stronger pillar in all our lives. And to see him cry was a brand new sight—one that could tear all hope. It assured me that no one in this house was really sleeping, tonight or for a long long time.

He walked away into his own bedroom as I waited to hear his door shut. Out of the two of us, Allan was closer to both Granny and Grandpa. I remember the time when he'd come out to us. It wasn't a big deal—at the least for us. It was extremely casual and Allan wasn't ever worried about us. He was rather worried about our grandparents. He told Grandpa when he told us, but he'd taken his time with Granny. He wanted to make sure she was going to be okay with it.

I realize I'm outside his room now. I wonder if I should go inside. What good would it do if I did? What would I come across? My brain drowned in questions I'd never have answers to.

I think about it again. And I walk in, shutting the door behind me.

I'm hit with his scent when I walk in—wispy woodbines waging a war against the crisp saltwater breeze. Like old pages and salinity. Like cozy sunsets fading away with serenity.

The room is the same as always. I find books piled across the room. His table is what makes me wonder how he ever gets work done.

And suddenly, I know just what I'm in his room for.

I walk into the closet to that one thing I've always been lured to. I know he wouldn't like this but who'd ever tell him?

I found him on the ground, hiding a box as soon as I walked into his room without any prior warning last year. Ever since I've wondered what this box—the one that is now in my hands—holds.

I see an opportunity today. A feeling of guilt scrapes up into my chest but it fades away just as soon as it came. I flip the box covered with brown wrapping sheets with a white thread tied to its top. This almost feels like a wicked deviation—one I'm sure is questionable.

I walk back to where I found him sitting when I first saw the box. I slowly untie the knot after i've settled onto the floor, against his bed. As soon as I reach for the lid, I stop. I look away as I question my very curiosity to open the box. Was it even fundamentally right to toy with my brother's hidden boxes this way? Would I even want to know what was inside? He would hate me for this. But all I want is to be around him—to feel the presence I once loathed in a playful agony, to distract myself from my life with bits of his. And this box almost feels like the ultimate distraction.

I don't think again and open the lid.

❁❁❁

I'm almost done with school and definitely reconsidering continuing writing.

I'll soon start posting regularly again and get down to newer projects which I can't wait for y'all to read.

Thank you very much for the patience kept for the ending of this story. Meanwhile here's a chapter that has been sitting in the drafts for months now.

Vote if you enjoyed it!!

<3