Much Like Falling

Chapter Nine

I loosened the tie from my suit and walked for what felt like hours, dragging my feet along the side of the road. I didn’t care if strangers glanced at me disapprovingly, but my eyes still remained at my feet while what happened at Dad’s funeral stubbornly played over and over in my head, as if an invisible projector took charge.

As I hit the outskirts, my tears dried. But that did not stop the pain and frustration that was taking over me. I needed to sit down and clear my head, even if it meant taking a seat on prickles. I leaned against a farm fence and brought my knees to my chin. I still could not get my head around Dad’s death. What was the last thing I said to him? I still remembered what he said to me.

You’re pathetic, you know that? You can’t even work a washing machine. Actually, what can you do… You are not my son… No son of mine can ruin everything he touches. No son of mine can fail at everything he tries. You accomplish nothing... Yeah, walk away, coward. You’re better off dead…

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad for his death. Instead, I missed Rabbit or whatever her name was. One day this pain would disappear, I hoped. One day it would get better. It had to!

So many cars were passing by that it started making me feel self-conscious so I tried convincing myself that they could think what they want because they do not know what’s happened and the chances of them seeing me again, or recognising me for that matter were slim.

My family would be at home by now, sitting around nonchalantly. I could just picture Mum tending Bradley’s wound, as if he were a little angel. He was far from it.

A car skidded slightly, dirt flying in all directions. I looked up for a moment and instantly recognised the car. Speak of the devil… “Get in, Emerson,” that voice could only belong to one person, Bradley.

I sighed and shook my head, drying my face with the palm of my hands. My brother’s cheek was purple and cut badly, with butterfly stitches holding the skin together. It was my doing and I felt proud of the masterpiece, half because as we grew up, he’d be the one to throw the first punch and win, but at the funeral was my time to glimpse what it felt like to take the first and only hit at Brad. His wife, Adrienne, was in the passenger seat, watching me closely, pleading for me to get in the car, to just shrug everything aside and do what I am told this one time.

“Mum’s got us looking for you. She wants you back alive,” Bradley laughed, but it was too soon. I glanced at Adrienne as she rolled her eyes. “Get in, or I will drag you.”

I shrugged, not really caring either way. I wanted to stay here. I knew how to make a scene, and in that moment, I did not want to be civil but I guessed I should, for his wife’s sake… and possibly mine. Bradley always had to be the ‘hero’; he always seemed to save the day for everyone. Me on the other hand, I ruined things, if not everything.

Mum would say, “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Dad: “No Hun, it’s a cliché,”

Bradley just made me want to dig a hole in the middle of nowhere and jump in it.

He sighed while getting out of the car and grasped the front of my shirt, trying to pull me up but struggled. I smirked at my older brother. He definitely was not as strong as I was. That’s one thing I could be proud of.

I stood, not wanting him to embarrass himself even more in front of his wife, and shrugged away from his grasp. He opened and closed the car door for me, such a nice brother.

We arrived at my house just after six. “Hey babe, why don’t you head on in?” Bradley watched as his wife nodded and escaped through the front door before saying, “Try not to be a kill joy, will you? We’re all still grieving and no one wants a stressful night before having to go back to school.” He smiled.