children raising children

   Tommy knew the signs. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He knew what it meant when Pa got home after the sun disappeared behind the trees. He knew what it meant--the dejected, resigned expression of Ma as her gaze met the drunken indifference of the disheveled man she once loved so deeply.

   He knew as soon as words were exchanged, they would quickly turn sour, as unrefrigerated milk spoils in the sweltering Texan heat.

   A heavy lump formed in his gut each time the snide remarks began to fly. He didn't understand how two people that he loved so much could say such awful things to one another. That wasn't the worst, though. The worst was the yelling.

   He'd shut himself in his room, stuff tissues in his ears, and cover his head with pillows.
Still, nothing could block out the hurtful, nasty comments.

   They obviously weren't for him in any way, but like the secondhand smoke from Pa's cigar, they wafted through the air, taking the breath from his lungs without fail.

   He didn't remember exactly when it happened, but one particular night, as he clung to his pillow, frustrated sobs wracking him to his core, he heard the click of the door opening behind him. He froze as a voice broke the silence.

  "It's okay. It's me."

   Tommy didn't resist as he was picked up, didn't say a word as his older brother carried him down the hallway.

   His head raised, neck craning to get a glimpse of the kitchen, where the action was. This was short-lived, however, as he was quickly pressed to Joel's shoulder with a hand on the back of his head and a surprisingly gentle, "It's gonna be okay, just...keep your eyes closed."

   As he laid against Joel, a million thoughts rushed through his mind. He had never spoken to him that way...gentle and soft.

   Joel entered his room, locking the door. He sat Tommy onto the bed, crawling in beside him. Before another word could be exchanged, he was pressed flush against Joel's warm chest.

   His confusion only deepened as arms came around his quivering form, pulling him closer. He couldn't believe this was really happening. Joel, the same mean, stubborn older brother who stole from the sweets cabinet and framed him countless times, who would push him into a ditch in a heartbeat, was holding him, comforting him like a baby.

   "Hey, uh...you doin' alright, baby brother?"

   Joel's voice was barely a whisper, breaking on the last two words. Tommy simply nodded in response, looking up at him. Moisture welled up in Joel's hazel eyes, but he quickly blinked it away.

   "Good, good. I'm glad."

   Tommy averted his eyes, putting the pieces together. Joel was scared, too.

   Still, the notion seemed impossible. "Joel" and "scared" didn't belong in the same sentence, unless "is never" was sandwiched between them, of course. A few months back, he watched Joel reset his own thumb after he fell off a swing and landed on it wrong. Just the sight of the disfigured extremity was enough to cause warm tears to flow down Tommy's face, though he wasn't even the one with his finger bent the wrong way.

   In his few years on this earth, one thing had been made quite obvious to Tommy. Joel was tough and strong, way tougher and stronger than him. Right now, though, he didn't seem...larger than life, as he usually did. It didn't matter who was the strongest, because, in the face of their parents arguing, they were both little. Little and afraid.
  
   Tommy gave Joel a squeeze, a silent display of understanding and camaraderie. Despite himself, he beamed when he received one in return.

   In mere minutes, he drifted off to sleep in his older brother's arms, no tissues needed this time.