Here Comes The Sun [wattys 2016]

JANUARY 2008

APRIL 1997

"Mommy, I'm scared."

"Alex, sh. Go back to bed."

"But I'm scared. Of the storm."

"It's just a storm, honey. Go back to bed; you're going to wake daddy up."

"Mommy, please."

*

"What did I tell you?" His father asks him in a dangerously calm tone.

Alex fidgets with his T-shirt. He wants to hide behind his mother but that would anger his father even more. "Not to get scared."

"And what did you do?"

"I... got scared."

His dad got out of his chair and Alex flinched. His mom said that his dad wasn't a bad guy, he was just impatient. Alex was five years old but he has gathered enough wisdom to know that his dad wasn't just an impatient dad; he was a bad dad. Bad dads are the ones who yell at their children for being scared of a storm. Bad dads are the ones whose very sight makes your bones quiver in fear for if he catches you crying, he's going to flip out.

Alex's teacher was concerned about is drawings at school depicting his father as a tall black figure with weapons of every kind, looming over Alex and his mom as if he were about to strike. When they see such drawings, bad dads don't ask their son what the problem is, they straight away yell.

"How many times have I told you to man the hell up, Alex?" His dad wasn't a very large man but Alex would be terrified of him even if he were three feet tall.

Alex steps back. He looks at his mom who is standing at a side, her hands balled into fists so tight they must be digging into her palms. Steady tears run down her face and she stares at her husband distantly. Alex says, "Sorry, daddy."

"Sorry, my ass," He rasped.  "If you ever come into our room again, Alex, if I ever hear you saying you're scared of a bloody storm... you wait and watch."

That was Alex's cue to start crying and if there was something that would aggravate his father even more, this was it.

*

JANUARY 2008

"Ew." Alex says and gestures to a half-eaten sandwich wedged at the back of Jem's closet.

"That's what the smell was." Jem muses and picks up the filthy sandwich with the tips of his fingers and chucks it into the dustbin.

"No, the smell was you."

"Ha, ha."

Alex was helping Jem clean his room ("properly") because apparently, his mom had had a fit the night before. Jem confessed to not having cleaned his room properly for seven months. Alex, who himself was not the cleanest person he knew, shuddered at the thought and muttered a low pitched "Ew," earning him an approving look from Jem's mom and a dirty look from Jem.

"Wow, I haven't seen this shirt in ages." Jem says, picking up a yellow T-shirt from the heap of clothes on his bed.

Alex stares at it uncomprehendingly. "Is that yellow? I can't even imagine you in yellow."

"I think that's from middle school."

"No."

"Seriously."

"And you call me lazy."

"Oh, shut up." Jem chides. He throws the shirt back on his bed and rolls his eyes. "Come on; help me push the closet up against the wall."
"How about I push you against the wall?"