Deal With It By: Audrey B. Holley

Chapter 7

Like what David had told me earlier, I stand here to wait for him. Within a few minutes, he comes striding down the hall. A group of boys behind him are making kissy sounds. My brother appears annoyed, but shrugs it all off as he approaches me.

"What's that all about?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Lets just go."

I suspect he was teased today; this isn't the first time this has happened. 

Buckling up, I say, "I don't see why you don't just beat them up. I know you're strong enough."

He sits there in the driver seat, hands on the wheel, and then drops them into his lap.

"Just give me a moment." He closes his eyes, and leans his head back.

"And it's all because I don't think like everybody else." I hear him whisper.

"How do you think David?" But I already know the answer.

"I don't understand words or how love works; I see the world like a dream, it doesn't feel real, and one day when I'm an old man, I won't wake up here, but to the reality I've been missing out on."

He is so different from my perspective. I love and comprehend everything about words. I feel the pain, the hurt, all that nonsense life is supposed to be of and felt like. I wish I visioned everything as if it were a dream, unreal because if it was, then when I wake up the next morning... Henry would still be here and it would all be the dream I've wanted it to be...

"It's so frustrating. Half the stuff in class I don't get. They expect me to know this crap, but my brain is dumb."

I pat his shoulder, and say, "It'll be OK. You're a lot more brainy than you give yourself credit for."

"Whatever," he jams the key into the ignition. "Guess this is how life is. Have to deal with people who don't understand me all the time, so I don't know why I'm even complaining." 

Before we pull out of the school parking lot, I spot Benjie bounding into the iced weather. Flakes of snow are caught in his hair, and stick to his clothes looking like baby feathers. 

* * * * *

As soon as I walk in the door of my home, I have to trudge up the stairs, and switch to my work clothes.

I take a moment upon myself to reach for the photo I always keep at my night stand. Sitting at the edge of my bed all dressed in uniform...I really shouldn't do this now. It'll only bring forth tears. I stare down at the image in my wobbly hands.

And it hurts...

Bad...

There are moments in my life when I feel as if the world is crumbling. The pieces shatter and lay at the floor. I grasp at them, but the mess is too difficult to place back to how it had been before the destruction occurred. It's as if the pain is a dream, a vivid dream wished to be never dreamt. God will sweep through and heal my heart, caress the bruises within a moment of Glory that will feel rapid when I call out His name. 

Tears dripping, eyes blurred, I manage to say, "You were my best friend, and now you're gone," I shiver. 

I recall a memory...

"I'm so nervous Keelie." Henry looks at me all anxious like.

Slipping my fingers between his, I say, "Don't be."

We stand here hand in hand at the school doors, a few weeks into our fourth grade year. 

He gasps, and his hand tightens around mine. "There she is."

My mouth is next to his ear. "Ask her. I'm right here if you need me." He glances to me, and then to the girl with a personality I'm unsure of, but if he likes her, then it is my part to encourage him. 

We separate...

As usual, he sways on his heels, babbles on and on...because this is what he does. To halt his voice, she puts a hand in his face, says something, and laughs with a pointed finger. At this, he stiffens a moment, and then runs to the boys bathroom.

I march to her, and say, "Shelly, you're a judgmental person. What you did was-" 

"I really don't care what you have to say, so shut up 'cause your words are only a waste."

That stung, but I brush it off the best I can, and then push past her.

Standing outside of the boys restroom, I echo Henry's name. He sobs loudly in response.

"Come on out buddy."

A moment later I hear him come out of a stall, and then walk out of the bathroom. His eyes are rimmed red from crying.

"She said she doesn't date fat boys." His lips quiver with each spoken word.

I place an arm around his shoulders, and say, "Well, I believe you are genuinely beautiful from the inside out. Don't pay any attention to her, you hear?"

He nods, and then smiles, but I see through it's fake characteristics.

"Don't smile if you don't mean it."

And here I am years later, staring down at a picture of us in the fourth grade.

"But he smiled anyway." I whisper. I then fold the picture, and stuff it into my pocket.