Sunset Memories

Chapter 2 - The Sunset Flag

I must've fallen back asleep at some point, the nightmares of Danielle warded off somehow, because my oldest brother charged into my room and started beating me with his fists. Hard.

     My older brothers were perfect for sibling torture experiments. Alexander, the oldest at nineteen, attracted girls from his nightly workouts, where he broke into our attic a few years ago before Danielle died, and started pumped weights and iron. When he started to get a little bolder, he decided that he didn't want anyone up there while he exercised. About a year ago, I figured out why. Because Alexander works out naked. 

     My seventeen-year-old brother, Curt, is on our school's soccer team. It's more like boot camp than soccer, in my opinion. They do running and push-ups instead, and play soccer about once every four practices. 

     In short, both of my brothers are huge and muscular. And when they beat me up, it hurts.

     ''Get up, you wuss! Mom says we're picking up that exchange person from Canada today. God, she'd better be hot.'' Alexander stopped punching me. He picked me up by my armpits instead and threw me off the bed. 

     I felt pain as my arm got cut again by the broken shards of the glass I'd knocked over last night. Standing, I wiped the blood from my skin. 

     ''Thanks for the warm welcome,'' I muttered. 

     Alexander smirked. ''You look like hell.''

     I didn't say anything as I rummaged through my clothes, looking for a clean T-shirt.

     ''Mom says we're picking her up at eleven, but she's gonna be exhausted. Jet lag. How big is the time difference in Canada from here?''

     I shrugged. ''Five or six hours.'' My hands groped at a white V-neck, and I slipped it on. ''We're definitely getting a girl?'' 

     He laughed, a deep rumble that reminded me of a tiger chuff. ''You sound like we're having another kid. And yeah, it is a girl.''

     I turned away and put on a jean jacket, rolling up the sleeves. Man, did I feel tired. The nightmares were about as much help for sleeping as a band playing in your room. ''Nothing wrong with another kid,'' I told Alexander.

     His face remained motionless and started to leave. ''Yeah. Except when they're the youngest. That's the mistake we made when the trains crashed.'' He left my bedroom. 

     Nobody said Danielle's name directly when we talked about her death. We usually said, When the trains crashed or When she left. I could say When my sister Danielle got killed by a train in my head whenever I wanted. There was nobody in there to hear me except myself. 

      I rushed downstairs into the kitchen, which was bright and soundless. Curt was watching the sports on the TV. Alexander was finishing a piece of toast. My mother was drinking tea and reading a book. 

     ''Good morning,'' I said. 

     Mom smiled at me. ''How was your sleep?''

     I hesitated as I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a sip. It was cool and tangy on my tongue. ''Um . . . sort of restless. I was having dreams again.'' 

     Mom looked away. She knew exactly what kind of dreams I was having, because she had them herself during the night. 

     Alexander finished his toast. ''I'm going to the attic.'' 

     I made a bowl of cereal. Mom said, ''Alexander, please try to keep all your clothes on when our guest is here and you go work out.''

     Alexander paused on the stairs, his head cocked to the side in thought. ''Fine. I'll put some underwear on,'' he said, and left to the attic.