Walking Straight

Chapter 3

Three days.

Three days trying to get used to my new room, cooped up trying to get ahold of Brooklyn. I hadn't heard of her 72 hours and countiing. I was getting lonely. School didn't start for another 2 weeks. What was I suppose to do? Everyday went like this:

Wake up at noon.

Lay there for another hour. Empty mind.

Try to eat breakfast. (That was getting harder for me)

Shower.

Write in my journal.

Doodle. 

Go for a walk.

Go back home. Was it even home? No.

Try talking to Brooklyn. 

Try to eat dinner.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Today, I didn't want to go through my daily routine. I woke up at dawn. Last night I had laid in bed until forcing myself to sleep. Despite my lack of rest, I had energy about me. I wanted to do something today. My outfit consisted of black leggings, a navy tanktop, and Nikes.

Ignoring my mother's calls to eat breakfast, I set my phone on loud and once outside, put in my earbuds, and broke into a run. Music flooded into my ears, causing me to forget about my surroundings, my life. I just ran. When I came upon the stream a little ways down my street, I decided to follow it. Where did it start?

Trees whipped by me. The music in my ears muffled the sound of my short breaths and my feet pounding the grass. It was a great feeling.

One album later, I arrived at a small clearing with mossy rocks arranged around a mini waterfall. Trees circled the clearing with lichen and spindly green needles hanging of their delicate branches. My breathing returned to normal and the thinly spread layer of sweat on my body dried. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. That was all it took to realize that this place might be better than Denver. Maybe Steamboat Springs wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would. I took in my surroundings and after a little while of laying across a rock next to the swishing water, went back home. The sun was still covered by morning clouds, indicating that it was only about 7 in the morning. Maybe Brooklyn would be awake?

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Finally. Brooklyn answered my Skype call. The bad connection caused her to be a bit blurry, but I was still glad as hell to be able to hear her voice again. 

"So how are treatments going?" I asked. From the very beginning of our conversation, I could tell she was hiding something. Her face fell. She adjusted the beanie over her ever thinning blonde hair, and looked around the room. 

"Uhhmmm. It's, it's fine. It's getting there.." She looked away from the camera. 

" Brooklyn. What's going on? Is everything okay? Are you going to be alright?"

"It's nothing to worry about, the doctors just upped my dose on chemo. That's all." 

"What's that mean? You're going to be fine, right? Right? Brooklyn?"

Silence.

"Taylor I swear if something were gonna happen to me, I would tell you. All I know is they're giving me more and more treatments. I'm not a doctor, that's all I know I swear."

I bit my lip. Hard.

"Okay, but promise that you'll call or at least have your mom call if I need to go up to Denver."

Brooklyn nods. 

"I have to go, Taylor, I'm at the hospital about to get treatments. Call you later?" She waves to the camerea and the screen goes black.

Shit..

When I go downstairs for dinner, Mom is heating up Kraft mac n cheese. She's muttering something to herself.

"Mom?" I ask tentatively. 

She looks up, startled. her hair is frizzy, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Bloodshot eyes.

"Yes? Do you want something to eat?"

Her hands are quivering. 

"I'm good..  Are you okay?"

She pushes her hands into the pockets of her pants and smoothes her hair.

"Yes, of course, I'm fine! Why would you think otherwise?"

"Nothing, I just.. Nevermind. Sure, I'll have something to eat."

We eat our bowls of pasta in silence. I clear my plate and go back upstairs to my room. Something was going on with Mom. I shake the thoughts from my head and get into bed. Nothing else to do.

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Mom was out for a few days, she was going to go visit her sister in Arizona. She left me the car and money to take car of errands. I barely even knew my way around Steamboat, how could she just leave me here alone for 6 days? Well, good chance to get to know the place. Was there even a mall around here? New town, fresh start, might as well get a new wardrobe too. I emptied out the closet in my room and laid out my clothes, seperating them into piles of donation, and keep. Ripped skinny jeans and graphic tees in the keep pile, old sweatpants and baggy sweatshirts in the donation pile. My hands freeze over a small pile in the back corner of the closet. My heart drops into my stomach. I hold back a scream. Will's old t-shirts. I forgot I even brought them with me. The ache to have my brother back in my life was greater than my need to live. Without permission, my mind wanders back to 2 summers ago.

I had a great day at school. I got all A's on my report card, and I could barely see the scars on my wrists. About time they started to fade. I bound up the stairs to tell Will everything about my day. He was my rock, the only constant in my life and I knew if anything happened to Mom, Will would take care of us. He had his head screwed on tighter than any of us in our family. When Dad came home drunk and got abusive, Will would always put himself in front of me and fight back to Dad. He even has scars to prove it. I reach Will's room and knock on the door. No answer. He's probably just taking a nap again. But it would be worth it to wake him up and show him my grades and my clear wrists. I pictured his smiling face, his musical laugh, and sparkling green eyes when I would show off my accomplishments. He was always proud to have me as a sister. I push the door open, ready to hug him and be with him. My smile drops, my stomach jumps into my throat, my knees give out, and my vision blurs. I steady myself and crawl over to Will. Or what was left of him. His eyes are wide open, blood pooled around his torso. I reach for him, trying to pull all of my shock and anxiety into my core to scream. Nothig comes out. I grope around him, tryiing to find what killed him. A kitchen knife is in his bloodied hand. His fingers are frozen around it, gripping it like it was the last thread he had to hang on to. How could this have happened? I frantically look for a pulse. I touch his wrists, his neck, I feel nothing but a cold shell of what he use to be. My hands cradle his face and I stay there, frozen in that positon until Mom comes home and finds me there, trying not to let go of the only constant in my life.

I bring myself back to my room, back to present time. Lifting the shirts to my face, I inhale the faint scent of his Old Spice deoderant and warm smelling cologne. I wanted to preserve what I had left of him and so I packed the shirts away into a box, tucking it into the top shelf of my newly-emptied closet.