Roach

Chapter 2

Cal's been harassing me about joining the Royal Air Force. He says that he'll worry just as much as Mum and he's afraid of me dying. I keep telling him not to worry but I don't think it was helping. It only seemed to make him worry more. I guess his worry is a sign that he does care for me.

It's the weekend, Mum's confined herself to her room. Cal and I can both tell that something's wrong, although every time we go to talk to her she ignores us. Cal has been able to get food to her but that's about it. After Cal brings lunch to Mum, the two of us go outside to eat our own. He made some sandwiches and brought some lemonade out for the two of us to drink.

"Hey Gary?" He asks, glancing over to me

"Yeah?" I respond.

"I've been thinking about why Mum's in her room... and I think it's because of you..."

"Really? Is she trying to make us worry for her even more?"

"Well—"

"It's working... but I'm not going to change my mind about this. It's my one chance to do something positive for myself... It's something that I could be a hero for."

"So you'd go chasing it like you're some sort of comic book hero?"

"Well..."

Cal shakes his head as he puts his glass down. He gets up and goes to the small shed that we have in our backyard. I watch as he rummages through it, before he pulls out an old rugby ball. We've had that ball for years--ever since I decided to play rugby myself. A small smile creeps upon my face, I remember asking Mum for that ball. When I got it, I claimed to be the luckiest wing ever.

Cal goes over to me, almost immediately tossing the ball towards me. I catch it with ease, further cementing my memories of playing. "Shame you stopped playing," Cal starts, obviously wanting to change the subject.

"I stopped cause I wasn't any good." I respond. That statements not fully true. Since I'd always play wing, I had gotten used to getting out of sticky situations. If I remember correctly, that's when I first gained the nickname Roach.

Cal laughs, "Really? I think you're a better rugby player than I could ever be."

"You started out playing football. Mum wanted each of us to play a different sport."

"Sure, but you were drawn to it. Mum said that rugby was calling your name."

I look down to the mostly white rugby ball that I was so proud of having. Turning the ball, the signature red rose with the word 'England' line one of the sides. A signature can be seen under that lettering,  Philip Ranulph de Glanville--the newest captain in '96. I remember how excited I was to meet him, to get his autograph. My twelve-year-old self is practically screaming in past excitement.

"Come on, Gary," Cal says, breaking my train of thought. "Let's see what an old wing can do." He smiles and changes positions, getting ready to catch the ball.

We toss the ball back and fourth before Cal falls over. He groans, obviously pulling one of his football moves. "This sport takes too much energy."

I laugh, "And that's why you play football? All you do is run around and tap the opponent. You kick a ball around, Cal, is rugby really that out of your league?"

"We are throwing the ball, and that's different from what I'm used to doing."

"You poor thing." I remember taking a lot of hits when I was younger. Sure, I was playing in the junior division and whatnot but I did get bruised and gained a few concussions from that experience. Cal, on the other hand, is a good actor. It's what's won him a lot of games in the past. I can already see him being a pro and playing for England.

Cal pats the grass next to him, "Come my brother. Sit, sit."

Another laugh escapes me and I sit next to him.

"Why don't you go back to playing rugby?" He asks, "You were so good, you could easily be a pro."

"Like you?" I respond, "That's your dream, not mine. Plus I wasn't all that good."

"You could play better than the other six-year-olds on the field."

"So what? I was somewhat coordinated. Doesn't mean I could go pro."

"Well you wouldn't know now. You could of easily gotten a lot of good things from playing rugby."

"Like concussions? Cal, I don't think that concussions are a good thing."

He sighs, "You and I could of been the great Sanderson boys, playing two great sports."

"But we're not. I don't want that for myself."

"It's what Mum wa--" he stops himself. "I'm sorry..."

"If it's what she wants from me, then she should of mentioned it before I quit playing."

"But—"

"If this was an attempt to change my mind about joining the air force, then it was a poor attempt, Callum." I sigh, "You should know that I wasn't gonna change my mind over that."

"I was hoping that you would..." He's silent for a second before continuing, "I just don't want you to die out there... I don't want Mum to have to live through another loss."

"I know but... I've had this thought since I stopped playing... Cal, I feel like I have to do this."

"Are you thick?" He sits up. I know he's upset and starting to get angry with me. "Did you not think of how it'd affect Mum or me? Gary, this is something serious. You could die—"

"I have thought of this... It's all I can think about sometimes... but I know that I'll be alright--"

"You sound like Dad before he died--"

"This is different—"

"How?!"

"Because of how I can escape situations. Of how I fully believe that I won't die, of how I care too much about being apart of something greater, that I can't die. Cal, I have thought of you and Mum. I know how it'd hurt you both if I died but... sometimes things like this have to happen. If I don't go then who will? Someone who's incompetent? Someone who couldn't handle it? You know that I can..."

"I just don't want to... You're my only brother and I... I wouldn't know what to do without you..."

"You'd probably keep playing football," I laugh lightly but it fades. "I can do this. I promise that I can do this and come back in one piece."

"Promise?"

"Promise."