The Chord to my Heart

12: Lost And Not Found

                                                           12: Lost And Not Found

            I squinted at the bright light spilling across my bedroom floor as I heard him call out my name. I turned on my bedside lamp to see little Gabe standing in my doorway in Spongebob pj’s, his blonde hair standing up on one side. His marble eyes, identical to mine, were glazed over with fear.

            “Hey kid, what’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

            “I had a scary dream,” he said, a tiny frown appearing on his face.

            “Come here,” I said, scooting over and patting the space next to me. He shut the door behind him, rushing to my side. He climbed under the covers, hugging his knees to his chest.

            “It’s okay, Gabe. We all have bad dreams sometimes,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulder. His lip trembled, his eyes filling with tiny tears.

            “Even you?” he asked, in a hushed whisper.

            I nodded. “Yeah, even me. But it’s okay, it was just a dream. Everything’s fine,” I said. He was shaking, his hands rubbing at his eyes to stop the tears from falling. I pulled him to me, hugging him to my chest. He must have seen something bad. Gabe was a fearless kid. I’d seen him fall and get hurt a lot but the kid never cried.

            “I’m scared,” he said, clinging to me.

            “I know, but that dream wasn’t real. So there’s nothing to be scared of,” I said, brushing the hair away from his forehead.

            He nodded and sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Do I have to go back to my own bed?” he asked, his eyes growing wide.

            I smiled and shook my head. I hated that I never tried seeing my little brother in the past six years. Those moments were lost, no matter how frantically I searched for them.

            “You can stay here tonight. Now, come on. Let’s get some sleep,” I said. I lay down next to him, pulling the blankets up over his shoulder. He turned to face me, his little hands tucked under his cheek.

            “Thanks, sissy,” he said. He turned to face me, tucking his little hands under his cheek.

            “You’re welcome, kid. Goodnight,” I said, closing my eyes.

            “Hey, Lyla?” he said, a moment later. I sighed, my eyes heavy with sleep.

            “Yeah?” I asked. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes curious.

            “Why did your mom leave?” My eyes shot open at his words, all traces of sleep disappearing. 

            “My mom said that she was sick, or something,” he said, shrugging.

            I swallowed past the lump in my throat, trying to get rid of the sadness. I rubbed at my eyes, forcing away the acid tears.

            “Your mom is right. She was sick,” I said, the words floating off my tongue. I pushed them far away, not letting them taint my reality.

            “What if my mom gets sick? Will she leave, too?” he said, the fear finding its way back into his eyes again.

            I shook my head, pushing past my pain to stop him from being afraid. He shouldn’t have that fear because his mom couldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t.