Do You Remember That Night?

Do You Remember?

Small hands hold on to each other tighter as tiny feet lift off the ground. The dock at our grandparent's house quivers from our efforts. Water once still as a mirror shatters over us. Deeper and deeper our bodies dropped until our toes make contact with the mud beneath the lake, tippy toed push and we rise until we burst with a laughing gasp in the night. The stars came out in sprinkles above us, the Big Dipper taking a sip from the lake's dark chocolate edge. Our high pitched laughs bouncing off the mountains that had pocketed the water. Do you remember that night?

Car lights passing like fireworks on our way home. Through the city and into the mountains with Mom. Quiet looks passed back and forth. Water coming down in melting drips from my cheeks. Words ringing in our ears. We both know what those kids wanted to do to us. Evening spent with worthlessness shoved into our bodies, car ride home spent heaving it up through our lungs. Do you remember that night?

Pills in candy wrappers, knives hidden in the toys. You walked in on my arms bleeding. Crickets outside my bedroom window yell with you. Moonlight spilled like milk on my floor, flecked with what we told Mom was cranberry juice. Bottles of pastel pain medicines in my hand. An almost attempt that was avoided because of you. Do you remember that night?

On the rooftop in our pajamas. Smoke floating up from where we sit. Embers at the end of our cigarettes. "I won't tell if you won't." Fog falling from your mouth in rings, the only food you've eaten today. Anxious bubbles popping from your mouth like champagne. Low-hanging midnight clouds covering us up so that even the neighbors can't see us. Do you remember that night?

That summer when you left home. Drunk phone call asking to come back. Alcoholic slurs begging for forgiveness. You told me all about how you were lucky to still be alive. Railroads and highways your attempted murders. Do you remember that night?

Holding on to each other in the hope of not falling apart. Laughing at our mental states over cups of tea. The wind that came before the dawn howls at the eaves of our house. It can't have my brother. We shake from the cold hard fact of still being alive. The nightlight stays on through the darkness and our minds try their hardest to imitate it. We'll remember this night.