Lost In the 80s

Rubin Dean- City Boy

February 28, 1981

"'We need a place' she said, 'just for us. It would be so secret that we would never tell anyone in the whole world about it.' Jess came swinging back and dragged his feet to stop. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. 'It might be a whole secret country,' she continued, 'and you and I would be the rulers of it.'"

Tiffany sniffles in my lap. "I wanna be a ruler of somewhere."

I smile down at her. "We are the rulers. We're the rulers of this house. We're the rulers of the world!" I spread my arms out, as if enveloping the universe in a hug.

Tiff laughs, and my heart swells with pride.

I hit the side of the bed. "Someday, you'll be queen. I know it. And I'll be right next to you." I place a slip of paper in the book. "But for now, we have to say goodnight to Terabithia. Okay?"

I can see the pleading in her eyes but I know she won't argue. "Okay," she agrees, and I place the book on the bedside table.

"Goodnight, Tiff," I say, turning off the light.

"Rubin?"

"Yeah?"

"When we build Terabithia," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "it will be made out of chocolate."

"Okay."

"And," she continues, "It will rain Skittles everyday, and you and I will be the king and queen. And I'll get to wear a sparkly princess dress, like Princess Diana!"

"Sure thing, Your Highness," I say. "But every princess needs her beauty sleep."

I watch her settle down into her bed, her petite figure hard to make out in the darkness. If I'd ever lost Tiff, I don't know what I'd do.

May 17, 1984

The light cast by the bedroom window shines brightly on everything in the room. It's what wakes me up in the morning, but sunshine can only cover up so much.

Step One: Wake up. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, but the bed will always be more inviting than reality. I sit up, but then immediately flop back down.

Step Two: Actually get up. I will my feet to move, and they take me to the bathroom. I examine myself in the mirror. I will never be the same as I was three years ago, but this looks normal. Same dull blue eyes, tousled brown hair. There are bags under my eyes, but that's normal too.

Step Three: Do bathroom stuff. Hopefully I don't have to go into detail there.

Step Five: Wake up Mom. I walk to her bedroom and plaster on a smile. Mom doesn't need my misery.

"Hey," I say, shaking her awake.

"Mmm," she groans softly. I can see that the smallest movement pains her, and resist the urge to step back.

"It's morning," I say. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and it's a beautiful day."

She opens her eyes.

"Hi Mom," I say. "Hi. I just needed to see your eyes. I'm going to make breakfast now, okay? Fried eggs, just the way you like them."

She mumbles a reply, but I can't make out the words. "Okay, Mom. I love you."

Step Six: Breakfast. Eggs. Easy and quick.

Step Seven: Tend to Mom, and don't think about the people that used to be in this house. Don't think about nights reading to a little sister who hopefully is building chocolate castles in heaven. Don't think about the letter that came to our door. "Dear Mrs. Dean an Family, We are sorry to inform you that Robert Thomas Dean has died during battle." Don't think about the tumor that ate Tiffany's brain, oh, everything will be fine.