The Wind Doesn't Talk Back

Hope

His sister got worse this morning. And when the doctors told him and his father, Avery ran. He didn't know where he was going, but his legs took him there, and he found himself staring at the stone with his mother's name engraved on it. The wind was strong today. Maybe, if he asked the question, it would be carried to the person who had the answers.

"How is any of this fair?" Avery was kneeling on the ground now. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place, but he couldn't pull himself up. So he sat there, waiting for the wind to bring him the answer, tell him why Ashley was lying in that bed and not him. Tell him how he was supposed to live with this.

Dr. Stewart had said the disease was genetic. That Avery could get sick too. And Ashley got it. Avery wouldn't have cared if he died. Ashley is fearless. Nothing bothers her. She sings and dances and laughs more than Avery ever could. Avery believed that she'd live and that maybe, his mother's disease would claim him too, but at least Ashley would go on to be great. But now, Ashley could die in the walls of that hospital, and the world would never know her.

Avery didn't remember walking back to Ashley's room in the hospital, but he was there, and his father wasn't. Ashley was awake this time. Avery closed his eyes and inhaled. He was still standing in the corner of the room he'd claimed as his own. He exhaled.

"How're you feeling, Ash?"

Avery's words were muted, but they were there.

"Are you a doctor now," Ashley joked, her voice louder than she meant for it ti be. "Where have you been?" Ashley disregarded his question.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Just... Out. Has dad been in here today?"

Ashley shook her head. The room was silent again. "I'm glad you're talking to me again," Ashley admitted.

"I... I'm sorry I've been so quiet, and I'm sorry I ran this morning when they told us. Ashley, I'm sorry for everything,"

"What do you have to be sorry for," Ashley asked quietly.

And once again, Avery was silent. He knew that, in reality, what was happening to Ashley couldn't be stopped. It was just the way fate, destiny, god, however you choose to think about it, it just was what it was. But that didn't make it right, or make it fair, or change the fact that Avery felt guilty for all of it.

They talked awkwardly for a few minutes, and eventually, Avery found himself asleep on one of the plastic chairs in the room.

He dreamt of his mother. He missed her desperately and wished that he could see her, just one more time. But this dream was different from that. He's fourteen again. She's sick. They all know she won't be around much longer. The glass bottle of sand hangs around her neck. She takes it off and hands it to Avery.

"Don't forget," His mother whispered. And in three hours, she was gone. Ripped from his life. Avery begged himself to wake up, but he didn't. Instead, he was standing in the field again, throwing a football with Ashley, which she had to beg Avery to do. And then she fell. Now, they're in the hospital, and Ashley is sick. And they say she's getting worse.

Then Avery is awake. His father sits silently across from him. Avery wants so badly to go home, but guilt keeps him there. Every part of him knows that he can't leave, and somehow, every part of him also wants to get as far away from this hospital as is possible.

Avery looked at the bottle of sand. He put it there because Ashley needed it. The sand was hope. Hope that she'd get better. It used to be hope that his mother would.

Truthfully, all it is is a bottle of sand from a beach in Florida. Avery's mother never got to tell him why she kept it for so long, or what the significance of it was, just that it represented, or that it was hope, and that he couldn't forget that.

The silence was unbearable to Avery, but he stayed in the chair.

"Avery," His father says, "You can't keep doing this to yourself. You need to sleep, and eat, and leave this place."

"Why would I do that," Avery looked up at his father, "Why would I leave when it was supposed to be me who got sick, me who could die, and not her?"

"Avery... Why do you think that?"

"Because that's what they told you and mom. That it was genetic, and that there was a probability that I'd end up sick. They never... They didn't say that it could be her though."

His father sighed. "You weren't supposed to know any of that."

"I know a lot of things I'm 'Not supposed to'," Avery replied.

"Avery, you really should go," His sister's voice surprised him. He thought that she was asleep. "I want you to."

Avery spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper, "Can I take your car," He asked, looking at his father.

His father tossed the keys across the room to Avery. He barely caught them in his left hand. He heard his father say something that made Ashley laugh, and Avery tried as hard as he could to preserve that laugh in his mind. He didn't want to think this, but his mind didn't let him think anything else. How many more times would he hear that laugh?

Avery didn't realize how tired he was until he was half way to his house. The roads were always busy at this time of day, so he tried as hard as he could to keep his eyes open. Stay awake and alert. But he couldn't.

Avery barely noticed the car. At least, until it hit the car he was driving.