"Siblings"

4

Father says that soon He will be here, not too long before the homeless guest bedroom will turn into another dwelling.

I still am not exactly sure how I feel about this whole situation. It's a confused blur to me, just sitting in the back of my mind waiting for someone to explain. I shouldn't say that, though; the father has tried getting me to sit down and listen to an explanation, but I refuse to hear it.

By now it's too late. He was going to be here at any moment. He could even walk through the door right this second and it wouldn't come as a surprise.

It was a Sunday afternoon.

I was upstairs packing the last things in my book bag for school the next day when I heard a knock at the door. It was very light, almost like the person knocking was scared to want to know what awaited them on the other side.

I could hear Father open the door, and then some faint mumbling. After the mumbling stopped, the door shut with a click, and my Father called me down.

I knew he was here. Why else would he want me to come down so eagerly?

With a sigh, I placed my things down and headed his way. I was thinking about how my first impression would be to the boy. Would I come across as some shy little girl? Or maybe someone who seemed very independent. I didn't know, I had been called both once or twice in my life.

When I got down there, I was faced with a tall, pale boy. He carried only a duffle bag with him, and an extra pair of shoes in one hand.

He looked to be about my age, maybe older.

"Melanie," my Father started, "This is Oliver"

After looking at him for a moment while my dad was talking, I started to see more and more how we could be related.

His light brown hair was pushed off to the side of his forehead, his bright green eyes that shimmered when the light hit them, even our slight side smiles were almost identical. It was like I was looking at the boy version of myself.

Father had finally stopped talking but me, not paying any attention, I had replied with a, "What?"

The boy chuckled at my obliviousness, making me stare at him with a red face.

"All I said was that Oliver would be staying in the spare bedroom down the hall from now on and that I need you to be on your best behavior."

Why was he telling me that? It's not like I was a delinquent.

I nodded slowly, my eyes still glued onto the boy standing in front of me. Oliver. The name hung in my head as I thought of if that name came from my, well our, parents, or the parents he lived in Australia.

He made a shy smile to me before I wandered off back upstairs. Once in the safety of my room again, the distant rumbling started up again. I tried my best to listen but failed. As I continued to pack up my school belongings, the heavy footsteps began to travel up the stairs. I could hear the door to the room furthest from mine trail open with a creak, and his heavy footsteps made their way around the room.

Oliver's presence was almost as if an angel had come into my life. Like a piece of this home had been missing and as soon as he stepped in, everything was put together. I wondered if the reason we moved to a house with an extra bedroom while mom was sick, was because they knew that sooner or later Oliver would come join us.

I remember me asking a million questions as to why we had to move, and Father has reassured me saying that is was closer to the hospital for Mother's sake. I'm starting to think that was a lie. But why did Oliver ever leave in the first place? Why have I never heard father or mother speak his name or even give the slightest mention that I had a sibling?