This Side of the Wall

Chapter 1

Waking up; it’s so strange. Your body is fast asleep, and then, gradually, you start to become aware of things; light streaming through the window; a bird outside. But you don’t become fully conscious right away. You hear something, make a small and unsuccessful attempt at opening your eyes, and then roll over and go back to sleep. The whole process usually takes quite a while.

            Usually.

            This morning, though, it’s like being hit by a bomb. My eyes spring open to the sound of my brother yelling in the kitchen. Our quarters are so tiny that any little sound carries easily through unfinished walls, and even if they were thicker, it wouldn’t matter. The one and only room lost its door a long time ago. Long before I was born.

            I grumpily pull the sheets off of my head and stand up slowly from the old ripped mattress that is our bed. On the way into our tiny gray kitchen I glance down at my feet, and catch sight of my bare toes plodding on the cold floor. I sigh and kick away a sheet of peeling gray paint. I am so sick of this house. So sick of this place. So sick of this stupid town. I swear, as soon as mom gets out of the hospital, we are leaving; and never coming back. But, even as I think this, I know it’s a hollow dream. My mom’s not getting out of the hospital. I’m not leaving. And we are not moving. We aren’t moving, because my brother is still convinced my mom will be out of the hospital soon. And when she gets out of the hospital, we won't have enough money to move, what with all the health care bills. If she gets out of the hospital —not that I really care if she does.

            I haven’t seen her in a long time. I think about it. How long? I don’t know. A few months? A year? Longer? Too long, I know, but every time I walk in there, the smell is exactly the same, and the grey walls are so close, my breath catches in my throat and I just can’t handle the rush of memories that unfailingly come to drown me. And I can’t get out fast enough. Most of the time I don’t even make it to her room. So, lately, I’ve stopped trying. And I blame it on her. The accident. The fire. Everything. Even though, in my mind, I know it really wasn’t her fault. And I wonder; who then? Who’s fault? But I already know the answer, and the truth makes my breathing hurt and my heart stop, and I lie down at night and hate myself to sleep.

 
          “Aerie?” startled, I look up into my brother’s tired eyes. He seems older now; drained. I remember when it was different, when his eyes were always full of their light and spark, making it seems like the life in him was full to the brim, and when he looked at you, you could see it pushing at the walls, too big to fit inside this small boy. I frown. Not anymore, though. Not since it happened, and all the responsibilities fell on his shoulders like a tone of bricks.


           I know it’s there though. I see it sometimes, when he’s with his friends, or talking to some girl on the phone, or joking with me at night before we go to sleep. But too often, all I see is this tired young man who has so much to do and is much too young to be able to do it all. Like now, as he sits at our counter with his face in his hands. His voice is muffled. “You have to go to school today.” He tells me, and I flinch at how tired his voice sounds. He looks up at me expectantly, almost begging, and I nod. It was the principal on the phone. I feel a wave of guilt rush through me, because I know I’ve been missing way too much school lately, and it isn’t fair for Robin. He shouldn’t have to worry about me on top of everything else.


          So, I go to school today. I take my books and my lunch and my shoes, and I bring them all with me. And when I see my teachers, they will look at me cross, and they will be strict and humorless. And after I have left, and class is over, they will sit around a table; talk and gossip. And they will fight over which of them finally got through to me. I scowl. Let them. Who cares what they think? I don’t. Because they are wrong; every single one of them. They are wrong, and I know it, because there are only two people in this world who I care about enough to make me change my mind. My brother, Robin, with his scruffy blonde hair and dark eyes that never really lost their sparkle. Robin. And Sky.