Three Little Birds

Wednesday

By the time Tuesday night rolled around, Mykel's depression of the following day's anniversary had set firmly.

Unlike he had the previous week, or even the previous night, when he came home he was devoid of any smile, any jovial moods, and to say he was laconic that night was to say he was talking too much.

We heard him open the front door, Liz and I, engaged as we were in our nightly cooking lesson. We each gave pause, her mid-instruction, myself in mid-application, and we shared a glance at one another.

We had earlier discussed our theories on how tonight was going to turn out. Liz had more of a hypothesis than I, being as how she'd been there each of the five years previous.

He came into the kitchen, as customary, and grabbed a drink before turning to Liz.

"I'm not really hungry. I'm gonna go lie down for a bit."

His eyes were downcast, looking through the bottle of Simply apple juice he held in his hand, then he turned and stalked from the room. He never once made eye contact with me.

I sighed lightly, exhaling through my nostrils before turning back to Liz.

"Well...that was more than I thought he'd say." She looked sadly in the direction he had gone in. Upstairs I could faintly hear the sound of the door click into its closed position.

Liz and I ate our dinner in heavy silence, each listening with our ears bent around the corner for sounds coming from Mykel's room. We heard nothing. And somehow that scared me more than if he had have been throwing things and shattering his belongings.

It was more than an hour later that I finally gained up the courage to heat him a plate of dinner and bring it to him.

I knocked twice, soft and unobtrusive. Loud enough that if he was awake he would hear, and low enough not to disturb him if he had fallen asleep.

He opened the door slowly, his eyes reddened and swollen. He still had not looked at me, his eyes focused on the floor under our feet.

"I brought you some dinner," I whispered to him, lifting the plate that I had slightly. I smiled in an awkward discomfort, not knowing what to do.

I had convinced Liz to allow me to take the food to him. She was dubious to say the least, having been screamed at, cursed at, ignored completely. Had his anger fully thrown at her in full flames of glory. But I honestly had no concern over him hurting me physically, and any emotional damage I might incur, well, I would take my chances and sort it out later.

"I'm not hungry." He walked away leaving the door open in invitation. I followed shutting the door quietly behind me. I set the tinfoil wrapped plate alongside the apple juice. It had been left untouched, condensation dripping down the plastic bottle.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting against his knees. I sat on the floor at his feet, my crossed legs drawn up and resting against his shins. I placed my hand gently over his. Under mine, his hands were clasped so tightly that I could see the white in his knuckles between my fingers.

I could feel the slight, but constant ripples vibrating through his body where my legs touched his. I looked into his face and could see the repressed pain that seeped through the cracks of the mask he had cloaked himself with.

I ran my hands slowly up his forearms before going back down again, repeating this a few times. His skin was cold. Too cold for the temperature of the room.

"Is...is it really my fault, Mattie? Did I kill him?" His voice was hoarse, raw emotions failing to be hidden. Liz had told me that he had never shown any emotion about Kaiden's death but to her.