Past the Veil of Reality

Chapter One

I never could have imagined the toll losing a family member, moreover a sibling, would have on a person. Not until I have experienced it myself. For me, it was my brother, Beau. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was killed in a fatal drunk driving accident. The guy who did it has to do jail time and counseling‒ in my eyes, that's definitely not a satisfying punishment for a murderer. My brother is gone and there's no way I can ever get him back while this moron gets to keep his life. It's not fair. Beau was too young. He didn't deserve to die. Not now. Not like that. Why do shitty things happen to good people? Beau was a good person; he didn't deserve to be killed! He had so much to live for! He was making something of himself and it was all trashed by a drunken asshole in a flashy sports car. As if being angry at the guy that killed Beau isn't bad enough, I can't stop blaming myself for what happened to him. I was supposed to be in the car with him. But I was running late that night because I lost my ticket to the concert we were going to.

It's funny, I see this kind of stuff on TV all the time and I never think twice about it. All those dismal drunk driving videos the school would make us watch in driver's ed. I never would've imagined something like that happening to my family. Now I find myself consumed with thoughts of the accident when I have nothing else to keep my mind occupied. I haven't been able to sleep because hypotheticals keep me awake at night. What if he had just arrived at the intersection a minute later? What if he took the long way to the concert? What if I was there with him? I should've been in the car with him. I know I should be thankful that I wasn't in the car that night, but I can't help wishing that I was. At least that way I could've been with him in his final moments rather than suffer the aftermath. Now all I can do for him is shed tears in his memory.

Before all this, I rarely ever cried; but lately I can't seem to stop. Every other minute some insignificant little thing reminds me of Beau. If not that, then it's my own brain recalling memories of him that make me lose it. I've heard people tell me that stupid he's in a better place now phrase, and I wish I could believe them. I want to believe that there's something after this life, but it just doesn't seem plausible to me. Maybe if I did believe, I would feel at least a little closure.

I let out a sigh at the thought of feeling even remotely fine and look at myself in the mirror before leaving the comfort of my gloomy bed room. My dirty blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun and I have dark circles under my slate grey eyes from lack of sleep. Today will be my first day back at school since Beau died, and I don't think I'm mentally or physically prepared to face the I'm sorry for your loss-s and how are you doing-s. Half the people at that school don't actually care about Beau or how I'm doing. They only ask because they feel like they have to. Oh gosh, this girl just lost lost her brother, what do I say to her to show her I'm capable of being empathetic? My preference‒ nothing. Just don't say anything. I don't care for your pity so save your breathe. It's not like anything anyone can say will bring him back.

"Maya, hurry up or you're gonna be late for school," my mom calls from downstairs. Mom is better at concealing her grief in front of people. But I know she lets it all out at night when no one can see her. I can hear her sobbing in the kitchen from my room. I can't say it doesn't break my heart to know she's hurting from a pain she doesn't deserve.

"I'm coming," I respond glumly, trudging downstairs and swinging my backpack over one shoulder.

Today is going to be actual hell, and I'm trying to brace myself as best as I can. I don't really have an appetite by the time I get downstairs but mom urges me to eat. I end up just grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl on the dinner table and leaving the house with it.

When I step outside, the crisp, autumn air fills my lungs. Autumn is my favorite season, despite the fact that I have to deal with allergies. My street is already littered with leaves from the giant trees that stand proud in the front lawns of the old style houses. This time of year, it's especially pleasing to look at. I remember last year around this time, I took a photo of my street and entered it in my school's art show. I ended up winning second place for it. I was so proud of myself that day and Beau was thrilled that I won something for my work, even if I didn't come in first. He took me out to Redd's, a local diner in our small town of Pawnee, Indiana. We had a fun time chugging milkshakes and seeing how many fries we could fit into our mouth. It was simple, but still one of my best memories of him. A smile flickers on my face for a split second at the memory of him and I shed a single tear upon remembering that I can't have moments like that with him ever again. I wipe my eye and sniffle. Don't cry. Please don't cry again. I take in a shaky deep breath to try to calm myself down. I really don't need to get to school with puffy, red eyes. I'm better off hiding my grief.