Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 9 - Grannies and Cops

We sped along the dirt road, the car jolting at every pothole and rock. I peeked across at Jack as he intently stared between the ground and the trees above us. His eyes kept flicking to the rear-view mirror, then over to my pale, beaten form as though his greatest concern was someone racing after us and kidnapping me again.

"Why do you keep checking the mirror?" I asked, sighing and shifting position in my seat. It was such a mundane, uncreative question to ask someone, especially in these circumstances, I know, but what else am I supposed to say?

"Take a wild guess, Butch," he said, blankly staring back up into the mirror.

I nodded. Perhaps it was best to stay quiet on this one. My uncreative questions don't seem to get me too far anyways. I slouched back in my seat, watching the scenery fly by as we reached the highway and turned onto it. I still wasn't feeling much better, but the ache in my head was disappearing and I no longer wanted to throw up.

The only other time in my life I can remember not feeling like shit was the day Jack disappeared. I glanced across at him as he drove, his sharp jawline tensing in the same way it used too before he spun out of control. I hugged my rib, the pain taking a hold on it briefly.

I closed my eyes; the scenes of my house filling my mind. The once white walls, now browned with age, remained still. The carpet was stained with all kinds of ugly colours and the fleas jumped from place to place like they were in a race. In the middle of the lounge room, underneath the stairs, lay a black leather couch, aged so much it was dented.

There lay my mother wailing incoherent phrases in her alcohol induced sleep.

I stood in front of her, in her dazed state, my fists finally easing. I never knew it then, but that was the last time I'd ever see Jack - until now - as he scooted past us both. He didn't utter a word as he grabbed a handful of Cheerio's from an open box and headed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. He was in a world of his own - a brief world that would never return.

At least that's what I thought when he never came back that night. I never understood why he left, but it didn't matter. He did and he left me behind to deal with all the trauma it caused our mother. Lonely little me.

I opened my eyes, glancing back across at the man who looked exactly like me only older. We both had the same deep brown eyes and the same straight noses. Our hands had the same little knocks on them, and our lips were thin, exposing dimples when we smiled. How two people could look so alike but be so different bothered me greatly.

"Watcha starin' at me for?"

I blinked, slightly startled out of my thoughts, before I opened my mouth. "Why are we so different?"

He glanced across at me, confused. "We always were. You were the smart one. I was the aggressive one."

The car returned to an awkward silence as sun glared into my eyes and glinted off the bonnet of the black vehicle. The question my lips had let loose left me feeling awkwardly exposed and clearly it made Jack feel the same way. His foot hit the accelerator and a sign whizzed past us. I swear it read '100', but I think we reached a surplus speed of two hundred, give or take a few K's.

And then, sirens.

We both looked up into the rear-view mirror, and sure enough, a cop car was racing down the highway after us. A collage of blue and red harshly lit up the rear-end of the car, and instead of slowing down and pulling over, my brother pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

"Dude!" I screamed at him. "You're going to kill us!"

He grinned. "You have to live a little, baby brother!"