Seven months. Seven months after the accident, I still feel the same. I still miss him. It's been so long since I lost my brother Andrew, but my parents are still hurting. I can see it in their eyes when I talk about the things we used to do. It's been over half a year and I still feel the pain of memory every day.
It was a tragic accident.
There was a firm knock on the door; my father opened it to see a policewoman and a fireman with grim looks on their faces. I had already gone to bed, but the sound of the creaking hinges and hushed talk woke me up. I crept down the hallway, careful not to make any noise. My mother started to cry, deep and painful gasps of air that were soon muffled into a hug. I sat at the top of the stairs and waited, not sure what to do.
"He died instantly," the fireman had said—the same one who'd cut him out of the smashed car.
I walked down the stairs, tears welling up in my eyes. My father saw me, and pulled me in with my mother. I had never seen my parents so vulnerable. They knew something was wrong when Andrew wasn't home two hours after he said he would be.
So smashed, I imagined he'd had to be sawed with a giant blade from the metal beast that had crushed him. It had only been a few weeks after my seventeenth birthday, in early October. I remember the sinking in my gut and the stabbing in my chest while I sat at the top of the stairwell like it was yesterday.
Seven months.
I walked to school with my earbuds in. The light rain falling to my feet added to the rhythm of the streets. My hair was damp from the weather, but it would be tied up soon anyway. It didn't rain very often here, but when it did, it rained hard for a few minutes and then stopped for two months.
Walking alone. It had always been this way. I didn't know many people who lived in my area, let alone someone I would walk with. My brother always walked with his older friends, and I trailed behind. After he died, the group had slowly broken apart.
When I arrived at the front doors of the school, I adjusted my shoulder bag and pulled the door open with my free hand. Inside, Hayley was already waiting for me in the foyer. Groups of other students walked by, and I wove through them. She walked over to me as I tugged my earbuds out of my ears.
"You know, I can give you a ride to school. Your house is on the way," she offered.
We both knew it wasn't. She would have to drive past the school to get me.
"No, it's okay. I like to walk." I shrugged.
Walking to school – especially on rainy days – was my least favourite thing to do. Despite this, I didn't want Hayley to go out of her way and pick me up for school. It was easier for us both if I walked, even if it meant me getting a little damp or sweating a bit on some mornings.
She walked beside me down the hallway to my locker in one of the wings of the school. When we got there, she leaned on the locker beside mine while I spun the code into my lock. I slid off my wet jacket and hung it on the hook, then pulled my binder out from the bottom of my locker.
"What class do you have first?" Hayley asked.
"English or something," I grumbled.
"I thought you liked English."
I locked my locker, and we continued down the hallway and out of the wing, to where we always sat before class, out in the courtyard.
"I do, but this teacher drives me crazy. She's got no emotions."
