"So you have like, never looked at these at all?" July asks, pointing to the box of porn comics, CDs and magazines.
"No time, no interest," I reply.
"Thoughtful of your brother to give 'em all to you, though."
"Nah, he just had no use for them after he realized he is gay."
"Excuse me? Gay in the household of Alison Lockwood?" he exclaims, once again in a bad British accent, to which I slightly smile.
It was over a year ago. Dale came back home after a week from a science event arranged by his uni, went straight to his room, then came straight to mine, dropping the box beside my table, where I was residing then, and declaring, in his usual monotone of a voice, "It appears that I'm gay." A pause, and then, "So if you aren't, feel free." And then he left.
Next day, when Dawn came, I told him to take whatever interested him. He picked up one magazine, chanted random verses from the Bible, put it back and left, saying that he will be back after a short conversation with God in the church. I laughed until my stomach couldn't take it anymore.
Presently, I tell July, "So that's how it ended up with me."
"But like, didn't you say you guys aren't close?"
"Yeah, we aren't."
"But he came out to you? That means you are close, right?"
"No. It's because he knows I don't care. And I truly don't."
"That's— that's kinda weird?"
"I know."
"What's the reason, though? You two not being close."
"Nothing at all. That's how it's been like for as long as I remember. He never showed any care for me, so I ended up doing the same. It's kind of similar with my dad too."
My whole family is pretty weird. We are all disconnected from each other, and yet we are living under the same roof. Our relationships have grown weak and cold, to the point that I have a hard time imagining I am related to them my blood.
"Hmm, but Dale did look pretty worried when you fainted," July says. "When you were asleep, he came to check on you a few times."
"Did he now?" I ask, but don't bother with that information. I complete the narrative essay, close my copy, and sigh. I look at the clock, striking a quarter to seven now, and sigh again. Time to go down for breakfast and listen to that woman's lectures.
I get up from the table and turn to July, who was pushing the porn box back under the bed. "Did you eat something? Do you want me to sneak away some food for you?"
The look he gives me makes my heart sink. He hides it quickly, then turns his face away and says, "No, my friend, you won't have to. Let's go downstairs."
------------------------
I meet Dale at the stairs as soon as I come out of my room.
He looks at me with the same tired and solemn eyes from behind his rectangular glasses. Usually, he would just avoid me and go his own way, but today, much to my surprise, he asks, "When'd you wake up?"
As I am unprepared for a question from my older brother, I take a little long to respond. I only realize that he is waiting for a reply after July nudges me. "Oh, uh, a few hours ago," I say.
Dale nods, then looks at my uniform. He points at it and asks, "Wait, you're in high school?"
I hold back a snort. At least I know that he is 22 years old and in his last year at college. It is almost funny how our relationship is - living in the same house and not knowing simple things like which grade I'm in, but knowing great secrets like what his sexuality is. I hear July's sigh of disappointment. Putting on the same frown and pointing a finger at him the same way, I ask Dale, "Wait, you're my brother?"
His expression doesn't change, which is what I expected. I remember realizing years ago that the boy who lives in the room across mine, five years older, supposedly my brother, is numb and devoid of any humane expressions. I had asked my dad once why Dale is like this, and dad had only given me a sad smile.
I pass him and head down the stairs, expecting to hear July bickering about why I said such a thing. He doesn't, and I appreciate it.
I go to the dining room, where mom is sitting and talking on the phone, while dad has his face hidden behind the newspaper. As soon as they sense my presence, mom tries to drive the conversation to an end, and dad puts down the newspaper and sits straight. Four plates are arranged in front of the four chairs, holding a sandwich, and four glasses beside them, filled with milk. Healthy and ideal breakfast. I hate it.
I occupy my usual chair, and after a while, Dale occupies the remaining one. Mom puts down the phone. It is clear from her face that she has a lot to say.
"When did you wake up?" she asks first.
Looking at the sandwich and realizing how I don't have an appetite though I am hungry and haven't eaten in like twenty hours, I reply, "A couple hours ago. I did homework."
A silence follows, during which dad coughs a little and I hear the sound of Dale drinking the milk. Then I hear her snort.
"Alright, what exactly is going on? High blood pressure? Are you serious? At the age of sixteen?"
"I'm seventeen."
But she seems to have not heard. Her tone holds mockery in a way that makes me feel extremely humiliated, though my blood pressure is entirely out of my control.
"Midterms start in less than a week and you're out here fainting due to high blood pressure? You even missed your tuition classes. But 140 at this age! What will you do once you're an adult and have real responsibilities? You have only one job now — to study. If you keep on..."
She keeps on talking, and I focus on my hands which are on my lap. I push the nail of my index finger as hard as I can on the palm of my other hand. Then I use the finger to scratch off some skin from the back of my hand. At one point, July puts his hand on mine, stopping me. I had almost forgotten that he was here. He says something, but I don't hear it well. Right now, the world consists of only me and my mother, and her words that endlessly pour out, each one a sharp knife, causing invisible wounds and bleeding.
From the corner of my vision, I notice Dale bend down and pick something up from the floor. A newspaper. He looks behind him, then back at the newspaper, where his eyes remain for a while. Then he puts the newspaper beside him, upside down.
I focus back on Mom when I hear Dawn's name.
"...told you to move on, and you keep visiting his grave everyday? How long will you keep doing this, Cedar? It's been almost nine months, for God's sake! If you don't let him go, he won't let go of you. You need to get yourse—"
"You kept on visiting grandpa's grave after he died, for many days," Dale interrupts.
I raise my head to look at him, surprised. His eyes are on his sandwich as he takes a bite. Mom and dad both stare at him for a while, surprised he spoke up.
"Not for nine months, Dale. There's a limit, even to grief," she replies calmly.
Dale actually snorts. This is something that runs in our family a lot. But someone like Dale could never dare to do so in front of our mother. The only thing common between us is that we're both weak in front of her. He finishes his sandwich. Then he says, in a very slow pace, and with lots of pauses in between, "Makes me wonder how long the limit to Cedar's grief will be when you're gone." Another snort. He takes a sip from the juice, as if already thirsty after saying two sentences. "I don't think he will miss someone who cares about his stupid school exam more than his blood pressure."
"Woah, woah," July says, "woah." And honestly July, same.
Mom looks shocked; struck speechless, in fact. Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. It's the first time I have seen her being so shocked about something we have said. Usually, I can talk back to her in moments I feel rebellious or angry, though all that disappears when I see her fiery eyes full of nothing but demands and disappointments. But never, not even once, in my entire life did I see Dale talking back to mom, and that too, in such a manner. Nor have I ever seen him say so many sentences at once. Was it because of what I said back at the stairs? Does he feel guilty or something?
I turn behind me, then look up at July, who looks a little tired. The smile he gives me is apologetic.
Whatever it is, I feel somewhat grateful to Dale.
The atmosphere is getting heavier, and once again, the headache returns. I haven't touched my food yet, and I don't want to. Dad asks Dale what's wrong, and he just gets up from the table and leaves the room. Mom sighs and dad frowns. I start feeling suffocated. It's so hard to breathe in this house.
That's when July gently nudges me and whispers, "I think we should leave, Cedar."
I have never been so grateful to have a voice say those words. I stand up, take my bag and say, "I'll eat at school. I'll cover up all the studies I missed." And then I head out of the house.
As I walk to school, July on my side, something tugs at my mind. I watch my surroundings, finding it mostly empty except a few people here and there, and tell him, without moving my mouth too much, "Say, did you do something to Dale?"
"Not really," he says and points towards an alley. We get in it together. I lean against the wall. "I just went and put yesterday's newspaper in front of him."
"Why?"
He thinks about something for a while. "Hmm, you see, for people like Dale, their love or care for a person comes out only when they are afraid of losing that person. People like him are bad at showing it, but that doesn't mean they don't care. They need a push. So I just gave him that push, just a little."
I frown. I've never thought of Dale as that kind of person. I say, "Okay but. . .how?"
"Well, yesterday's newspaper had this article in the front page. About this guy who committed suicide. I know a little about it; his situation and yours are very similar. Academic pressure from parents. And of course, Dale understood that. If it can happen to someone out there, it can happen to as well—that's what he must have thought, and feared. So he spoke for you."
"Oh . . ." Wow, doesn't that mean July manipulated him in a way? July doesn't look like the kind of person who can do that.
"You know, Cedar," he says, turning his head sideways to look at the main road getting busier by the minute. "Humans all have their own ways of showing their love. Some show it with kisses, some show it with hugs, some show it with smiles, some show it with deeds - big or small, direct or indirect. Some show it with words, in their own way. Get some sleep can mean the same as I love you, please take care. Some, like Dale, do it by standing up for you. And some others, Cedar, they do it being a bit harsh on you. But that doesn't change the fact that they love you." Then he turns to me and smiles. "Do you get what I mean?"
For a while, I only stare at him, a bit shocked. I never thought of it like that. The last bit . . . he is talking about mom, isn't he? Although I can't really wrap my head around the fact that she loves me. I feel more like an animal who has to go through harsh training in order to stun everyone with my acrobatics in the circus.
That's when I abruptly realize something. Almost every time mom would lecture me around Dale, he would say or do something to distract her from it, though he never outright said anything that went against her like he did today. If it is during mealtime, he would interrupt her and ask her to pass him something or for second servings. If it is her lecturing me coming to my bedroom like yesterday, sometimes he would come to my room and drive the topic to himself.
But his otherwise aloof behavior towards me forced me to overlook those completely. Even if I did notice it, I didn't believe he did it for me.
I nod, and then so does he, with satisfaction. Then I ask, "But you . . . it hasn't even been a day since you came. How did you figure out Dale, and even mom?" It takes a lot of time to understand people, even if you have spent your whole life with them.
He shrugs. "When you spend a long amount of time observing the people around you, you get good at those things. But anyways, aren't you hungry?"
"Yeah. No. I don't know."
"What is this, multiple choices?" He rolls his eyes. "I'll take the first option. It is still only 7, so none of the shops are open. What shall we eat? How shall we eat?"
"Ah, actually . . ." I open my bag and rummage through it, hoping it would be there. I find it, thank goodness, and fish it out to show July. My literature teacher had given it to me last week, as he is very worried about my weight.
"Snickers?" July asks.
"Hungry? Grab a snickers."
July laughs, and I can't help but smile. A thin line of sunlight is falling on his face through the narrow alley, radiating his bright skin and his cinnamon hair, and he is truly a beautiful sight.
"This will get you through a few hours I guess," he says.
"Yeah."
"Eat it now."
"Okay." I begin to start walking as I tear the wrapper, and he stops me again.
"No, eat it here. You shouldn't walk while eating."
"Wow, now you can be the mother I never had."
"Not funny."
I do as he says. As I eat, he asks, "Hey, does Dale have someone he likes?"
"How will I know that? But I don't think he is the type of person who will ever like someone."
July shakes his head, eyes squinted in doubt. "He definitely has this air around him . . ."
"What kind of air?"
He replies with a question, "Have you seen anything different about him lately?"
I frown as I think back. Something different about him? I think he has been the same way for as long as I can remember. But unless you count the . . . "Ah, he puts on perfume these days. And even hair gel."
"Bingo!" He triumphantly exclaims with a grin. When I raise an eyebrow, he asks, "What do you think the reason is?"
I try to think of a reason. "He is going through puberty late."
"No, smartass. He is in looooveee."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard it, kid. Love changes people, for better or worse, but it does." He says it like someone who has experienced it. Has he?
I shake my head. "I don't think Dale is capable of falling in love with anyone, neither is anyone capable of falling in love with him." But I also thought that Dale isn't capable of ever talking back to mom, and he has surprised me today.
"Well, it's not like he is asexual. And at the end of the day, he is still a human. And there's someone for everyone."
"Hmm," I take the last bite from the snickers, and say, "You for me, then?"
"Are you flirting with me, you obnoxious piece of horseshit?" he says, once again in a bad British accent.
"Maybe."
He shakes his head. "Anyways, you done?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, so...." He takes a few steps backwards. Suddenly, he starts talking really fast, too fast for me to perceive the words immediately, "Hear this. Me will race thee to the witch mountain. I win, you talk with Dale today, and you win, you don't have to. Go go go!" And he immediately takes off, leaving me so confused that it takes me at least three seconds to realize that it's a race, and now he has the headstart.
As I run after him, I want to scream and ask why exactly I should talk with Dale, and what exactly about. But what will the people around think? Some are already giving me looks for sprinting this early in the morning.
My legs move fast, faster than I ever thought they could. I have never been the sporty type, and I never tried unless absolutely necessary, so I just assumed that like all other nerdy people, I am bad at it. Turns out, though July is taller, with longer legs, and had a headstart, I have closed the distance between us quite soon. He turns his head back to look, and a look of shock passes on his face, and he tries to pace up. So do I.
The wind hits my face as I run, legs starting to ache up to my thighs, but I don't stop. I don't know if the speed is coming from the strong determination of not having to talk with Dale about whatever July wants us to talk about, or is it just that I am a born Usain Bolt, but when I pass July, giving him a proud look as I do, I feel a childish sense of triumph in my heart, an overwhelming feeling of achieving something so trivial as beating my invisible friend to a stupid morning race.
I'm awed at how such a minor thing is actually giving me happiness.
Seeing the road ahead me clear of any obstacles, I briefly raise my head above and look at the cloudless blue sky, hovering over me like an infinite planetarium. I imagine Dawn being somewhere up there, watching me, and wondering why in the world I am grinning like a fool while running.
I stop at the back of the school, where a small driveway leads to the parking lot. We are still early, so there aren't many people here yet, except the security guard. He gives me a weird look as I lean against a wall and catch my breath. Was it really okay for me to run this much after fainting from high blood pressure just yesterday? Doesn't matter. I feel refreshed.
July catches up about five seconds late. He isn't heaving like I am, or heaving at all. I glance at the guard, who was also occasionally glancing at me. He doesn't acknowledge July, because of course he can't.
A row of trees I don't know the name of line the path leading to the parking lot. I walk over to one of them and hide myself behind the moderately thick trunk as much as possible from the sight of the guard.
I take some more heavy breaths. July says, "Damn it, I never thought your short legs would win."
"Don't underestimate the 2 centimetres difference," I reply, between breaths.
"How do you feel?"
"Tired. Hungry." After pausing, I add, "And good. I feel very good."
He laughs. "Running is freedom, buddy. Every time shit goes down, fucking run."
"Alright," I say and smile, as easily as I used to, with Dawn.
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Hello readers! How are you liking the story so far? July and Cedar are getting closer, and soon, more people will join them!
I hope all of you are taking care of yourselves and staying home as much as you can. It is a hard time for the world, but we will definitely get through it!
Though Cedar's life is a lot like mine, I'm at least glad that my parents aren't anything like that. They are both wonderful people and they support my writing as a hobby and encourage me a lot. I have a normal relationship with both of them, but generation gap does get in between sometimes. I just wish i never took the academic pressure on myself as a kid, or I would have a much better childhood. Well, regrets and regrets — they will never end.
Anyways, thanks a lot for reading. See you time :)
- love, Poma