Knocks sounded out as my fist hit the wooden door.
"What are you doing?" I called to Garrett on the other side. "I have school. John needs you."
There were grumbles and mumbled words. I heard the shuffle of sheets and the creak of the bed. He was always sleeping. Usually, he didn't wake until the afternoon. I knew that he disappeared to his room early on in the night, but I wasn't sure if it was to go to sleep or to have alone time.
"Not now."
"What do you mean 'not now?' I'm leaving."
I tried the door handle, but it stopped halfway to a full rotation: locked.
Looking up, I jumped and swiped my hand blindly across the top of the dusty door frame. I cursed as my finger was cut into by a splinter of wood. Sucking the blood from the pulsing skin, I retrieved the thin, tiny pole of metal that flew off and slid across the worn wooden floor.
I stuck the key into the hole of the doorknob, and I slowly rotated it inside of the knob until the straight end of it fit into a hole of the same shape. I rotated it a final time to unlock the door and pushed it open with quick force.
My brother shouted at me.
"Hey!"
He was out of bed and at the door in an instant, pushing me back. It looked like he just woke up: his hair was a mess, and his shirt was tucked awkwardly into his sweats. His voice was harsh as he spoke to me, but something in his tone seemed weak.
"What the hell did I say, brat?"
His jaw was tight and his eyes burned into my own. I cowered under his glare, and I was aware of his fingernails digging into the skin of my upper arm. I tried to pull away, but he gripped me harder, pulling me closer to whisper his frustration into my ear.
"I'll get to John when I get to him, but for now, leave me alone."
"...Okay."
I wasn't proud of how small my voice sounded.
Because of his towering height blocking everything from my view, I didn't realize that another person was with him until I heard his voice. Instantly recognizing it, the tension was sucked from my body.
"Come on, don't be so hard on him."
He entered my view, looking at me over Garrett's shoulder. His expression was warm, just as it always had been since the beginning of his friendship with my brother.
"He's just looking out for family."
My eyes conveyed to him gratitude, and he gave an upward jerk of the head in acknowledgement. What kept the two of them best friends was beyond me. I didn't understand how they got along, especially because of the way Garrett's heart had fallen out of place within the last couple years. If today was the last day Owen stepped foot into our home, I wouldn't be surprised.
But I was happy that it wouldn't be. I liked having him around.
"Right. Sorry."
I couldn't tell if Garret's apology was directed toward me or his friend, but either way, it was unexpected. Still, it didn't mean I wasn't appreciative.
"It's okay."
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There was a head-shaped hole in the front door, and it was mended with cardboard taped over it. There had been a night when my dad came home from God knows where, and from the way he banged on the door, Garrett and I knew that it would be dangerous letting him in.
What we didn't think about was that our refusal to let him in would only escalate his anger. He busted a hole into the door with his foot, reached in, and unlocked the door himself. The night ended with me in bruises and bleeding, unable to move from the spot under the dining table that I had retreated under, and Garrett had been knocked out from either a head injury or loss of blood. John was locked in the room under the stairs that I had hidden him in, and he wasn't let out until morning when I was able to get to him.
As I forced the memory out of my head, I noticed a corner of the cardboard where the tape had lifted off. I pushed the tape back down onto the door even though it had lost adhesive.
The bus wasn't here yet.
"Can we get ice cream today, Uncle Owen?"
I looked over my shoulder to see our guest on the floor with John, playing with Hot Wheels together as Garrett sat on the couch, eyes unfocused, zoning out as usual.
"Hmm. That does sound good, but that's our thing for Sunday, remember? If we have it every day, it won't feel as special."
John pouted, but he let go of the topic quickly when Owen let him have his car, the one he had been eyeing for a while.
I began to wonder if the bus had already stopped by and if I had missed it.
"I'm hungry...did you bring food with you again?"
John rested his head against the couch, his hand on his stomach after he dropped his car, his face contorting in discomfort. Owen frowned and shared a look with Garrett, who rolled his eyes lightly and rested his chin on his hand, looking away.
"I'm sorry, buddy, but I forgot this time. I was in too much of a hurry to get here to make sure that your brother was okay after the wreck."
My chest felt tight and heavy as I got into the back of Garrett's car, setting my backpack beside me on the seat. I felt guilty for receiving food at school while John didn't eat. I decided that I would give away my food to another kid at my table, just like I had done many times before. It seemed fair that way.
Owen rode with us, because John had been put down for a nap. It was okay for him to be alone while he slept, as long as our dad wasn't home.
My cheek rested against the cold window as rain pattered softly against it. I subconsciously bet on raindrops I predicted would win the race to the bottom of the window. A couple of them did.
"After we drop Jamie off, let's stop by McDonald's. For Johnie."
Owen's offer was quickly shot down by my irritated brother, "Shut up. Just stop offering, okay? I'm tired of saying no."
"Then say 'yes.""
Even though he tried, Garrett could never keep a job due to the fact he was never sober. He hated being the weight on other people's shoulders, but addiction was hard to beat. He wasn't as independent as he thought he was. While it was true that he didn't rely on people, he was dependent on something else.
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I despised school. It wasn't because I disliked seeing people or doing homework; it just wasn't a place of escape like other people used it as. Most viewed it as a place where they could be themselves without the prying eyes of their parents, and they would goof off with their friends and say things they wouldn't normally say.
Even though I was away from my father, I still felt the pressure to be good enough for someone, that someone being me when I was away from home. I wasn't good at anything; I didn't have any natural talents. But school. All you had to do to obtain A's was pay attention. I could do that.
It started off when I got my first real A as a child. I remembered being ecstatic— I was finally good at something. The problem was that it felt too easy. So, my standards began to raise: a 90% was practically a B. It could be an 89.5% rounded up, and that was still a B. To 95% meant that there was still room for improvement, and it felt like I was doing the bare minimum to succeed. A 96%-99% irritated me, because it meant that I made one little mistake. How stupid was I to make such a small error when I was so close to perfection?
It exhausted me. I was tired at home, and I was tired at school.
It was my first day back to school since the wreck, and I hadn't regained many memories of friends or anything yet. Most were about my home life, unfortunately. Did I have any friends?
When I took a random seat in my first class, I wasn't joined by anyone. A couple of kids glanced in my direction, but that was all. My eyes searched the room, expecting a familiar face to jog my memory. A girl's eyes caught my own, and she smiled a little, looking away quickly. She was cute.
As the teacher began roll call, I listened intently to each one, committing each to memory in case it belonged to her.
Until one name ruined my focus completely.
"Benjamin Moore."
What?
The girl responded to the name following that one, but my brain didn't catch it due to my surprise. Since when was there a kid named Benjamin?
My eyes instantly landed on the boy who responded. He sat in the other back corner, the seat in front of him and beside him empty. His response to the call had been muffled, since his head was buried in his arms. He was a sleeper.
Why did that name seem so familiar to me?
Maybe he was a friend of mine.