“You are the only one that decides if you want your past to affect you, have an effect on you, or if you are going to let it infect you.”- Rory Harold




“Mother, please! Let me out, I’ll be a good boy. Please, it's cold and dark in here,” Brian begged. He curled up on the basement’s cold cement stairs against the door of the house, “Please Mother. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

“Brian?”

Brian perked up at the sound of his mother’s voice coming from the other side of the door, “Mommy?”

Joan banged against the door, startling Brian as he was standing up. The boy fell down the seven stairs, breaking his left arm as it crushed under his body weight at the odd angle of the stairs; he finally rested on his shoulder and head in a heap at the landing.

“You be quiet down there or I’m going to tell your father where you are once he gets home! You be quiet or he’s going to find you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Brian whispered, fearfully.

Joan didn’t hear her son’s whisper. She didn’t care too, all she knew was that she’d heard his sissy sobbing stop, which was all that mattered to her. She walked away from the basement door and went to the kitchen. Once there she sat down and poured herself a glass of wine. Taking a long drink, she sighed in contentment. Happy to have a moment’s peace.

Brian wasn’t feeling peaceful at all. In fact, he was barely feeling anything. There was a deep cut in the back of his head, courtesy of his mother’s dictionary hitting him yesterday when he’d failed to arrange the books on her shelf in alphabetical order. Brian had thought he’d done a good job, but Mommy wanted him to arrange them by author, not by title. She’d taken him into the bathroom and viscously shaved off the spot of his hair and sutured the wound with one of her thick sewing needles and his father’s fishing line. Brian’s fall down the stairs reopened the cut and now it oozed sticky blood down the back of his neck.

He didn’t shed any tears that would clear the grime of the dusty floor off his face. But, he did manage to slide himself a few feet across the room. He didn’t want his Daddy or Mommy stepping on him if they found him in front of the stairs. His head throbbed, but Brian didn’t feel it, the pain inflicted on him was so common now that in a way, his brain rewired itself to accept the punishment without shock to his system. Though the physical effects still disabled the boy.

He cracked his left eye open as much as he could and slid himself over near the tiny window in the basement. It was small and there was no way Brian could open it from the inside, he’d tried many times before, but it did let in a little bit of light from the early afternoon summer sun. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes as he reached the warmer spot and passed out cold.

A few hours later, Brian awoke when he heard the sound of banging. At first, his ears couldn’t pick up where the noise was coming from. He tried to open his eyes but it was too bright so he closed them and waited, trying to get himself back to the place he went to when his Father would come home. He was sure the noise was his father unlocking the basement door. Brian lay, curled in a ball, holding his unmovable left arm with his right one. He shivered from the cold and loss of blood and wished that he could go back to sleep, away from the world again.

“Brian!”

Brian jumped, it wasn’t his mother’s or his father’s voice. He slowly turned over and did his best to squint into the light.

“Brian! Wake up!”

“Cynnie?”

“Stay there! I’m getting my Daddy!”

Brian was sure he only imagined his friend’s head peeking in through the window to the basement. No one was supposed to know. No one could ever find out. He knew that. So he just turned back over and closed his eyes again.

A few minutes later Brian heard the sound of sirens outside and then the sound of rushing feet. He heard deep male voices calling his name, but he was too terrified to answer them. The twelve-year-old just held onto his hurt arm and tried to block the world out as he hummed softly to himself.

He jolted from his fantasy world when he heard a loud crash. The basement flooded with the light from the kitchen and Brian shook even more as he saw a pair of footsteps coming down and a deep voice yelling his name. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that his father would leave him alone if he pretended he was passed out still. He tried his best to remain, breathing evenly, but his heart raced as the footsteps and loud noises and yells got closer to him. He braced himself for impact, knowing that if his Daddy kicked him he’d probably make contact with his hurt arm.

“Son….”

Brian opened his eyes in panic as a hand was gently placed on his back. He whispered in shock, “Mr. Prescott?” Brian looked behind the man and could see police officers standing behind the man.

“Just stay still Brian,” the man told the boy.

“Brian!” Cynthia sat beside her father. “Brian…” she sobbed.

Brian started to cry too and he mumbled through his bruised swollen lips, “I’m in trouble.”

“No,” Sam Prescott told the boy gently. “You’re not in trouble.” The doctor turned to look at the paramedics who were carrying a stretcher down the basement stairs. “Come on hurry up. We’ve got to get him to the hospital.”

“No,” Brian cried and tried to move, but his body wasn’t listening.

“Brian, Daddy’s gonna help you,” Cynthia told her friend, grasping one of his dirty feet in her hands, it was the only part on her friend’s body that didn’t look hurt.

“No! Daddy can’t pay! He’ll lose his job!” Brian cried, trying to shuffle back away from the woman paramedic.

Sam looked at the boy, “Shh… Brian. It doesn’t matter if he can’t pay. I’ll pay, you’re going to come and live with Cynthia and me. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Brian closed his eyes, “Dreaming now?”

“No Brian,” Sam said emotionally. “You’re not dreaming kiddo. Now let us get you to the hospital and we’ll talk more after we get you fixed up okay.”

“Yeah Brian,” Cynthia told her best friend. “Daddy is gonna help you and you can live with us now. Everything will be okay.”

***

Friday, February 22, 2008

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this Justin,” Jennifer shouted into her cell phone.

Justin rolled his eyes, “You’re lucky that I’m not suing you mother.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jen hissed.

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not your mother.”

“You’re disowning me because I cut you off from stealing my money?” Justin couldn’t believe it. “What about your grandchildren Mom… I thought that…”

“You think I should support the biggest mistakes of your life, Justin? Go talk to Jon. See if he has the balls to clear it all up for you. Don’t contact Daphne or me again.”

Justin hadn’t thought his mother would be so unreasonable. She was acting as though it were herself that were cheated and not the other way around, “But mom.”

“I told you. I’m not your mother!”

Justin gasped when he heard Jennifer disconnect the call. He sat with his phone in his hand, staring off into space. He’d never imagined for his Mom to be so cruel. He knew that money, success, and fame was important to her, he knew that he wouldn’t have much contact with her, but the way she’d spoken to him had been… well, it sounded as though she really meant it. He couldn’t believe it! But then she’d also brought Jon into the conversation. Justin didn’t understand what Jon had to do with any of it.

He quickly dialed the man’s phone number and was disappointed when all he received was the man’s voicemail, “Jon. It’s Justin I’m… I just got off the phone with my mother and she said some things… I don’t know she’s really gone crazy here. I’m heading to the airport tomorrow morning. If you get this message after that can you call me tomorrow evening and maybe we can arrange getting together? Otherwise, I'll be here at the hotel the rest of the night. I miss you. Bye.”

Justin closed the phone and tried to regulate his increased breathing. It had been a rough six weeks. He was happy though that he’d finally be back at home, even if it were without Brian. There was a lot to look forward to, even though there still felt to be so many things up in the air and too many unanswered questions.

***

Brian stood behind a large, barren oak tree. He watched, mostly detached from the scene before him. The snow fell heavily around the small group of people, all dressed in black ratty looking coats, their tears accepting the cold wind blowing around them, chilling them to the bone. Brian, however, was warm, he stood underneath a large black umbrella, and his coat was thick down, his gloves kept his fingers warm, his thick red beanie hat and red wool scarf kept the chill away.

His hazel eyes centered in on the pine box being slowly lowered into the ground. There were no flowers laid upon it, only cold, brown dirt heaped itself inside as the minister spoke of the woman inside it, his words barely reaching Brian’s ears.

He turned and walked away, his heavy boots making tracks in the compacted snow. Brian reached for the handle on his door and was about to open it when he heard his name being called. He froze in place, trying to decide whether to get into the car and speed off into Chicago’s busy traffic or turn around. Before he could decide, he heard a person come up behind him.

“Brian? Is that you?”

Brian slowly turned around, his umbrella, still keeping the snow from falling upon him. He greeted the woman, “Claire.”

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said, wiping her tears with the back of her purple mitten.

Brian nodded, “I shouldn’t have.”

“Why don’t you call me? I’m your family Brian I…”

“You remind me too much of them,” Brian growled, pointing to the gravesite where his mother and father’s bodies now decomposed.

Claire’s eyes become glassy as she obviously struggled with an outburst of emotion, “I’m not them Brian. I haven’t… I don’t talk to them. I haven’t since you were twelve.”

Brian closed his umbrella and opened his car door, he couldn’t stand there another minute but then Clair had her arms wrapped around him from behind. He wanted to push her away but he didn’t. He stood there, stock still, the snow now touching his warm cheeks, his eyes burning from the whipping cold and from the tears that sprang into them. He fought hard to remain in control as he turned and gently pushed his sister away from him, “I’ve got to go.”

“I was away at college when it started Brian,” Claire told him desperately. “When I talked to you, you sounded just fine. I thought that they liked you. I thought they treated you good because Jack always said he wanted a son.”

Brian cringed, “He didn’t.”

Claire reached up and brushed the tears from Brian’s cheeks, “I read your articles in the paper and every time I do I just want to know you, Brian. You’re my little brother. I’ll never forgive myself for not being able to protect you. If I’d have known I would’ve taken you away myself.”

Brian turned and climbed into his car.

Claire leaned down and kissed his cheek, “Please just call me.” She pointed over to where the people in the ratty black coats were, “That’s my husband and my two little boys Brian. I want you to meet them. I want you to be a part of my family. And, well you probably can’t tell in this winter coat, but Brian, I’m pregnant again. I’m having a little girl this time and I’d love for you to get to know us.”

Brian wanted to give his sister what she wanted, but he wasn’t sure if he could. “You… you can call me.”

Claire smiled through her tears, “I don’t have your number, Brian.”

Brian reached into his glove box and dug out one of his business cards.

He handed it to his sister, “Here.”

Claire nodded and asked carefully, “Do you have a family Brian?”

Brian didn’t want to answer that question, he couldn’t. “Ca…Call me later next week.”

“I will,” his sister said gratefully. “Bye Brian.”

“Bye,” Brian whispered, closing his door and starting his engine. He wasn’t sure what had propelled him to give his sister his card, but there was a tiny part of him, deep down, that told him that he’d done the right thing.