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Eric never drew pictures as he did in elementary again. After the vicious attack from that mysterious boy, he closed in on himself. He stopped talking to the girls at snack and lunchtime. He stopped playing hero, and he stopped trying to rescue others. From that day forward, the only thing he ever thought about was protecting me.
“Tell your brother he’s late to basketball!” Some kid called out to me as I passed the gymnasium. I pretended not to hear and smiled back at him with a kind wave. I didn’t want to talk to Eric at the moment, not after the ruckus he made at lunch last Friday. He had quite the outburst, and while I wasn’t listening very well despite it being directed at me, I heard Maurice’s name fall through his lips more than several times. That immediately made me want to shut out his voice.
He had been so distant recently, I kind of wondered what was wrong, but it didn’t take too long for me to realize that he was jealous. Jealous of me and Maurice! Can it even be imagined? Sam, having a friend other than his obsessive twin brother! Absolutely unheard of. Of course, it wasn’t only Maurice and me. It was Piggy and me, and also Simon and me. The list could carry on and on.
Usually, I wouldn’t mind him fawning over me. It didn't bother me when I was little, in fact, I quite enjoyed it. However, since we entered middle school, things started spiraling out of control. Eric’s temper began to flare up, and soon I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone but him. It was subtle, but he clearly didn’t approve that I was forming relationships with people aside from him. It was totally unfair and totally unjustified.
Sure, I was shy and scared as a little kid, but growing up meant both of us had to expand our narrow views and open up to others. Eric didn’t seem to want to grow up. I was grateful that he never got physical in his anger, but it still frustrated me to know that it was his fault we were tearing apart at the seams. All he ever did was hide me behind his back and block me from falling into the hands of anyone else but him. It was for that reason I stopped walking home with him when freshman year rolled around.
Maurice and Piggy started inviting me to karaoke twice a week, which gave me a nice, solid reason to walk home either by myself or with them. In fact, last Tuesday, I had gone to karaoke with them for the first time in a long while because I was jam-packed with assignments before then. It was sort of a lame excuse to leave my brother to his own devices, but I really hadn’t wanted to listen to him go on and on as he always did. He didn’t try to walk with me after that.
I was a bit relieved. I hadn’t had a peaceful walk home in forever, and now I finally had some stillness. I supposed Eric would probably have gone back home, neglecting to show up at basketball completely. I’d stop by the library to pick up some books before heading home. It was Thursday, so I didn’t have to worry about computer club. I gathered my belongings at my locker and headed for the library with some pep in my step.
I loved the library. It was always so quiet and it gave me a true sense of security and serenity. I loved the tacky carpet and the metal bookshelves that didn’t match it at all. I preferred inspiring nonfiction, so that’s the section I searched for. I found myself walking quite briskly; a good book would keep me wonderful company for the next week or so. I turned the corner into the aisle and my face ended up planted straight into the arm of a school sweater.
“Pardon me.” I backed up and stepped away to come face to face with piercing red eyes and ruffled black hair. “Ah, Roger.”
His face said nothing. He stayed quiet. Awkward silence sat stagnant around us as we stared at each other. Roger was my upperclassman by one year, but we never talked. He was actually a transfer student just this year, but he had picked a fight with Eric on the first day of school. Both of them walked away with bloody noses.
“What brings you here?” I tried to ease the tension. He perked up as if he wasn't aware I was even there.
“I come here sometimes after school,” he said quickly. “I skipped choir club today.” Silence. I nodded before starting to walk around him.
“Wait.”
I turned with a questioning look. “Yes?”
“I wanted to speak with you, so I came. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all,” I puzzled. He beckoned toward the armchairs in the kid's section and we sat down. What could he possibly want with me? I hadn’t done anything to him. My nerves seemed to be failing me. It was my turn to jolt when he finally spoke up.
“It wasn’t— it wasn’t me who was going to talk to you,” he confessed. “Simon planned on talking to you after choir club, but I told him I’d do it since something came up in his family.”
Simon wanted to talk to me? What for? He had even less reason to talk to me than Roger did. The two of us were on good terms, but it wasn’t like we couldn’t just talk at lunch.
“It’s about your brother.” Dread overcame my nervous fidgeting. What about him? Was he okay? Was that why he didn’t go to practice?
“What happened to my brother?” I asked, keeping the most composed face I could muster.
“He’s fine as far as I know. I don’t know where he is,” Roger assured me. “What happened to him? That’s what Simon wanted to ask. He told me that Eric stopped coming to school altogether. He tried calling his phone, but nobody answered.”
I didn’t reply. I hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t at school, and I had no idea how long ago this started. I did know that I’d been leaving home earlier than him and that I’d been arriving home after him, but I had not put two and two together. Knowing him, after that little tantrum he’d thrown, he would shut himself in his room and sulk about it. I sighed with exasperation.
“He’s pouting and feeling sorry for himself,” I grumbled. “You don’t have to worry. He rarely charges his phone, so it was most likely dead. I haven’t been walking home with him and he threw a fit last Friday in the lunchroom.”
“I’m aware,” he remarked dully. “We were all there. I figured that had something to do with it. He said some pretty nasty things about Maurice.” He seemed to lose himself in thought. “You should speak with him, Sam.”
“Why should I? It’s none of my business what he thinks about Maurice. Maurice didn't even bring it up last week, so it must not have bothered him!” It wasn't a lie, Maurice really didn't seem to remember at all. Apart from that, I wasn't positive what Eric had said that day anyway, so I guessed it really wasn't my business.
“I don’t think so. We all heard what he said, and none of it was good. He talked down to you the most, so I do believe that you are a part of this problem.” He became somewhat more stern. “Simon was worried Eric became sick, but I think it's something else. Why don't you think it's your business?”
“It’s not my fault! All he wants is to keep me away from everyone else but him!” I tried to keep my yell to a whisper, but I still attracted some judgmental glares. “He’s a selfish prick, and I haven't done anything wrong.”
Roger didn't reply. The look that came over him made me want to bury myself. My remark was not appreciated. Those glassy ruby eyes that gleamed with disapproval seemed so familiar.
“Enough.” He waved his hand with a quiet murmur. “I know what this is now. It's clear to me what the problem is.” My whole body tensed. Why was I feeling this way? There was no reason for me to be afraid of the boy who never talked to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, barely keeping my voice from some kind of pathetic whimper. It felt like some kind of compulsion or reflex more than a conscious act of asking forgiveness, though I knew I needed not ask for mercy from him. Considering, he had become unexpectedly kind after that first fight at the beginning of the year.
“You don't have to apologize, it’s just something I noticed.” Roger let the disappointment fade from his gaze and he met mine. “I’ll walk you to the train station once we check out some books.” He motioned to the bookshelves I had yet to peruse. “Being here around others will make you more uncomfortable, so we can talk outside.”
I only nodded. He got up and returned to the books, and I followed. We spent a few minutes picking out some novels and history books before we checked out at the front counter and left. Roger stayed quiet for a while as we walked along the road to the station.
“You know, when I was little, I was in the same position as you are now.” He finally spoke up. He seemed to be staring into a place far away.
“What are you talking about?”
“I was really bitter. The same way Eric and you are bitter, except I wasn't as easily fixed as you can be.”
“Fixed? That's preposterous. We can't be fixed. That's dumb.”
“Maybe that wasn't the best way to put it,” he contemplated. “The problem is a lack of communication, and that's not Simon speaking, it's me.”
“You? What made you think that’s the problem?” I demanded.
“Do you mind if I tell you something?” Roger asked. He didn’t let me answer before he began. “My father died when I was little. I was around five years old.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don't feel bad, it was a long time ago, and I've let it go myself. My mother was the money maker, and she still is, but my dad was the one who really raised me. They were both very young to be parents, so it was somewhat of a struggle. My mom worked at least three part-time jobs back then, and my dad stayed home with me. He always told me he wanted me to grow up to be kind and fair, you know like Simon ended up. I loved that man more than anything in the entire world. He probably was my world.
“But he got sick. It was a hereditary illness that ran on his side of the family. He was bedridden for more than three months before he died. So my mom quit her part-time jobs, got a full-time job, and took care of me after five o'clock.”
The sun was setting, and we were nearing the train station, but Roger seemed to be slowing down ever so slightly. He paused and caught his breath as if he had never talked this long in his life. I could tell that this story meant more to him than the comfort of silence.
“My mom hadn't spent that much time with me since I was born, and she had no clue how to take care of a five-year-old. She blamed me for my dad’s death, and because of that, she often would give me dinner and avoid interaction with me until the next day, rinse and repeat. It made me bitter. I wanted her to love me, but she never catered. I started blaming her for his death. By the time I was eight, we had fought dozens of times, most of them provoked by me admittedly.
“There was no way for me to vent, so I took my anger out on others, including my classmates. Honestly, I had quite the reputation in my schools until just this year in eleventh grade. I remember every time I broke people because of my bitterness.” I noticed him smile, just a little bit.
“Jack saved me. He gave me something to live for other than my despair. I wouldn't be proud to call anyone else boss. He helped me with my mom. He told me to just talk about everything. It's still hard, and nothing near perfect, and I don't know if it ever will be, but things have gotten better. We don't fight anymore.” He stopped, seemingly done. He looked at me and I just stared back with no words. I couldn't describe what I was feeling like anything other than a mixture of shock and gratitude.
Roger, a boy who never opened up to nearly anyone, had poured his whole life out to me for the sole purpose of attempting to mend my brother and my relationship. He looked like he was out of breath. I wasn't sure why I had ever felt afraid of him in the library. Roger was a normal person, just like me. He struggled and fought, but he managed to pull himself back up, and he had become a better person in the end.
“I think you and Eric should just talk, Sam,” He advised.
“Thank you, Roger. I think I will,” I smiled. “I'm grateful that you talked to me, and I’m glad that you're not as sad anymore. I have no idea what I would do.”
He only nodded. “You would get through it. You're stronger than me in your heart,” he replied. The train sidled up to the station we were approaching.
“Be safe on your way home, Sam. Thank you for listening to me. It wasn't easy, I’m sure.”
“It never is,” I said. “But I feel like it will get easier soon.” We waved and parted ways.
Maybe it had been me all this time, and I simply did not want to confront my insecurities to my brother. He had a good reason to protect me, but I never wanted to see it that way. I felt hopeful as I boarded the train and sat in my usual spot. My right side felt warm with the knowledge that Eric and I would sit together here again many more times in the future.