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In the last wheat flare of summer, Gwen had determined she was in love.
Well, she wouldn’t say in love. But her heart skipped a beat when he would pass by or they’d cross each other in the halls. When he would be circled by the other students as his fists collided with the face of some other student who probably deserved it, and his eyes would flick upwards and meet with hers. Or perhaps when he would knock on their front door to pick up Finney and she would run over to the window and wave bye as they walked away from the house down the street and he would whip around with a smile on his face and wave goodbye back.
Although he stood inches taller than her with age, although he sat in classrooms too advanced for her eleven year old mind, although she knew she was nothing more than “just a kid” to him, she still allowed her eyes to linger for moments too long. She still liked to follow close behind as him and Finney would walk down the sidewalks together speaking of a topic that a girl her age couldn’t understand. She would watch as his sneakers purposely stepped over deceased leaves with a soft crunch and when his foot would leave the leaf to take another step she too would go and step on the same leaf. She would still purposely stand too close to him to allow the back of their hands or arms to graze.
Robin.
With his messy brown hair and blazing eyes, long limbs and his fiery personality—the cutest boyish grin. And maybe that’s what sparked something in Gwen, because you had to mean something to be on the receiving end of one of those soft genuine Robin smiles.
He and Finney were like nail and dirt, they were always laughing off things that she couldn't get, always lighting things on fire, or maybe going over school work, she never saw them with girls, but that was probably because they liked their solitude, plus she had always known Finney was more work driven rather them love or girl driven. They liked to wander around town not giving a damn about anybody else.
They were cool kids to her, even when Finney would get bullied or when Robin’s grades would largely drop.
Gwen hated to be a little girl, she hated to play with dolls and she hated the immature kids in her class, if she were older she would be able to hang out with Finney and Robin—she would be able to be considered in their plans, hopefully working up from “just a kid” or the label as “ Finney’s little sister ,” to an actual friend.
Sometimes when Finney was badly beaten and night fell, the stars shining above and the crickets chirping, he would sneak out of the house making sure their dad had fallen asleep in his reclining chair. The tension in the house after a beating seemed to go on forever. Stretched thinly over the girth of eternity. There was one small mandarin and peppermint-scented candle in the corner of the living room, always lit. Enough light to guess as Finney made his way through the house. It was somehow always midnight.
Finney would leave the house without a sound being made, flashlight in hand and Gwen would watch him until he turned off their street—always the left turn—that was the way to Robin's house.
And Gwen forever itched with want to follow him. She hated the dark but the missing children posters did more than ignite hate, they ignited fear. And Gwen knew they too scared Finney. She had seen the way he would look at each and every flyer they would pass on the daily. She would see the way his eyes would scan the front of the newspaper that their father would read in the mornings as they sat across from each other at the dining table. A new missing child photo plastered on the front.
Finney was scared, but not scared enough. Not enough for Robin.
As she would settle back into bed, Finney long gone into the night, the silence of the house would grow loud, ravishing her thoughts of slumber with anything but. For example, the cries that slipped from between Finney’s lips as their fathers belt came into contact with his body. The way his face became flushed, tears streaming down from his eyes. And the soreness of her throat still lingering when she would swallow. A reminder of the begs and yells she would make towards her father begging him to let Finney go.
But it didn't matter because their father would keep beating him anyway. Finney wasn’t a bad kid, far from it. But he had moms eyes, and moms hair, and moms nose, and moms smile, and moms—well everything. See, their dad hates naughty children, but he hated anything that resembled their mother the most. Sure Gwen had her dreams, but Finney suffered from attributes he could never change nor get rid of.
It never ended for the boy.
She could still replay the last beating in her head, Finney being beaten by their father, Finney curled up on the floor crying from pain while the belt continued to lash against bare skin—Finney was getting ready to go tutor Robin but hadn’t yet finished changing into his clothes before their dad had seen a piece of Finney’s school work in the trash. An angry red C marked at the top of the page—he shouted for Finney at the top of his lungs and the smaller boy stood no chance as he ran down the hall to meet his father. She would always dread those times, afraid that one day their father wouldn’t stop.
Gwen knew her father was a sad soul, nothing but a grieving man too caught in his emotions for good. There was nothing they could do to stop his decline into madness, nothing they good do to prevent him from drinking himself into an early grave.
It’s nearing early autumn as the summer heatwaves fade into soft breezes of browning leaves.
She’s just come home from studying with a friend. Their father specifically told them to be home by 6:30 tonight, that’s the time he comes home from work. To make sure that the meat in the fridge has thawed out and the dishes are done. Gwen more than expects Finney to already be home, dishes done and meat already half thawed but when she enters the house to find it empty, her heart sinks.
“Finney!” She shouts hoping for a response, but when no response is received her head begins to race. Quickly she takes a bowl out of the stained cupboards, fills it with cool water before placing the packaged meat into it. She runs over to the sink and turns the faucet on, she doesn’t miss the way her hands shake as she attempts to scrub the plates and utensils clean.
She gets about 75% of the dishes done before her eyes flick over to the clock above the dining table.
6:15, the hands point to. She doesn’t have time. She quickly washes her hands of soap, wiping them on her pants as she runs out of the house. She groaned in frustration at the sight of her flat tired bike on the side of the house, settling on sprinting off their street to the left.
There were many possibilities, but she refused to let her mind stray as she ran past those posters.
Luckily Robin's house is no more than a 4 minute jog from theirs. She knocks and it feels like a stab in the stomach when Robin's older brother answers, saying nothing more than “they aren’t here.” Before closing the door again. She takes a deep breathe before jogging away from Robins front porch. Her head throbbing with so many thoughts, her lungs beginning to ache as she sprints off again. She’s decided she’ll be checking the outskirts of their town. Robin and Finney always loved the train tracks. Especially during this time of the year. They liked to watch the tracks spark as the train shot by. They liked to scream at the top of their lungs as the blaring horn drowned them out.
They liked to cup each other’s ears and say things only they could hear.
Gwen stopped once to pick up a stick and a stone in case someone evil wanted to hurt her or Finney, but when she remembered they would be with Robin too, her nerves relax because no one would dare mess with Robin. The remembrance of the other boy causes her stomach to churn with anxiousness, her cheeks tinting red as she remembers Robin’s soft smiles, bloodied knuckles, soft bandannas, and suddenly she’s a lot less scared as the street lights and town disappears behind her. She’s gasping for breath by the time the train tracks come into her line of sight. She runs straight until she’s standing side by side with the tracks. Now she just needs to follow them and they will more than likely lead her to Robin and Finney.
Starlings chirp in the trees, sending shrill responses to their friends and lovers miles away. Sticks snap from phantom weight and fall to the ground. If the air didn't suffocate you, if the trees didn’t cast such shadows amongst the dark, Gwen thinks that she too could find comfort in the train tracks.
It’s a moment more before she hears the blaring horn up ahead. A train is coming. She takes about one step further from the tracks just for extra safety and continues to walk. She’s never stood this close as the train comes hurling towards her. But she remembers how close her brother and Robin get to the train and she decides today is the day where she too experiences that feeling. She remembers the way Robin’s hair thrashed wildly as he cheered, or atleast that’s what it looked like he was doing as she watched him and Finney from afar. They asked her to come down to the tracks with them and she agreed, but she’d run away everytime the train came too close.
Maybe that was it, she was never brave enough to join in on teenage boy fun. But this will for sure gain Robin's attention. She will have found them all on her own. She will have wandered through the outskirts, through the trees just to find them. And she will have stood oh so close to the train. This has to undeniably get Robin’s attention.
But the train doesn’t feel loud when it’s passing by. The night is silent as a funeral, punctuated with the faint song of warbling crickets. The air is thick around her, swollen heavy outside of the pale world she normally inhabits. In the corner of her eye, a cigarette lies abandoned beneath the vicious blur of the train, unfurled like a crushed cockroach.
Gwen feels painfully young all of a sudden, an ill-equipped toddler as she tightly wraps her hands around her ears to make an attempt to quiet the train. The pressure causes her ears to ring quietly. That’s all she can hear, a faint ringing and the clacking of the tracks. Her hair is nothing but painful as it whips wildly into her face, eyes watering from the force of the hot gust kicked up while the train shoots by. And as she continues to walk against the force of the train she feels regret.
It’s torturous the entire time the train passes her. It seems to go on forever, and she hates every moment but the thought of Robin and Finney praising her for retrieving them, the thought of Robin's smile, the thought of finally being brave enough keeps her going.
When she watches the last of the train pass by, the scenery ahead is revealed and she feels a joyous feeling flood her chest when she sees too familiar figures up ahead. Her pace picks up as a smile is plastered on her face, nothing short of relief settles deep inside her when she nears them with every step.
Time bleeds together like a watercolor painting, hazy and unfocused and splotched with the deep red that threads through her every thought, and then Robin is stumbling back, Finney’s jacket caught in his wrist.
Their lips grazing each other’s.
Around her, time fills like water in an aquarium. Starlings return to their nests. Whole civilizations are built and crumble in the time it takes her to close her eyes and look away and if she focuses hard enough she can smell mandarin-peppermint. The dam of isolation bursts. Somewhere in the past, Finney cries when beaten with a belt. And she wishes for something to happen. For something to save him and something does.
In the last wheat flare of summer, Gwen has determined she is nothing short of bravery, but never as brave as Robin and Finney.