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“It’s not venomous!”
“Doesn’t matter, take it away.”
“Can’t we keep it?”
“Absolutely not! We can barely take care of the stray cats you’ve accumulated from the neighborhood.”
“What? Come o— ow ow ow oW OW OW—“
Mr. Whistler sighed, pulling the snake away from twisting around Chip’s arm even more. “Let me get a pillowcase. You can take him to the woods.”
As Mr. Whistler went in to get what he needed, he heard the phone ring. Maybe it was Eve, he’d been waiting for her to call. As soon as he looked at the number on the screen his stomach dropped. Why would the hospital be calling him?
“Hello?”
“Is this Lewis Whistler?”
“Yes, yes it is..”
“We,” the operator sounded just as nervous as he did. “Regret to inform you that your wife has passed away in a car accident.”
He didn’t hear anything else after that.
One look around the room, and Lewis knew just how lonely he’d be tonight. He’d felt that way the whole week, but his brain just couldn’t seem to grasp that she wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t be there to hold him, or to wish him good morning, or give him any instance of love she shared. She shared a lot of love, and he and Chip would never get that back.
He placed the hair tie onto the nightstand and turned off the lights. The bed felt so cold and empty, it scared him. A pit had formed in his chest on the ride home from the funeral service, one different than the first pit. The first pit was horror, and the second pit was numbness. Lewis felt horrible about the numbness because he couldn’t feel what Chip felt.
Chip. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. The boy was so restless. All he did was cry and pace, and pace and cry. He walked up and down the halls with no intent on talking or doing much of anything else. He bit his nails and made them bleed, and he let his hair knot from his tossing and turning during the night. The first night home wasn’t at all great for Chip either. All Lewis heard that night were the loudest sobs he’d ever heard, loud enough to hear through the walls. He wanted to comfort him so badly, but he had no feeling left to feel that comfort himself.
His thoughts kept wandering. Maybe if he thought enough, he’d sleep for once. He closed his eyes and let them rest—
Knock, knock, knock..
Lewis’s eyes flipped back open. There was only one person who could’ve been knocking. He was so scared to face him. He opened the door, and there stood the culprit, Chip. Goodness, he looked absolutely awful. His long hair was everywhere, and the bags under his eyes were so dark. He looked like he’d been crying, and honestly, Lewis couldn’t blame him. They’d both lost a.. a lot in the past few days.
As his eyes scanned over the boy, he noticed Chip was holding a pillow under his arm and a quilt over his shoulder. Oh, Lewis knew where this was going.
“Can I sleep in here?” Chip whispered with a wobbly sound following every little word, as if that wasn’t going to make either of them shatter like glass. It was the first time Chip had spoken to him in three days. They both felt so sorry for one another; it was such a strong, suffocating, mutual feeling.
“Sure,” he whispered as he stepped out of the way of the door. Chip looked at him, almost for reassurance, it seemed. With a small nod, the teen took one step in and immediately stopped. Why’d he stop? Before Lewis could even go up to ask, he heard the most heartbreaking whimpers he’d ever heard. They were soft and quiet, but the pain behind them was horrible. Two glossy, dark blue eyes met his (they looked so similar to hers), and Lewis broke with.
Tonight was going to be a long night.
The sun shone bright through the wooden-framed windows of their small house, nearly blinding Lewis as his own eyes cracked open. The room didn’t feel as empty or as cold as before. It felt warm and, well, occupied. It took a minute or two, but by the time he fully awoke, he understood why. His son, lying at his feet against the foot of the bed, was the reason.
He sat up slowly enough not to wake the small teen, but he couldn’t help but look over him just a bit. Chip’s hair was tangled and oily, his eyes tired as can be, and his eyebrows scrunched in like he was hurting. It was obvious he wasn’t taking care of himself, and he probably wasn’t feeling great as a result.
Lewis couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t been taking care of himself either, as much as he hated to admit it. He thought about waking him up, just to let him shower and feel a bit better, but he knew how badly the boy needed sleep. He knew Chip hadn’t slept. He could hear him pacing every night in the living room. He prayed Chip wouldn’t hear him as he slid off the squeaky mattress and left the room.
Time to start work.
Wiping the sweat off his brow as he walked into the cold, air-conditioned house was one of the best feelings Lewis had felt all week. ‘Alright, time to find Chip’, he thought, removing his gloves and placing them on the bar beside the back door. Figuring Chip would still be asleep, he went to check his own room before stopping in front of the bathroom door. The lights shone through the crack underneath, and he could hear sobbing and clipping from inside.
“Hey, son, are you alright in there?” He asked as he knocked once, twice, thrice. The sobs stifled, and the clipping stopped. He brought his hand back to his side. ‘Maybe he needs time alone,’ he concluded as he went to walk back to the kitchen. A soft creaking of the door filled his ears. He whipped his head around to see navy blue eyes peeking out from the door's crack.
“Chip?”
He got no response in return, but he got an action as the door was opened. Chip looked absolutely awful, but the cut-up hair in the sink and the scissors in his hands told Lewis everything he needed to know.
“Can y-you help? Cut it, please? I don’t want to deal with it...”
“..Of course,” Lewis said softly as he took the scissors from his son's shaking hands. “Sit down, there’s a stool somewhere in the closet.”
After around 20 minutes of messing with Chip’s hair, Lewis thought he did a decent job. He was never a hairdresser of sorts; that was his sister's job, but it wasn’t too bad. He looked in the mirror and finally saw just how broken Chip looked. It broke him, too, if he was honest. Chip sat, fiddling with the strings on his jacket and biting the inside of his mouth. He looked so nervous. He probably had a million thoughts running through his head.
With one swift hug and a head leaned on Chip’s shoulder, the nervousness melted away.
“You know, I think we’ll be alright, son.. We’ll find comfort. I promise...”