The window was down. The wind was running through my fingers and my lack of hair. I could smell the highway. A mix of smog and mountain air. Dad’s folky rock was rolling off the speakers. I couldn’t believe I was out.

I looked down and saw myself in normal clothes. Jeans and a black band shirt. Both very snug from growing a bit. It’s almost humorous that I had been so out of touch for so long.

I think I actually might let out a smile as I saw the exit for our town. A giggle as I came down the street, but when I pulled into the driveway, all signs of happiness were replaced by fears.

Mom looked back as the car stopped, “We’re here!” She smiled and could tell that she had waited for this a long time. I tried to smile back, tried to be happy for her, but I was so fucking scared. I think she could tell. “It’s okay, Gerard. He wants to forget about everything.” But she didn’t know that I knew that. I wasn’t worried about him forgiving me. I was worried about how I hadn’t quite forgiven him.

I got out of the car and grabbed my bags from the trunk. Dad asked me if I needed help, but I declined. I carried them up the front porch steps and looked up to see the white door of my house had been replaced with a blue one. “You painted the door,” I said, confused.

Dad hadn’t thought anything of it. He looked at it as he unlocked it. “Hmm. Yeah,” he shrugged it off, leaving me to think that it had been done a long time ago.

The door was open and Mom and Dad crossed the threshold. I watched them, frozen in the doorway. Mom looked back at me, “Well, come on honey.” I could see the weariness in her eyes. She could tell I was uncomfortable and I didn’t know what to think about anything that was happening.

I took my first step into the house. I was inside. I shut the front door. Mom still watched me, “Do you want me to take you to your room?”

I nodded. I needed the assistance. I wouldn’t be able to get there on my own free will.

She grabbed one of my bags and started up the stairs. I began to follow her. She looked back occasionally to chart my progress and make sure I was still there. That I hadn’t fled the scene. She had a trying smile on her face, she was sincerely worried about this. I couldn’t blame her.

We reached the top of the stairs and she led me down the hallway. I tried to look away from Mikey’s door, like I would see him still there in the doorway with red eyes. Mom opened my bedroom door and led me in. The clothes still littered the floor, untouched. The bed was unmade. It was just how I left it. I dropped mybag and went over to my bed, sitting on its edge. It didn’t squeak.

Mom went over to the windows and pulled up the blinds, flooding the room with mid afternoon light. I squinted my eyes against it.

“Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap before dinner?” Mom sat next to me on the bed.

“Mom,” I said solemnly. “Where’s Mikey?” The name felt sinister on my lips and I felt myself digress in the after taste.

“He’s in his room,” she said. She grabbed my hand and it felt awkward. It was the first loving gesture I had gotten in so long. “Gerard, your father and I just want you to know that we want what’s best for you, but we are not quite sure how to go about this. What should we do about your brother? Would it be best not to see him for awhile or do you want to talk to him? We just want to make sure you are comfortable.”

I had no idea. I was hoping that she would know better. This was precisely the thing I was scared of. Having to make my decisions now. No longer having the guides there to decide for me.

“Umm,” I went blank, “I just think we should just resume everything to normal. Just let nature take its course. And yes, a nap would be great.”

She kissed my forehead. “Okay honey,” she smiled. “I’m making hamburgers for dinner. Okay?”

I nodded. Hamburgers? How long had I gone without one of those?

She got up and left me in my room. It didn’t feel like my room though. Reynard’s felt like my room, like my Mecca.

I took off my too tight sneakers and placed them on the desk across from the bed. I had a corkboard of photos and concert tickets. There was a picture of you and me from when we were little. I couldn’t help frown upon it. We were so happy. Now what was going to happen? I’d have to see you soon enough and talk to you. I wasn’t ready though. I felt like I’d never be ready.

I untacked the picture and flipped it over to the blank side, retacking it. I went back to my bed and lay down on my pillow and tried not to think about how you had lay your head here. How I kissed you here. I tried to clear my head of every thought of you. I shut my eyes tight against the world and forced myself to sleep.

I woke up to a tugging at my foot. I looked up, my eyesight still blurry. I saw you at the end of my bed. I shot up and rubbed my eyes. I looked again, you were still there. This wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

“Hey,” you said. Your voice was deeper and your face was matured. Your jawline defined and your cheekbones higher. Even though you were sitting down, I could see everything about you was longer and taller and less awkward than when you were thirteen. I looked back to your face and saw your brown wonder eyes behind your glasses. Still the same ones, I had pictured, but now the other features weren’t in question. I remembered every bend in your face and every movement you were prone to making. “Welcome home,” you said and I felt myself coil back into my pillows until my back was against the headboard.

I couldn’t speak. You were all too real for me. I just kept staring at you and I could see that you were taken aback by my fear.

“It’s okay. I don’t bite,” you tried to joke, but you knew this wasn’t the time or place. Your eyes were beginning to show a fear also. Fear that I was afraid of you. “Gerard,” you said my name and I felt my stomach drop. “Stop. Don’t look at me that way. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. You don’t understand how much I regret it.”

I still didn’t say anything. I was paralyzed.

“Please,” you begged and reached for me, trying to grab at anything you could.
“Stop!” I yelled and without warning, I was sobbing. I don’t know what had happened. The idea of you touching me was so unheard of. I couldn’t let you. This is wrong. This is wrong. I kept saying it in my head.

“Shh… Don’t cry,” you tired to calm me down without touching me this time. I
could see your longing to embrace me in your eyes, making it harder for me to deny you. But I just couldn’t.

“Mikey, please. Please don’t do this to me,” I pleaded.

“What did I do?” you were confused. You had no idea what I had been through.

My breathing was unsteady and stuttering and so were my words, “I can’t do this. I can’t be with you alone.”

I saw something click in your head. I think you were starting to realize how fucked up I was.

“What did they do to you?” you asked me with good reason.

“Go away, Mikey, please,” I was getting an anxiety attack from you. I couldn’t breathe and I had this rapid fire feeling in my brain that I couldn’t stop. Like every neuron was snapping like Pop Rocks. I saw you look hurt, but it wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you.

“Dinner’s ready in a half an hour,” you said softly before getting up and leaving.

As soon as the door shut, I grabbed at my chest. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I rubbed a hand through my hair. I felt like I’d just seen a ghost and I might as well have.

I went to my bathroom off of my room. The dirty clothes still in the corner by the shower and the same dingy beige towel draped over the shower door. I looked myself in the mirror and tried to calm down. I splashed some cold water on my face. I felt myself calm down a little. I slumped against the wall and looked over to my shower. A shower didn’t feel like a bad idea. I twisted the handle to the usual perfect temperature place and took off my too small clothes.

By the time I was done, I was feeling much better about the whole situation. Sure, I hadn’t made the greatest first impression, but the hardest part was over. I had seen you, I had talked to you. Now, I had to go to dinner and sit across from you. I came down the stairs in the loosest clothes I could find. I had lost weight while away but had grown a half a foot according to the growth chart against my door. I had to belt my jeans that had turned into Capri’s and my white tshirt was showing a good inch or two of my flat stomach. I followed the smell of food to the kitchen where Mom was plating our dinner. “Feeling better?” she asked me with a smile. I could already tell that she had calmed down, also.

“A bit. I’m still getting used to this though,” I ran a hand through my hair. “Being home and such. Being able to go where I want, shower when I want, sleep when I want. It’s kind of weird.”

“Aw, honey,” Mom said. “It’s not gonna get better in a couple hours. Trust me. You’ll be fine. We can get through this whole transition together.”

“Yeah, I guess” I looked away.

“Can you please get your brother for dinner?” she said nonchalantly.

I tensed up and she saw it.

“Nevermind,” she said. “I’ll get him. Just set the table, okay?”

I silently thanked God for her. I grabbed the dishes and utensils and went to the dining room.