The Makings: Chapter 1

P. M.



         Nighttime enveloped my room under its dark shroud. Concealed in it's darkness I could pretend to be dead. Pretend that all of the pain and suffering I had known throughout my life was over and I could finally be at peace.

         My parents hated me. They never came right out and said it but they did. To their credit, they even pretended to care for me the way any parent would care for a child. However, I wasn't just any child. I was the constant reminder of the child they lost years ago - the twin brother who lost his life for me.

         It was broad daylight when it happened. We were fifteen and walking home from the park down the street from our house on one of the most beautiful spring days our rainy little city of Mobile, Alabama had ever seen.

         Jason and I were always close. Most assumed it was simply because of the fact that we were twins but it went deeper than that. Jason and I were best friends. We could talk to one another about anything. And for the most part of our lives, we were all each other had since our parents spent most of their time away on business trips or in an office cubical. We were one another’s life source - always there for the other, protecting and shielding out many of the painful experiences children went through: teasing, broken hearts, bullies - and on this day, Jason went above and beyond anything he had ever done in the past to protect me (far above anything I would have ever asked or even wanted him to).

         I was walking closest to the road when the driver of an S10 lost control of their truck and started heading straight toward me. I wasn't paying attention. Jason was.

Before I could understand what he was doing or why, he shoved me out of the way with the full force of his football playing body and sent me rolling to the other side of the road, scraping my knees, elbows, hands, face, and arms along the way until I came to rest on the cool grass just beyond the reach of the road.

         Shocked by why he would do something like that out of nowhere and for no apparent reason, my first instinct was to scream at him. But as I lifted myself off the ground and turned to

let him have a piece of my mind I saw him lying at least ten feet away from where I had stood only moments before in the most awkward position I had ever seen. He looked as if he had attempted to do a back roll but got stuck halfway over, his feet resting on the ground behind him, his head twisted to face my direction.

         The doctors said his death was quick and painless but I saw the look in his eyes as he lay there - lifeless. He felt it. He felt it like I've felt it everyday since then.

         I've always blamed myself. If I had just paid attention and pushed us both out of the way he would still be here today. He would be here, holding my hand and giving me strength as I lie here tonight, pretending to be dead - free of the sickness that has slowly begun to take over my body.

         Perhaps destiny was finally going to bring us back together after all. After two years of waiting, it seemed like fate was finally on my side and like the cloak of night that was around me now, my own dark end would take me in its grasp soon.



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         Six Months Earlier



         A. M.



         As the gloomy light from another rainy day filled my room, I awoke to find that I made it through another night. Something I suppose most people would be happy for. Unfortunately for me, waking up every morning was a curse. Another day of mourning the loss of the brother I miss so much, another day of facing the empty, meaningless conversations with parents who merely tolerated me out of a sense of obligation, and waiting - waiting to see if today would be the day it all ended.

         Breathing deeply to calm the desire to cry for the millionth time, I mentally prepared myself for the day ahead. It was the first day of my last semester of high school and the only thing that gave me the will to get out of bed was the knowledge that in just a few months I would be able to leave the place that caused me so much grief. Of course I’m not delusional. I know leaving won’t take away all the pain, I’ll never get over losing my brother, but at least I won’t have to see the faces of every person who pitied, resented, or blamed me for everything that happened.

         With that single thought in mind, I exhaled and set off to get ready for school. It didn’t require much for me to get ready anymore. Two years ago I would spend up to two hours getting ready. Now the most time I spent preparing myself in the mornings was fifteen minutes – long enough to take a shower, run a comb through my hair, and slide on some clothes and shoes. The main thing I never did anymore when getting ready was look in the mirror. It was too painful. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me what I would see in the reflection: my brother - his green eyes, his slightly pointy ears, his rounded chin, and his glossy black hair – all ghostly reminders of the brother who was so much like me.

         After dressing, I grabbed a notebook and pencil off my desk and walked downstairs to have breakfast. Of course my parents were no where to be found. They had left at least an hour earlier for a flight they had to catch for a business trip. That’s Corporate America for you though, stealing thousands of parents away from their children everyday. But as much as I loved my parents, I didn’t really mind anymore that they weren’t around the house much. It meant I didn’t have to pretend to be okay around them when I wasn’t.

         In the kitchen there was a note stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet Jason and I made back at Vacation Bible School when we were nine along with a hundred dollar bill.  “Be back Monday, honey,” the note read, “There should be enough food in the house for you to make due with until next week but if not we left you some money to cover extra groceries. If you need us you can reach us at 316-555-9182. Love, Mom and Dad.”          

         Stuffing the bill in the pocket of my jeans I opened the refrigerator with a muttered “Gee, thanks Mom. Thanks Dad”. They had been writing the same basic thing since I was thirteen and while it was nice, it had become routine now. They never said anything different. It was almost as if my parents had been abducted and replaced with robots.

         When they were younger, my parents were so much fun and full of life. They were always going on rafting, hiking, and camping trips. In fact, they met while they were out white water rafting in Tennessee when they were twenty. Apparently mom wasn’t the best with an oar and when they hit some particularly rough water she let go of her oar for a split second and ended up hitting dad right in the eye.

          Mom was so devastated about what happened that she apologized for the rest of the ride and when they got back she went and got a bag of ice and held it to his head apologizing even more. Dad thought she was so cute in that moment that he fell for her then and there. Of course, it wouldn’t have been hard. She was gorgeous. Standing at 5’9 with a body that would make models envious, long dark curly hair, and eyes the color of jade it was surprising she wasn’t snatched up by someone before she turned eighteen. In fact, it was her eyes that inspired my name: Jade.

          Dad was also a head turner when he was younger. He looked just like a young George Clooney, only with shorter hair and more style. Now he looked like, well, George Clooney today.

            But somewhere in between rafting trips, children, and their present job-filled lives, the fun and youthfulness they used to embody died out. Now their eyes don’t hold the sparkle they once did, trendy clothes were replaced with suits, and the only trips they took were business related. In fact, the only vacations Jason and I ever went on were spent in offices or hotels.

          With a sigh I grabbed a carton of orange juice, poured a glass, and sat down on one of the metal bar stools our parents thought were so chic and modern. They swore they loved the style but we saw their parent’s homes. They weren’t raised surrounded by cold metal and glass. They were raised around warm environments filled with blankets, fireplaces, and soft couches you sink into. Perhaps this was a symbol of the disparity between the way their lives had turned out, and the way my brothers and my own life would.

          Whatever the case, I didn’t have time to dwell on it. In fifteen minutes the bell for first period would ring and the start of what should have been the happiest year of Jason’s and my life would begin and I had a twenty minute drive to school ahead of me. So, picking up my notebook and keys, I head out the door with one final look back to a picture of Jason and me sitting on a table in the foyer.

         Pulling up the hood to my grey hoodie in order to shield myself from the rain outside I made a vow to his image, “This semester is all for you. We’re getting out of here. I promise.”