Page 34 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Mr. O’Kieffe moved beside him. He pulled a hip flask from his pocket and took a hefty swig before he scooped a handful of fresh dirt from the ground and sprinkled it over the coffin. He choked back a sob and stumbled off with the flask to his lips, leaving Brandon alone at the edge of the grave.
Brandon’s jaw ticced. His nostrils flared. His fist clenched and unclenched, and just when I thought he would turn around and come over to Connor and me, he collapsed on his knees.
And I crumpled right along with him.
In a heartbeat, I was him, and he was me. I recalled being exactly where he now was, buried under a mountain of indescribable loss, unable to see how the world could keep turning when mine had been taken away.
I rushed toward him, kneeling and wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you,” I whispered into his messy hair, clutching him harder while his chest heaved. The gut-felt sob that followed sent a poison-laced dagger straight through my chest. As much as I wanted to take all his pain away, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything to change what had happened.
All I could do was make sure he knew that I would never leave him.
* * *
By the timepeople left the cemetery, Mr. O’Kieffe was staggering drunk, and Connor’s parents took Brandon home with them, which made me feel better. The last place I wanted Brandon was in that caravan with his dad.
Daddy and I sat down to a dinner neither of us touched. The day dredged up feelings—memories that were never easy for either of us to address. Life had a million wonderful moments, but man, those crappy ones could take a toll. My chest went tight at the thought of death. At how final it was. How cruel it was to those it left behind.
Knotting the friendship bracelet Brandon had given me on my eleventh birthday, and I wondered how bad it would be if I broke that promise I made to him not to tell. I’d always worried about Brandon, but now, I was terrified for him. His mother protected him as best she could, and I just wanted him to be safe.
Daddy looked up from his plate of spaghetti. “Not hungry, either, huh?”
Shaking my head, I took both our plates to the sink and rinsed them. By the time I dried my hands, I’d almost convinced myself Brandon would forgive me if I broke my promise. I turned around, but when Daddy’s eyes met mine, all I asked was to be excused.
It shouldn’t have shocked me when I walked in and found Brandon sprawled out on top of my comforter, his hands behind his head, and gaze aimed at the ceiling. But it did.
"Hey, possum," he whispered.
“Hey.” I locked the door, then moved toward the bed. "I'm glad you're here.” I wanted to say so much more.
"Nowhere else to go.”
I sank to the mattress beside him. The words, “I’m sorry” were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed those down like a bitter pill. Nothing I could say would make things better, and I knew that.
Brandon rolled onto his side with a heavy sigh before he laid his head in my lap. His eyes closed, and he grabbed my hand, placing my fingers in his unruly hair. "Make it go away," he whispered, fighting tears.
Pieces of my soul splintered apart while I scratched through his hair. I hoped he realized that I would always love him.
"I wish I could," I said, my voice thick.
He grabbed my thigh and squeezed until it hurt, and I took it. Brandon needed something to hold onto, and I was glad it was me.
I wanted it to always be me.
18
Brandon
April 2006
Weeks changed to months. Months changed to years. Life went on, and yet it didn’t. I put on a face. Pretended I was okay when I wasn’t. I’d become so good at perfecting the image of a bad boy who didn’t give a shit, I’m not sure even Poppy or Connor knew just how much I wasn’t okay.
Dad drank more,which led to him throwing more punches. I either took them, for my ma, or I lost my shit and hit him back. And he got up from those blows less often now.
My life was a constant state of chasing anything and everything that would make me forget how pointless my existence was. Every so often, I’d think of Ma, and guilt would make me check in on the old man. Today was just such a day, and the caravan was just as much of a shit hole as it always was.
I threw two empty bottles of whiskey in the bin and began washing the dirty dishes cluttering the tiny kitchen.
"Keep it down, boy." Dad turned up the volume on the TV and cracked opened a new bottle of whiskey.
