Under The Blue
The Blue Series Volume 1
By Josephine Dillon
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2007 Josephine Dillon
This series of books is dedicated to my little brother Chris,
who helped me get the story out of my head
at a time when nothing interesting was on the television.
Chapter One
Summer 1986
He couldn’t wait to get out there. The ocean beckoned him with a gentle breeze and a nudge. Come to where it will all begin again…
“I know,” he whispered back, taking another long drag from his cigarette. It had been calling him all summer long it seemed, but then again, he thought, his entire young life was simply a painful act of waiting to evolve. The repetition was killing him. Was it a mistake to be alive at all? Sure felt that way.
He scanned the shore and took in all the meaningless bodies of strangers, some colliding in the water, others walking around oblivious to his stare. He shook his head, flicking the ashes into the sand. They danced around in the wind under his hand, his cigarette perched between his index and middle finger like he was a rock star.
Looking up now, staring at the Pacific, the very same ocean he’d stared at all summer, David felt resolution overcome him in a warm wave of emotion. The thought of killing himself by inflicting bodily harm was too much for him to handle, so his shaving razor, his belt, and Mother’s butcher knife were no longer an option. Thinking about it now made him smile and chuckle softly to the wind around him as it played and lightly tussled his hair. Reliving the moment in his bathroom two nights ago after a brutal fight with his father, he could still see the reflected light dance along the razor’s edge as he turned it from side to side. He’d then positioned it at his wrist to cut but felt distracted. He felt crowded in a tiny, empty bathroom. The space seemed to be spinning all around him as he stood there, trying not to hear the many screaming, unrelenting voices. They chanted in nursery rhyme fashion what they had hoped would be his carrying out the suicidal gesture. He could swear as he sat there remembering the song now, several women were singing along, each voice taking turns singing a verse, like a chorus of wicked witches marching around a brewing cauldron.
As the voices pressed him on to start and finish his life, David also saw flashes of what the bathroom he and his siblings all shared would look like once he was done destroying himself. Blood splattered against white walls and his body on the floor in a puddle of the same would be the scene as Dillon walked in. Yeah, he thought as he held the razor away from his exposed wrist, knowing his luck, his little brother would be the one to find him because he was always around. Never more than a few paces away, Dillon was his shadow, as if the boy somehow knew something like this might happen. Shaking his head to dislodge the gruesome image of his suicide and Dillon’s witness, he took a quick drag on his cigarette and blew out in a long exhale as his mother watched nearby.
Knowing Dillon would arrive on the scene after his death was accomplished hadn’t been the deciding factor however. It should have changed his mind and stopped him in his tracks, but it didn’t. Instead - and this is the part in the story he’ll remember later on with tremendous shame and sorrow – he experienced a glimpse of being in the next world without the use of his hands. They’d be limp rags, useless to anyone trying to wield a weapon. It was this last thought that made him place the razor back where it belonged, out of his hand and put away in the medicine cabinet. Somehow, although he couldn’t prove it, David knew deep down he’d have to live with whatever injuries he’d sustained in this life once he passed on.
And I’m way too modest to sport what would surely be permanent injuries.
No, self violence wouldn’t serve him in any way. Drowning would be the answer yet again. This time he’d go far enough out, beyond the reach of the lifeguards. He was sure the current would take him there. It was just so simple and easy – too easy. He shrugged off the instant panic trying to sneak into his psyche…could something so easy ever be the right thing to do? Was the ending of his life supposed to be that easy? He sighed and didn’t answer himself.
The darkest blue of the ocean drew him in with an overwhelming sense of urgency. That would be his entry into his new reality; the place his dreams had painted so clearly. The promise of power and authority to rule over others without rules over you, clearly had seduced him to attempt his taking of his current life. He felt an overwhelming sense of boredom when he tried to imagine his current life five years from now.
Let’s see…I’d be around twenty-two years old, able to drink legally, but considering I don’t find alcohol all that interesting, I’ll be bored with that vice rather quickly. So…moving on to my career of choice…I’ll probably be working at some sort of manual labor job because let’s face it: I’m not going to college. No university will accept my application given my track record and my parents would never in a million years, pay a dime for my education. So…to sum up my life in a sentence: no money, a dead end job I’ll hate, lots of booze to numb me up, and an occasional wacky girlfriend to keep me slightly entertained. I’m so screwed…
He paused, closed his eyes, and thought about giving up again. He was a teenager without a voice, no power to change anything about his current situation, and although he was exceptionally good at creating chaos at home, school and occasionally at church – to scare innocent people into believing he was the Anti-Christ – these were not reasons to stick around for very long. No, it had been more like a forced vacation until this point in time. He knew one thing for sure though as he took another long drag. He was tired of wasting his time here. Besides, he decided as he blew out smoke and tried to avoid the ever constant glare of his mother, who wouldn’t want to be instantly powerful where he was going anyway? He sure as hell wanted to be. He finally glanced over and waved at her with his cigarette perched between his fingers. She frowned and quickly turned away.
“Yep, that’s right, look away.” He snuffed his cigarette into the sand and paused in quick reflection. He nodded his head to agree with himself. She was right after all. Mother was right. I AM morbid to a fault…just don’t belong in this family of perfect star citizens—
Leave then—
Well…okay….
There was Dillon though - his anchor, his reason for being here. Dillon was so fragile. He loved him yet at times, despised him for his incredibly weak and demure spirit. Dillon was the kid every older brother couldn’t leave behind. He was the perfectly weak and insecure little side kick everyone loved and protected, so naturally David saw himself as his guardian, absorbing any hostility that could possibly be directed at the youngest.
“There! I think that’s everyone!” Mrs. Smith chirped in, putting away the sunscreen as she sat in her chair to read. David didn’t care that she’d overlooked him, for that was the way things were in the Smith household. He was always last at everything and mostly forgotten. Still, he thought as he lit his second cigarette, he did secretly enjoy the familial separation. He had always felt the butt of a divine joke by God Himself whenever he would begin to inspect his family portrait up close. Why was he selected, placed and birthed into a family of devote and at times, fanatical, theocratic Christians? Well, that’s easy, he thought. God was bored and needed more Divine Comedy. Amen.
He now cringed as he bemoaned his family’s most endearing hobby – his parents’ grass roots church organization they’d started years ago. As the pastor and spiritual advisor for his flock, Father took it upon himself to ‘save everyone’ from the corruption of modern day society. David looked around and quickly interrupted his own thoughts. Save everyone from what - the perils of the beach and the surf?
“Give me a break,” he whispered as he shook his head and blew out smoke.
Father was indeed a modern day missionary. Although atypical, both his parents would break the mold of the traveling missionary family by not traveling. He shook his head in disgust as he thought about why his parents chose to be stationary missionaries. They sure wouldn’t think to leave this Southern Californian paradise to go off to Tim Buk Two to pseudo-communicate with natives in far off Third World countries – nope, that would be interesting and almost palatable - instead, Mom and Dad were determined to spread “The Word” in their own little hometown of Oceanside, California. A small town an hour or so – give or take nasty traffic – north of San Diego. It was a mostly middle class suburban town made famous by the coastal scenes from the recent mega huge hit movie ‘Top Gun’ with Tom Cruise.
“Now there’s a young man with interesting interests.” Another ocean breeze brushed his hair off his face. “Thanks - couldn’t see for awhile under all that hair,” he whispered softly.
Looking out at the Pacific, David quickly decided it hadn’t served him well in all his young life, but today would be a climatic, cataclysmic day in the making. He would walk into the unknown depths of the mysterious blue a baptized child of the unknown, only to leave his boring, mundane and horribly deprived and restricted life behind forever.
He was concentrating on his freedom, almost to the point of meditating, when his mind was quickly yanked back into the here and now by a visitor having sat next to him. The invasion was quickly softened when he turned and noticed, as well as felt, Dillon’s presence.
“Hey Dave, why not j-join us—“
“Don’t start with me again about ‘getting involved with the family’ bullshit, Dil. Besides, you and I both know I don’t play with Daniel the Baboon. He sickens me.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and frowned as he watched Daniel watch him with disdain, repeatedly tossing his only prized possession – a stupid football – up in the air only to catch it again like a trained circus animal. “Someone needs to drown him quickly.”
“Please d-don’t sss-say that.” Dillon’s voice was always so soft spoken and gentle when he talked, especially when he would try to detonate his brother’s emotions. His voice served at times, a tool, to defuse and destruct David’s self deprecating and hostile emotions. “Daniel is just jj-jockish at times, but he m-means well.”
David didn’t answer, for there was always something in that sad, nervous stutter that also served to deflate his anger and hatred. He took another drag from his cigarette, glanced up at the sky and frowned again. Damn it! Why is my brotherly anchor so effective?! Nice one, God. Way to go! Put me in this Christian family I despise, then give me a way out, only to make me feel incredibly guilty for leaving my angelic brother behind. Why did you have to give me a conscience?!
Dillon sighed as he watched the cigarette’s end burn redder by the second. He hated the smoking more than the cursing. It was consuming his brother to be lighting all those poisonous tobacco sticks these days. Sometimes, when he’d watch his brother light up, Dillon could swear the match never lit the cigarette when struck. It was as if it spontaneously caught fire just by David holding it. No, no, no…not true! NOT TRUE! He pleaded anyway, “Please don’t smoke, Dave—“
“Please don’t tell me what to do, Dil,” he blew out smoke only to watch it float back into Dillon’s face accidentally. “Sorry, can’t control the wind…yet.”
Dillon coughed and stuck his tongue out in disgust as he waved away the smoke. “It’s not good for you and I worry. Couldn’t you at least smoke less?” He lowered his voice and turned away from the direction of their mother sitting far enough away to be out of hearing range. He always used discretion as a tool to keep his older brother behaving and his parents from noticing. It didn’t work often but he used it anyway. “It’s so bad for you, Dave. Please quit – for me?”
“I’ve told you several times already, I’m involved in a secret government research project on chain smoking and children. I’ve freely volunteered to do this and I can’t quit now – it’ll fuck up the results.” He glanced over at his brother as he saw him flinch over his callous words. Was his tone of voice that bad? Was it the cursing? He always cursed around his brother. The only person he didn’t openly curse around was his father. He made sure to mouth curse words then, reassuring himself they were just as good as vocal sins.
He suddenly looked away and thought about what he’d said to Dillon, feeling the guilt start to creep in like it always seemed to do whenever the little cherub was involved. David quickly realized maybe he’d gone overboard with the sarcasm and aloof attitude. He’d always tried to keep his cool with his younger brother from as far back as he could remember. The protective embrace had yet to dissolve between the two of them. They were connected in many ways – so many in fact it secretly scared him. He could never bear to hurt this one; he wasn’t like the other members of their family. To him, Dillon was the only member of his family. He suddenly felt the urge again to get up and leave, fearful Dillon would anchor him down again. The presence of someone so purely innocent and kind; the only person he truly cared for, was going to ruin his mission yet again.
He’ll be well taken care of and you know this. He’s the family gem, the apple of everybody’s eye and he’s loved. Just go, knowing he’ll be better off without you and your second hand smoke…
Another long drag on his cigarette calmed him down enough to get up and leave. He shoved it in the sand as he stared at the waves of spraying salt water. He glanced over at his mother’s side profile while Dillon continued to stare at him with a pleading look on his face.
Don’t look at him, he thought as he kept his eyes on his detached mother while she sat there in her lawn chair and read, aloof. Could she feel him staring? Probably so. Funny and slightly odd, he thought, to think she obviously knew he smoked, but hadn’t yet told his father – that revelation would be a fatal mistake if Dad ever found out. None of the other kids had said anything either – did she keep them silent too? He thought all this, trying to figure out why she still hadn’t mentioned his drug of choice to his heavy-handed father. Maybe she does care? He looked away again. Need to switch gears…the ocean…right…going to do it right this time…damn I hate being here. God hates me. A nice breeze blew by, nudging him to the water again, trying to keep him on task.
“I need to be alone Dil. Go play catch with the family baboon.”
He walked away hearing Dillon attempt several times to call out to him to return, but the stuttering kept full sentences from getting to him. He’ll be fine, David, you know this and you accept it already. Leaving is the only answer, for you and especially for him.
Having quickly left Dillon back with the others and knowing he was probably watching him at the moment, he tried not to look too suspicious. The waves were crashing ruthlessly with moderate winds. Time was passing by leisurely for most, but painfully for him. Where is Dillon now? He didn’t want his brother watching. A look to the left found him desperately trying to play football with Daniel - the perfect eldest son, star quarterback and as if that wasn’t enough to put on a college application, he was also the future valedictorian of Vista High School. Of course that was all a cover for the real person only David was privy to, for Daniel was his nemesis and at times, his bully. An ass on a good day, pond scum on most other days, he had a slimy, sneaky way about him that imitated Eddie Hascal from ‘Leave It To Beaver.’ Watching them play together, Daniel giving Dillon pointers on throwing that stupid leather toy, knowing fully Dillon had very little athletic ability to begin with, made David insanely jealous. It didn’t matter anyway, he thought. The corruption will become inevitable after my oceanic departure today.
Waist high in the water, he stood there taking in the view. He slowly moved forward, so as not to draw too much attention to himself. Each wave passed through him and with each one, he felt as though he was going through a doorway. His heart was pounding but he turned his brain off. He didn’t want to feel regret, remorse, guilt or fear. With that thought, a huge wave hit him square in the chest and within seconds his feet were no longer touching the sand. He began to swim smoothly through the water until he felt the gentle tug of the current and with that, he let go.
Within minutes the shoreline was small as he floated by the jetty. He was farther out now than he was a month ago when he tried this same move. The lifeguard was on him fast then, wrapping that damn red floater around his neck and dragging him to shore like this season’s catch - not this time though. He floated in the water and noticed the waves were gone. He also noticed how peaceful it was to be here; a place without people; a vast array of the unknown before him.
So many secrets under that blue blanket. The ocean rocked him back and forth as if he were in an infinitely large cradle. After floating like that for a while, he began to swim to his left to go along with the current. More time ticked by and no sign of help. Wow, that was too easy he thought, almost too good to be true. He suddenly noticed his breathing getting faster. It was getting more and more difficult to stay above water.
He loved the ocean but hated to taste the saltwater; even a drop of it flirting near his mouth would elicit spontaneous vomiting. Suddenly he was finding himself slipping into that salty water and tasting it. It was harsh and stung his throat. He began to panic. With each mouthful of salt water lapping against his lips, the pain would sear down and sizzle in his chest, burning his lungs. He began to struggle to stay above. His legs felt like lead, pulling him further down like an anchor. In a blink of an eye he found himself looking up at the sun through the water, two inches below the surface. The realization he couldn’t swim anymore allowed a brief moment of struggle and resistance, but in another blink the fight vanished from him. Realizing he’d have to do it, he dreaded taking that last breath of pain.
Now two feet under water and the sun began to sway side to side in a beautiful yellow blur of color. He looked at it longingly, sadly thinking to himself, there is no God for me. I will soon become something he will shun. He let his arms drift up to allow a quicker descent. They felt light as air above his head as he drifted down another foot or two. Bubbles slowly left his mouth, although he fought with all his might to not breathe in. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it yet.
Suddenly, like a cruel gift from God above - or maybe it was God, Himself - a tanned, muscular arm reached down into the deep blue and grabbed him by the hand.
Why did I have my arms up?!
As he was being yanked upward to greet the sun, the red floater again met his neck.
Damn it all to hell and back again…
Chapter Two
The Smiths
After that fateful day, David was banned from visiting the beach for the rest of the summer. It was painful for him to watch and listen to that incredibly stupid lifeguard – the same lifeguard who’d saved him earlier in the summer – discuss his actions with his mother and siblings while he sat in the sand, a wet outlaw. He couldn’t look at Dillon either, although he could feel his brother’s heart-breaking disappointment mixed in with everyone else’s loathing for him. It was an interesting blend, the Smith clan.
“He’s alright, ma’am. Jus’ keep the boy outta the water for awhile and-and,” he paused and glanced at David who gave him a silent, but deadly ‘shut the hell up’ look in reply. “Uh…maybe get him some couselin’ to deal with his issues cuz that’s twice now that he’s…done…that...”
“My God in Hell, he can count,” David whispered with disdain to the sand loud enough only Dillon heard him.
Koby the lifeguard had golden, sun bleached hair that hung down to his shoulders and dark, tanned skin covering a well-toned body, along with a voice that screamed an eighth grade education. Rachel however, was absolutely smitten as she stood next to him wearing her hot pink and white polka-dot bikini. Nodding her head in agreement, apparently understanding him way too much David thought, she looked like a life-sized human Barbie doll. Can’t believe she’s my sister.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Dillon spoke softly to his idol loud enough only the two of them could hear as he gently nudged David’s shoulder. David closed his eyes in response and craved a cigarette, so he leaned over to his shirt pocket to pull out his pack but they were gone. Looking at Dillon in surprise, then Daniel, he frowned.
“I took the liberty of giving your cigs and that cool, black and red anarchy lighter to that homeless bum leaning against the pier. I figured you wouldn’t mind losing your stuff since you’d walked out to the ocean to check out and all,” throwing and catching his football as he spoke, Daniel’s obnoxious horse laugh startled Mother and Koby, who were sharing small talk.
David laughed loudly along with his older brother to mock him, only to turn away and stare at the ocean’s gentle roar, to try as best he could to will himself away from here. Mother finally got out of her beach chair to address the lifeguard seriously and maybe David thought, to address him for once.
“Thank you, uh…”
“Koby. That’s my name and your welcome ma’am.”
“Well, Koby, I assure you this won’t happen again. He’s grounded from Oceanside Beach for quite some time after this little stunt—“
“But it was an accident! I was swimming and got swept out in the current!” He was finally pissed, so he spoke loud enough for all to hear, which was a shock since most of the time he hardly spoke to any of them except of course, Dillon.
Mother stopped her banter long enough to give her middle son an indecisive visual look over. He might be telling the truth…no, probably not. “That’s enough young man! Now I don’t want to talk about it anymore! And if anyone of you brings this up again, especially to your father, I’ll make sure to hand out punishments to all of you—“
“What?! So the little suicidal maniac gets off again?! Come on, Mother! He needs to pay by Father’s hand!”
“He will pay Daniel! He’s seeing the beach and the pier for the last time today. Now, I suggest you all enjoy yourselves for the next hour while David and I sit here and dry off.”
Secretly thankful she wouldn’t have to witness another gruesome punishment by her husband’s hand again, Sara sighed then shuddered at the thought her middle son, the black sheep of the family so it seemed, was always getting beaten. Hoping along with Father that the proverbial rod they’d used on David since he was young enough to actually run away from them had not spared him at all. She now gave her son’s side profile a disapproving glare as she finished her sentence but he didn’t notice. He had managed to finally meditate, to tune out everyone there including his wet, sandy skin, in order to concentrate on the Pacific’s front door, and was far enough away in his mind’s eye, not even Dillon could bring him back.
It ended this way for him. The summer of ’86 would become just another disappointment. At least he had his dreams, he decided, as the ocean breeze suddenly shot sand in his eyes. Hands to face, David leaned down, his head between his knees as he rubbed his eyes and grimaced from the sting. He felt he had it coming however and he knew he was the one to blame for not finishing what he’d tried to start sooner. Sitting there in the sun near his mother, he could only rely on one avenue now. Only one road left to take. Resolved to concentrate on his closet door and his dream world to escape to, he could at the very least, visit the other world. It would be like a nightly vacation from my current, restricted and boring, teenage life…yeah, that would be okay…escape for eight hours a day while everyone else, including Dillon, slept…
Still, he couldn’t stop the panic from slipping in. He slowly lifted his head, wiping away automatic tears so that he could see again, David watched the ocean horizon with frantic worry that his options were now very limited. Without owning a driver’s license and not having any friends at all, let alone friends who had cars and could drive, he was stuck to dwell in-land for the remainder of the summer. It bothered him more than it should have, but he’d invested so many hours there at the pier and along the shore. It was considered in many ways, his meditative refueling space, his so-called ‘happy place’ and the secret doorway to the next world as far as he was concerned. He had to deal with the fact that the doorway, the descent down to the other world, was only fifteen minutes away by fast car. The Pacific Ocean could have been across the continent for all he cared. Unfortunately he did - greatly. It was a long end to the summer.
******
As Christian parents, John and Sara Smith had high ideals for themselves and their almost grown children. Father’s motto was, ‘we all fear God’s wrath, and let my own children know mine.’ It was to David a mockery of authority; a dominant hierarchy of power and intimidation to follow in line with head bowed and eyes focused on the sheep in front of you. He hated it more and more like a gradual revelation made possible with each passing year he grew older.
As a pastor for the little known and relatively new ‘Grass Roots Congregation of Jesus Christ Our Lord,’ John Smith lived and breathed his work whenever he could and for David that meant while they waited in line at the grocery store, the gas station, or anywhere else Father could minister to the poor, misguided people of Vista and Oceanside. David would have fun with it sometimes, much to Dillon’s quiet grumblings, by grabbing scary bums off the street when his father wasn’t looking, to bring over for what David considered to be ‘Christian cleansing.’ Father would comply because God forbid, he’d turn any downtrodden, petty thief or alcoholic away from receiving ‘The Word.’ It made for some mild entertainment in an otherwise, droll, uptight household.
There were sixty six members in the Grass Roots. They gathered at the run-down, little school house a few blocks away from the Smith’s home, as well as several mid-week meetings and social events at the Smiths’ residence. It would always get too crowded, but Dillon would rationalize to David that several dozen Grass Roots members in their tiny house was the equivalent of two hundred screaming rock fans at a concert. It worked unfortunately and he couldn’t give a comeback to match it.
Lately however, David was spared from having to attend church. After he was caught playing with fire in one of the pews during a sermon on Revelations, Father decided his second son wasn’t worthy enough to represent their clan. He’d rationalized that David would scare off or keep potential church goers away with his presence and considering there was already quite a few comments written down and left by fellow parishioners regarding his middle son’s cold stare and vengeful state, Pastor Smith felt his position as church father and guide far outweighed his role of father and mentor to a son who had tuned him out from the time he could walk. The arson involved a song book and a black, skull faced lighter he delighted in finding in his coat pocket that day. It was the last straw for his more than frustrated father.
*****
The Smiths lived in a four bedroom two story white and brown track home up on a hill. The hillside and the entire county for that matter were rows and rows of homes, all closely situated to make best use of prime Southern California real estate. It would sadden Dillon to watch time and time again a field of wild flowers and sage brush turn into housing developments or even worse, useless strip malls. He missed the rolling hills and wild flowers of Encinitas and Carlsbad, but those images were all rapidly leaving too and in their places more of the same; cement and asphalt suburbia.
A road trip in the family van would showcase the changing landscape. He made the mistake of whispering it to David one day as they all drove south to San Diego. From that day forward, David would break into song, singing verses from The Pet Shop Boys new hit ‘Suburbia’ whenever they all had to take a trip. It was mildly entertaining with the two of them stuck in the back third row of the van. David knew the words and he never seemed to be out of key. (Suburbia Lyrics by Neil Tennant & Christopher Lowe Copyright Sony / ATV Music Publishing, Please, 1986, Sony Music ATV.) Dillon and David both felt at times they were stuck in their own suburban hell.
The Smith children, not having come from a privileged background, had to each rely on individual talent to make their mark. The two oldest were among the elite of the popular circle at school, with Daniel the quarterback of the football team and Rachel, head cheerleader. The popularity stopped there however, with David and Dillon both seen as freaks and outcasts; Dillon, with his perfect androgynous beauty was a puzzle to most, an enigma as David would refer to him lovingly.
Dillon also found himself often defending and covering up for David in an effort to save him from too much scrutiny, secretly asking for divine forgiveness each time he crossed the line for his dearest sibling. He accepted this flaw in character because he felt he was placed in this world, sent down and delivered from the same womb as his brother, to watch out for and eventually save him. After all, they had the same birthday, although born two years apart. Dillon knew from the moment he could think abstractly, that he was sent to save his brother. It was no easy task though and he weathered it as best he could, knowing fully that it would wear him down and it did. Their connection was one the family overlooked frequently because it was obvious to all that the two somehow needed each other to function, like yin and yang, they balanced each other perfectly.
Chapter Three
Tuesday
Morning Hour
The time was six thirty two a.m. David rolled over and turned off the alarm clock. It was Tuesday morning and the start of another school day. I can’t handle another day like yesterday…
He rolled back over in bed, not ready to get up and ‘embrace the day’ as his mother always sang to no one in particular. How does one embrace the day? All he could think of was to breathe in and out repeatedly. That was his version of embracing the day.
Yesterday
Yesterday started like any other day, except it was exceptionally longer than usual, even for a Monday.
David woke up slowly; another night of exhausting, physically draining dreams had entertained his mind. These active nights were becoming more frequent and much more intensely realistic lately he thought as he laid there quietly in bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling.
Dillon sat on the twin bed beside him, dressed neatly and watching him, a worried look on his face. They shared a bedroom on the second floor of their parents’ home. Their room also shared a wall with the staircase, which had its benefits on more than a thousand occasions.
“Mornin’ sunshine - is everything okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” was all David could breathe out as he sat up and stared at the ground. He was stunned thinking about his journey last night. He couldn’t make himself tell Dillon how some of his dreams had turned increasingly darker since his first attempt at the beach; dreams of his death playing over and over again while he slept, only to be replayed almost against his wishes, while he sat at school. It was exhausting to watch the same images play out. At times when he felt he couldn’t handle thinking about his own demise anymore, David could swear he was haunted. Dillon cleared his throat and he snapped back into the moment.
I’ll need to make something up. I can’t very well tell him I dreamt about another version of my suicide - the fifth one this week, no less. Besides, he thought as he looked over at his brother watching him intently with just the slightest shade of worry in his eyes, Dillon was always so optimistic and thrilled to hear whatever I have to say, he won’t notice my little lies.
Lately it seemed that every morning began with Dillon asking about the dreamscape adventures, along with all the characters and their interesting comments. David would pick and choose which stories to tell, elaborating enough to make the dreams rated PG. Lately though, he could tell the stories were dragging on, burrowing down into his head and into the ground; the bottom of his mind a dark, endless drain hole. It was definitely getting harder to water down his dream state for Dillon’s entertainment. With those thoughts re-circulating in his head, he slowly rose and dressed himself for school, choosing not to issue a word.
He pulled out his drawer from the bottom of a dresser they both shared and smiled as he looked down at his fairly large supply of black clothing. “Black on black to drive them all back” was his motto for dressing each day and it worked with his wardrobe, down to his boots. Black button down shirts with matching dress pants was his mainstay and although he used black to keep himself separated and alone, it actually drew attention – most of it unnecessary – his way. After finishing last September not succeeding in his mantra of self-imposed alienation, David changed his tune, hoping reverse psychology would work in his favor. His motto now was to ‘dress to impress,’ therefore black clothes were now worn with the actual intent of drawing attention. Unfortunately it worked, much to his dismay.
He was also never without his black trench coat, no matter how insanely hot it would get during the day. His look was finished by mid-calf leather boots with black and white skull laces. He now glanced at his reflection in their full length mirror and shrugged his shoulders. “I look like an undercover cop trying too hard to look like a rebellious teenager.” He half turned to see Dillon but his little brother was shuffling through his backpack to make sure he had all his supplies in order.
Turning around to inspect his wardrobe again, he thought for a second how much he enjoyed dressing in trench coats, dress pants and combat boots. It just screamed seventies punk rock mixed with a dash of the current decade’s glamour. He’d always thought he was meant to be a seventies teenager and anti-hippie war organizer instead of a current eighties victim of silliness. He felt like a lost child in the new world of expanding technology, music and television – absolutely none of it interested him.
And what’s up with this new Music Television? Why the hell do people want to watch artists all dressed up like actors, sing their songs in a video clip on MTV when you could go to a concert? I don’t belong in this new decade of video music stars…where was the past in the present? What will happen if everybody chose to play music on TV instead of spinning a vinyl record? Total chaos, that’s what’ll happen…
Watching him dress, Dillon noticed again how painful his movements were. “Dave, you look sore, like you’ve just finished first place in a triathlon and declined your prize.” Silence followed, then, “Did you dream again last night?”
David turned around dramatically then stopped as if on a dime, posing as he spoke. “Well, now that you mention it, yeah! And it was really cool too because I had just placed first in a fucking triathlon, and as I was running up to the podium, I tripped and fell—“
“Fine, I get it.” Dillon looked down at his hands folded in his lap and mouthed without making a sound the word ‘asshole.’
Smiling at the recognition of the word, David came over half-dressed and lightly pushed his brother sideways onto his bed. “Don’t be worried Dil, I’m fine - honest Injun.”
Trying not to smile, Dillon couldn’t help but mutter a few choice maternal words, although he couldn’t be serious with his brother right now if he tried, for David was wearing his favorite jacket without a shirt on. He looked like a rock star. All he needed was a microphone. “Please don’t use that expression about Indians, Dave. It’s just so racist and not an accurate description—“
“What? Come on, Dil. Lighten up.” He winked and Dillon only shook his head in mock disapproval, watching his brother turn around, his toned stomach giving him a much older, mannish look. Dillon glanced down at his own mid section and grabbed his concaved stomach and sighed. There’s no six pack here ladies and gentleman, just a small, weaker version of David’s flesh and blood…
“GOD, whatever do I wear on this glorious Monday?” Placing his hands together in mocking prayer form, David spoke with immediate, albeit fake, reverence. “Please show me the way to great fashion, oh Lord?” He asked the ceiling as he walked back over to his dresser.
“Probably the same thing you always wear,” Dillon replied as he rummaged through his backpack for the second time to make sure everything was still in order.
“Yes, yes, but this is a special day because I get the once in a lifetime opportunity to stand in front of my English class and discuss my favorite European author for several undying minutes of agony.” Answered with sarcasm, he took off his jacket and pulled out a black and grey striped long sleeve tee shirt, reminding him of a prison uniform.
“Really? That sounds interesting. Who is it?”
A pause followed while David slipped on his shirt then took it off again, opting out of the convict look and instead, feeling political. He pulled on a wrinkled, black and red anarchy shirt.
“So…who are you speaking about?” Dillon asked again, this time looking up and watching his brother change his shirt a third time.
“What?” David whirled around, irritation spreading across his face as he pulled on his shirt violently.
Dillon, eyes rolling upward, repeated his question. Another pause as they stared at each other in silence, then, as David grabbed his jacket, he walked out the door, mouthing the words “No one.”
Dillon’s jaw dropped open as he registered the reply. Long after his brother had left the room, he remained sitting there, still staring at the door. A single wooden cross with Jesus nailed to it in gruesome Catholic fashion hung on the wall next to the doorway. He made it a habit to touch Jesus’ feet as he entered and left his room each day, usually kissing his fingers first. It served as a reminder that he was never alone. It symbolized the greatest sacrifice and show of forgiveness for all his future mistakes. Still, although Dillon tried not to think about it, he couldn’t help but wonder as he sat there shifting his gaze to the cross that his not feeling alone had probably everything to do with the person who just left his room.
Walking over to the window to look out at the large, beautiful Eucalyptus tree, he stared out beyond it at the horizon to watch the sun come up. “Here she comes,” he whispered.
Turning again to the tree, he suddenly met eyes with a single crow, perched on the closest branch, its head turned to the side to get a better view “How strange,” Dillon whispered.
“Dillon! Come down to eat or you’ll miss the bus!” Mother yelled from downstairs. The crow remained sitting there, as if checking out his bedroom for a future raid. Oddly strange, Dillon thought again. “Bye,” he whispered, his voice annoyed at the intrusion.
Thinking of David made Dillon smile again, redirecting his thoughts and reminding him of his brother’s awe. “My Lord how can he DO that?” He asked Jesus as he turned around and grabbed his backpack. He made sure to touch the cross as he left the room. David didn’t even look scared, he thought as he went downstairs to the kitchen where everyone was, all in different phases of breakfast.
What a pretty thing he is… A nice shiny treasure for the collection! The crow took flight.
Rueben, the family’s Irish setter, greeted Dillon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, tail wagging and his long red fur coat leaving hair balls all over the floor. After a quick ‘hello,’ Dillon breezed by straight into the kitchen just in time to see the drama unfold.
David was already at the table, head held low as he shoveled in his cereal. By staring at the table and rapidly eating, he mostly avoided uncomfortable questions and stares by his parents and older siblings. Rachel and Daniel were both running out the door to catch their daily ride to school from Daniel’s best friend Tommy, who played alongside him on the offensive line in football. Rachel kissed her daddy on the cheek as she ran by.
“Good luck on your speech today honey!” Father shouted as he turned to watch her leave. Mother was at the stove brewing tea. As she walked over to say goodbye to the oldest ones, Dillon entered the room. “Well, it’s about time sleepy head!” She walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I was just on my way up there to wake you. Hungry?” She beamed down at him. Sara was almost six feet tall with a willowy frame and long, blond hair always up in a bun, except in the mornings.
This time of day found Dillon enjoying his mother’s beauty. Looking up at her with her hair cascading down her back and wearing her red and white apron, he likened her beauty to nostalgic, perfectly spared antique furniture; the kind you’d want to be surrounded with when retreating home from a long, stressful day at school.
“Cereal works for me.”
While hugging him, Mother took the opportunity to smell his hair. She did this whenever she could. There was always something about her youngest and his smell, fresh and natural and especially with his hair, she felt electricity there. A current of positive electrical charge emitted from him all the time lately it seemed to Mother. She found herself unable to get enough of him, but nobody was privy to this information. Dillon was her favorite.
Walking toward the breakfast table, he sat next to David as usual. David looked over at him as he sat down, winking obnoxiously before his hair fell back over his eyes and he bowed his head in avoidance again. Dillon smiled secretly in return. At times like these, the two relived their younger youths, playing invisible along with other spy games, gave them both the impression they could disappear at will. Watching David now sitting there trying to camouflage himself brought Dillon back to the painful present and his smile quickly faded.
Father stood at the kitchen counter and drank his coffee while listening to the daily radio morning talk show. The discussion concerned the Catholic Church and all its scandalous controversies. Religious scandals always made the headlines, making Father pace and frown as he listened to it. He was beginning to stew as the talk got more under way. Within a few minutes he started mumbling to himself and before long he began shouting about the signs of the end of the world. “The world we know is Hell-bound, Mother. I tell you the end is coming soon - I can feel it!” He clenched his fists together in frustration, which actually looked like glee for reasons Dillon couldn’t quite figure out as he watched his father walk by the table and towards the counter.
Mother nodded her head in silent agreement like she always seemed to do when it came to Father’s many conservative opinions, but in that flash of a second’s time, everything did come to an end, so to speak, for Dillon had just enough time to watch it all unfold next to him.
As if on cue, David stopped eating his cereal long enough to mock his father’s words, his head still lowered, he must have thought he actually was invisible when he silently mouthed his father’s words.
A backhand from out of nowhere hit him square on the right side of his face, most of the impact hitting his ear and stinging his lower jaw. The force of the blow threw him into Dillon’s lap just as Dillon was pouring milk in his cereal bowl. The milk shot out everywhere, splattering the table and pouring on the boys, covering mainly the older.
The heat spread over David’s face as he slowly picked himself up off his brother’s lap.
Dillon looked horrified sitting there with his hands up in the air afraid to touch anything, staring between his brother and their father. He then watched as Father leered down at David, his eyes almost popping out of his head. His father actually looked animated, with steam shooting out his ears and his face ready to explode from all the pressure building, expanding his head and enlarging his eyes. It looked like a cartoon scene.
Father stuck his hand out until it was less than six inches from David’s face, pointing his trembling finger and saying with his teeth clenched to hold back the rage that was welling up in his throat. “I’ve told you many times over boy - DO NOT disrespect me in MY house! You are here ONLY because we LET you live here, so don’t tempt me! If I had any money, you’d be on your way to military school right now and God help your smart-aleck mouth there!” He took a moment to breathe in more anger while David wisely kept his gaze down and focused on the table. Father paused for a second then sighed as if the next sentence was painful to say out loud. “Unfortunately we don’t have the money necessary to spend on getting you out of this house!”
Mother gasped and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from speaking.
Gee, isn’t it a shame we’re dirt poor and NEVER have any money to send me away?
Another long breath and Father had calmed down enough so that he could continue his lecture, glancing at his youngest as well. Dillon wasn’t listening this time, just sitting there stunned while Mother ran around them wiping up the milk on the table. “So for the moment and however long that may last, you will abide by my rules MISTER!”
Mother finished with perfect timing. She turned around after her quick clean and gently grabbed her husband’s arm to pull him away from striking range of David, who was now sitting back in his seat with his right hand over his ear, his eyes closed. Although the pain was searing through his head, he took in every word spoken. Tuning out Father was never advisable, especially if his ranting ended with a question meant to be answered with a large heaping of respect and in as few words as possible to show submission. David did however keep his eyes closed for they burned with intense heat. It felt as though his eyeballs were on fire. He tried to water up some fake tears just to cool them off, but he knew it was no use. He never could cry – not even on demand. Such a shame too! I could go much farther if I looked pitiful…
“Finish your breakfast Dillon and get going to the bus stop or you’ll be late for school,” Father said sternly, followed by a quick glare at David as he turned and left the room.
Mother remained standing there, torn between wanting to hold this tormented, dark child and feeling the old familiar obligation to follow her husband. As she stood there looking down at her son, she couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of sympathy. This particular child had always eluded her hugs and kisses from as far back as she could remember. Even as a baby, David was never receptive to cuddling. He cried at being held, as if it was painful to have his skin touched lovingly. At the time, Sara had brushed it off as irritability or teething - whatever excuse served the moment best – but once he started kindergarten, he never looked back at her, never showed fear to leave her protective eyes. Now, looking down at him, she had to fight the urge to touch his hair and hold him close. Why can’t he let me love him?
He kept his head down and wouldn’t look up or speak. He felt her emotion and he quickly rejected it. Leave me alone. The phrase repeated in his head. He chose not to open his eyes yet, partly because they were still sizzling, but also because he didn’t want to see her standing there pitying him. Sensing this, Sara turned and left the room.
With her gone and the two of them left sitting there, David looked over but didn’t meet his brother’s gaze. I just can’t deal with those angel eyes today.
His ear began to ring and the room began to spin again as he let go of his hold with his hand. It didn’t last long; he reached back up and grabbed his head again, closing his eyes. Ouch...that might actually leave a mark on the inside.
Dillon got up and touched his shoulder. “Come on Dave, we’ll miss the bus and you have your report to do remember? Besides, isn’t English your first period class?”
He sighed as he opened his eyes. “Yep, first class of the day,” he mumbled, slowly getting up now that the room had stopped spinning. After picking off three cheerios from the front of his pants, David decided he’d better run upstairs and change, for his tee shirt was wet too with more cereal scattered up there. The anger began to seep through his skin as he almost blindly staggered towards the living room and the front door.
There was of course no time to change, so the two brothers barely made it to the bus stop in time to jump aboard as David took one last drag off a quick cigarette he’d lit before he even left the house, courtesy of the hidden pocket inside his famous coat.
As they sat there next to each other on the bus in awkward silence, David began to shiver as the dampness from his tee shirt clung to his chest and stomach. He had a splitting headache too and he longed for another cigarette but didn’t dare on the bus – that would be pushing it too far.
Suddenly, but not surprisingly since it happened frequently, a neighborhood girl named Jessica sitting in front of the boys turned around and began her daily ritual stare. Today, not unlike most other days when he could just look out the window or turn to his sibling and start chatting, David couldn’t take it and unleashed himself on the poor girl after a minute of waiting. “Why in the name of Satan are you staring at me you sick, scary, little rodent?” He hissed in a whispered tone as he brushed the hair out of his eyes and stared at her. Shocked to say the least, yet immediately mesmerized by his scathing charm and raw good looks, she was without words for the first time in her fifteen years of youth. Stammering for an answer but not wanting to look away from the view, she stood there frozen, eyes glazed over and her mouth wide opened. Other kids sitting nearby noticed this and started laughing and pointing at her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Jessica Parker had long, thick, mousy brown hair she always wore in either braids or ponytails, glasses to correct her near-sightedness, and a somewhat frumpy body, which suited her best for a slot on the debate team and second string flutist for the school marching band. She was never without words and could talk for hours - or the entire ride to school each day for that matter - and always tried to sit near the Smith boys. She lived three houses down and would tell them on numerous occasions that she could see into their bedroom from her room and wouldn’t it be great if they could communicate at night by writing on signs and posting them on their windows? David would just gawk at her rudely. It was so painful every morning at the bus stop that lately Dillon would step in and start up conversation with her. But today she was truly without words.
Suddenly David snapped his fingers in her face and she blinked. “Hello? Gerbil?” His face finally registered emotion as a smirk spread across it.
“Come on Dave, just leave her alone okay?” Dillon grabbed at David’s coat sleeve as he whispered his plea.
Sure enough, at that suggestion Jessica snapped out of her coma and said in words barely audible, “I-I-I’m s-sorry for bothering you but you have a-a cheerio on your uh…chest. I know because it’s…uh…my favorite cereal.”
“Gee, really? Did you get a good look at my little pet cheerio because unless you’d like to adopt it, I’d suggest you close your mouth and turn the fuck around.” Seething, he turned his attention to Dillon. “And don’t tug at my coat! Besides my boots, it‘s my only prized possession!”
Jessica took the brief opportunity to continue to stare silently at his side profile.
While not looking at her, he spoke even louder. “Don’t make me break your glasses! That’s right, turn around - good choice.”
Dillon, looking sour, turned his eyes down to his backpack again, while Jessica turned back around and sat looking straight forward in her seat with her eyes closed. Only the kids around her could see the smile that had spread across her face.
David, in the mean time, picked and rubbed off the soggy cheerio on his chest, along with a few others he hadn’t noticed earlier, cursing under his breath but still audible to the others listening intently nearby and behind him.
The bus couldn’t get them to school fast enough as far as both boys were concerned. Dillon got off the bus before his brother and went to leave in a hurry, but not before his arm could be grabbed, stopping him mid-step.
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