The LInes We Crossed

“Run!!! Through there. Scale the wall. They’re closing in!!” Wails filled the air as they had grown tired; running for so long would take its toll on anyone most especially children. Some of us knew what we had done to deserve this, others didn’t. I know we don’t have much time but we can only try. Another one has fallen, another caught. Who will save us?

HOSEA

‘Dear Myles, its breezy today but this bloody sky– it’s still dull. My parents have been dragging my ass around for the whole day and I’m sure it’s going to fall off if I have to sit through another mindless banter. I’ve been missing you for so long and it hurts me to know I can’t be with you right now. I wonder what adventures you’re having without me. What’s Spain like this time of year? Is the sky also dull? Do birds fill the air? Do you smell the salt in the ocean so clearly? I envy you on some days more than others, today being one of them. I hope you come visit me soon.

With love,

–H.’

Myles was my half-brother from my father’s side, ‘A mistake’ my father likes to call him, one from a drunken night of passion with a random woman he wasn’t married to. A year after, he’d wed my mom and I was born in the year to come. On my 5th birthday, a haggard looking woman had come with one of the most beautiful children I had ever seen peaking from behind her silk dress. She had thrust the boy into father’s arms along with a paternity test, spun on her heels and left. Disappearing like she was never there. I had heard mother scream something about embarrassment to father that night. In the end we kept him for formality sake but I was the only one who loved him. We were inseparable. I guess death had other ideas.

I find this exercise a drag, but sadly it gives me normalcy. I place the new letter in the heaping pile. My parents think it’s healthy. I, for one, know it isn’t. But what else can I do? Myles was my best friend for most part of my life and I was his for the entirety of his. Cancer swept through like a storm and shattered my life into tiny fragments. I hear them– my parents–when they think I’m not listening or in my room far away, talking, saying the nonsense I know they believe to be true.

“Poor boy. I’m sure this was God’s way of telling us he’d rather us dead than gay.”

“Liza, please, enough of that. We shouldn’t speak on the dead that way.”

“But-”

“Enough. Please. He can hear you.”

This was usually my cue to stop eavesdropping and bound up the stairs to my room. I don’t even know why I listen anymore. It always kills a part of me but I do it nonetheless.

“Hosea!” my mother’s voice rings out from downstairs, sharp and impatient as always. “Do you have your luggage ready?”

I groan, loud enough for no one but myself, and then I yell back, “Yes mother, I’m on it!”

At this point, it’s second nature to lie to my mother. I am in no way ready for school. My lanky figure is strewn across my bed doing absolutely nothing. The thought of moving from one prison to another makes a shiver travel down my spine. My luggage is a hot mess, with clothes travelling the length of my room. I pick up my phone and dial Xaden and just like always, the first ring is all I need.

“Talk to me Prophet”

Xaden always called me that, ‘Prophet.’ He had found my name funny the first day we had to introduce ourselves. I didn’t. The interaction had become the foundation of a very beautiful friendship.

Where I was quiet and moved around trying my best to be invisible, Xaden was a burning star setting everything in his path ablaze. He was a bit shorter than me with a round face and wide eyes but he made up for his height with his personality. Funny, smart and charismatic, he made for a very interesting human.

“Stop calling me that,” I retorted, never meaning it.

“Never. You missed me, didn’t you?”

“I did actually.” And with that alone I knew he had picked up on the type of mood I was in.

“What’s wrong? And don’t even try to avoid the question.”

“Just……tired. Of everything. Of trying to be the one who always keeps together.”

“Yeah? Well everyone’s allowed to break down. Prophets too.”

“Hahaha, very funny. Not.”

“We both know I’ve cheered you up.”

“Thanks z. means a lot.”

“Always.”

Taking another look around my room I realize that if perhaps, my mom decides to pay me a visit right now I’d be fucked. A few uniforms are tossed into my suitcase, one sandal peeks out from underneath the bed and my toothbrush is still sitting beside the sink. My room is a storm. Half folded laundry, books stacked precariously, wrappers from snacks I shouldn’t be eating and a worn out stuffed bear I swore I’d outgrown but couldn’t leave behind. It had once belonged to Myles. My chest tightened.

I sit up, legs crossed beneath me, fingers digging into the sheets. The sunlight filtering through my curtain is warm, almost comforting. I don’t want to go back, school holds too many memories-some sweet, many sour. This year will be worse. No Myles. No annoying sibling to annoy. Just silence where his laughter used to be.

“Hosea, I’m not playing with you this morning!” My mother calls again, each word laced with impatience and irritation.

“I’m coming!” I scramble up and shove things into my suitcase, not bothering to fold them. My hair is a mess, my nails chipped and my heart–well that is permanently bruised. I stare into the mirror briefly, eyes dull; the boy staring back looks tired, older than eighteen.

Downstairs, my father stands by the car, reading glasses perched at the end of his nose as he re-reads a list titled, “Back to school essentials”. Pretty sure that was courtesy of my mother.

“Do you have your pills?”

“Yes, daddy,” I say, not meeting his eyes.

“Sport shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Journal?”

“I do.”

My mother comes up behind me and straightens my collar. “Don’t forget what we talked about Hosea. Focus. No distractions this time. Be prim. Hold your head high and excel.”

“Got it.” I smile but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. It never does anymore.

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”

“I didn’t!”

“Don’t ‘I didn’t’ me either. Just behave yourself.”

“I will,” I mutter closing up my bag.

We ride in silence most of the way. Horrible lobby music hums through the car stereo while raindrops from the morning drizzle cling to the windows. I lean my head against the glass, watching the trees blur into greens and browns. The school gates loom closer with each kilometer. Inside me, a tsunami rages- one I don’t understand yet, but I know it will be different this term. I can feel it in my bones.

My father breaks the silence occasionally to say things like, “Be careful who you talk to,” or “Stay away from troublemakers.”

My mother reminds me to call home every Sunday after church. I mumble affirmative replies, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I think of my dorm mates. Of all the things I faced last session. Of the endless rules and eyes always watching.

I also think of my dreams, how they used to feel alive and possible. But ever since the incident, everything seems like a blur. Since Myles died, I haven’t been able to focus on anything.

At the school entrance, students stream past in plaid pants and blazers, chattering and laughing about everything and nothing. My stomach churns. I step out of the car and begin to drag my luggage towards the dorm.

“Go get em tiger!” Someone screams from behind me. It’s my mother. There and then I wish the earth would split open and swallow me up. She had no reason to do that. My guess is, she probably saw another parent she felt the need to show off to.

I tuck my head in and continue towards my room. Pausing at the edge of the courtyard, I watch other boys catch up with each other. I feel like a stranger among them, an imposter if you will.

“Hey Hosea!” someone calls. It was Derrick, my roommate. Short blond hair, fierce eyes and a grin that never faded.

“Hey,” I manage, forcing a small smile.

“You good?” He asks falling into step beside me.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“Man, you look like shit.”

I chuckle dryly. “Close.”

We reach the dorms and everything is just the way I left it. The beds are still not soft enough and the windows still squeak.

“Unpack quickly!” Der says, tossing his bag on the adjacent bed. “I hear we’re meeting a new teacher today. Some hotshot PE coach from another school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The upperclassmen are already planning how to flirt.”

“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “Here we go.”

I turn to the window, watching clouds gather in the sky. I don’t know it yet, but my whole life is about to shift. The winds are already changing.