Home
The first of what I hope to be several stories centered around these characters you might have seen me drawing. First time, Julius visits home after about a year of college.
Home
Whimsical Squirrel
Nobody was parked in the driveway, as expected. He was able to pull right in and get right on that familiar, curving path all the way up to the patio doors. It was just a dark blue SUV if you could even call it that, definitely on the smaller side, flirting with two-decades old when he first bought it. Two and a half grand, not bad, it was still running a year later, this make always was known for its will to survive. He worked since he was halfway through high school, so most of his money had sunk into that. Mother had helped with transferring the title at least.
It was an absolutely beautiful day. He preferred the pitter-patter of rainy days but for a summer day the air was quite mild, and the breeze was relaxing. One of the 'rocks' by the door was actually a clever little trick, and the rabbit picked it up and fished out the key from inside. He could easily hear Blaine complaining about how some 'south side kids' might be coming around here, looking to break in. On that train of thought, he'd have to remember to disarm the alarm when he got inside. Mother had said it was the same code when she called. Apparently they wanted to do something else with his room. Turn it into an office or something. Willa and Liam had been gone even longer, but apparently they expected them to visit more often.
He tucked his ears behind his shoulders before unlocking the door. He rushed over to the keypad, couldn't imagine how much Blaine would chew him out if dispatch ended up here. Six beeps later, the perimeter was clear. It was quiet throughout the large house. Langley was having her graduation ceremony today. First the speeches, then out to dinner. Jandon was with them. This just happened to be a good day to come down. He could clean out his old room in peace, at least. There wasn't a ton to pull out of there, he'd brought a lot of his books with him when he left for school. But he'd left more than a few up there, and some clothes. Mother said they'd left some boxes up there for him. Might as well get started.
His robust feet floated him swiftly up the stairs. He'd learned a while ago how to move about this place without making a sound, without a fuss, without a bother. Everyone had a busy day, a busy life, he did his best to stand aside of it. Most of the expansive, six-bedroom home was lit naturally through the sunlight permeating its countless windows. It made for a tranquil atmosphere. At some point he'd learned that they bought this house in preparation for his arrival, something they'd been putting off for a while, until the sixth kid cinched it. You could get away with making them share rooms for a while but when they started sprouting into teenagers, you were going to need a lot more doors.
Mother and Blaine's room was just off the stairs, standard parenting tactic, trying to catch anyone sneaking downstairs. Didn't do much for the kids in the downstairs rooms though, so it was best to just tell them to behave. That was Langley's room, over there. Toward the end, she had gotten into the habit of cooking the family's meals. Mother was getting increasingly less interested in that kind of thing. "Julius, the food's done," Langley would say, either after a small knock, or if the door was slightly ajar, with a little wave. Usually he had his head down, sitting cross-legged on his bed, absorbed in a book or perhaps homework. He didn't usually hear the call she made to the household, moments prior. He'd become so accustomed to assuming the voices weren't addressing him. It was just as well, he wouldn't be going to get his until much later, when everyone else was finished. It wasn't just dinner, Langley had taken it upon herself to take on the domestic role, also doing the laundry on occasion and sometimes cleaning. Maybe it was just a way to normalize everything, keep that 'household' feeling intact from the inside. Everything looked pretty good from the outside, except for one thing.
He groomed over his ears once more. Jandon's old room was past Langley's. "Why can't ear-boy go to the same school that we do?" he'd said, once, lamenting having to pick up his younger brother from the bus stop. He'd made such a rapid turn, everyone was sure he was going to pursue athletics of some kind with how active he was, if not hyperactive. Nobody was expecting the art thing to take over. Mother and Blaine weren't necessarily thrilled about it, even though the boy had talent. He'd drawn portraits of most of the family. Mother kept hers by the nightstand. All the same, art never did pay the bills so he was still here for the time being. Jandon successfully lobbied for Liam's old room in their finished basement, as the eldest son was off to college himself by then. It was pretty strange that they'd ever let Liam have that room in the first place. Being the oldest, he was the one most likely to bring home a doe, and he certainly did. It wasn't too hard to sneak her downstairs. The funny thing was that Liam always managed to keep that perception of being the 'good son.' Good grades, handsome, well-behaved on the surface. It was especially easy to get away with a few transgressions here and there with how squeaky clean he looked on the outside. He and Willa pretty regularly got hit with babysitting duty. Liam got the title of the 'cool brother,' during these times, letting you do just about anything you felt like so long as you left he and Tessie alone. It was in between kisses that Liam had offered an unexpected compliment to his youngest brother, sometime after complaining about Jandon bouncing off of the walls. "That's what I like about Julius," he said, wondering if it was too early to try for the neck. "You can just stick him in his room all night, he never bothers you. Just sits in there all night reading, or whatever he does." A rare show of approval, one that would be taken to heart.
The bedroom at the end is where he was headed. He was just passing the kids' bathroom now. A lot of time spent grooming in there, getting everything just right. Blaine had an image to maintain and although the youngest kid never made it into the pictures on his desk, they were all still encouraged to look their best before going out the front door. Maybe if he tried hard enough, washed often enough, brushed thorough enough, maybe then he'd join the others on the front of the mantel. Until then, the frame toward the back would have to do. He couldn't be sure if anyone ever noticed. Cam from trig never seemed to, but he had his face buried in his work almost as often as the rabbit did.
The lop-ear stopped in front of that familiar doorway. As promised, there were some boxes in there. He crept through the neutral-colored carpeting, into the room, taking a look around. It was a sterile place, he never was much for decoration. The meager desk and shelves were leftover from when the other kids upgraded their own space, the rejected furnishings making their way to him. He hadn't taken every book with him, assuming the campus library would be a rich source. He left the ones he'd read, unless they were a favorite, and some others that he knew could wait. Nearly brought the home first-aid book, could have been useful, but he'd already been through it a few times, a nice non-committal read when you didn't know what you were in the mood for. It was perhaps his earliest skill, out of necessity. Not since he was very little had he asked for a bedtime story, but mother was always too tired, or had just finished reading to the other kids, she'd say. They seemed too old for it at the time but he didn't question her. "You're so good at reading, why don't you read it to yourself?" So he would, first taking in mostly the pictures but eventually taking what he learned at preschool and kindergarten to decipher the print. Sometimes it was like detective work, a process of elimination, until he had what sounded like a logical sentence. In time, he could read just about anything to himself.
He began to empty the shelves. Those book order catalogs at school were lovely. He couldn't understand the kids who just threw them into the recycling bin on their way out the door. The parents would leave those six envelopes on the kitchen table every Saturday, each child's name on it, and everything that was inside of the youngest child's envelope usually went right into the one provided with those catalogs. Mrs. Gibbins was pretty nice, sneaking him the 3rd grader the catalog they gave to the older kids if he was interested. And he certainly was, although they wanted just a little more for those books. One of the rare instances in which the young rabbit would ask his mother for some help, just a little cash advance before the deadline. After a time, they wouldn't even need to discuss it, he could just leave the catalog on the counter and circle the needed item, with his remaining funds sitting atop. Then in the morning he'd find the supplemental cash, and could expect to be a few short come the following Saturday. A relatively painless and above all else, silent transaction which kept the kid busy in his room.
"I still like books, too," Des said, probably from his seat on the bed. He hadn't been around so much lately. The sweetest squirrel boy you ever did see, always looking just slightly away, much of his cream-colored body veiled by that boisterous, brown tail. Shy though brave when he needed to be, he was an admirable little guy. Des was sort of a weird name, but it just seemed so right for him.
A lot of people would have just had pages and covers tumbling into the box, but there was no reason not to try and alphabetize them, all he had to do was pull them off of the shelf as they already were, and place them in the boxes carefully. The stuff under his bed, he scooped those up ages ago, as soon as he knew he'd be going off to school. He couldn't help but glance over in that direction and blush a little. Jandon. He'd seen a lot in here. Or at least enough. Jandon had been getting ready for his own studies, preparing for art school. Some considered this his most insufferable time, and he just had to know all the media, one of the few times the youngest one and his collection could be of some use. Imagine the horror of entering that bedroom and seeing the second oldest brother in there, having pulled out those graphic novels from under the bed. He was just coming back with a glass of sweet tea, always careful to get it when nobody was around, he never was sure if it was for everyone. Jandon was just standing there, looking somewhat...bewildered at the depictions of the male form in that particular comic. It was just a tiny noise, a small hint of surprise from his fifteen-year old younger brother stepping back into his bedroom. Jandon's head snapping back, seeing that normally expressionless face of his younger brother now wide eyed, as close to a lethal blush as one could get. What do you say? Sure, thoughts of 'what are you doing here' crossed his mind and yet the younger rabbit just remained in his paralyzed state, clutching that glass of drink to his chest, his broad toes curling as far inward as they physically could. He didn't even think to tuck his ears back like he normally would. Jandon tossed the comics onto the bed before awkwardly gesturing back at the shelves, something about "I uh...was wondering if I could borrow some of these...you know, for...art." What do you mean 'art?' What are you going to do with them? You're not going to cut them up, are you? What the hell are you doing? All would have been valid inquiries but instead the young lop just vigorously nodded, anything to get him to leave. So Jandon snatched up two of the comics on the shelves, didn't even look to see which ones they were, and off he went, leaving the younger one to stand there for what may have been an eternity after the fact, in that catatonic state, staring holes into whatever was right in front of him.
Yes, that was pretty bad, he thought as he found himself still staring at the spot where they used to be. He never fully did figure out of Jandon told the others. They didn't seem to be treating him any differently, as silent as always. Blaine did make some comments pertaining to the boy's tentative grasp on masculinity but that had been going on since at least second grade. They weren't just cheap thrills, right? They were romantic dramas, about other, very real things, yes. Maybe the family already knew. Maybe it wouldn't have surprised them, just something else to add to the pile. He never brought it up to the counselors, they'd just make a thing about it, probably. He was just weird, everyone seemed to think so, you can't do much about weird. It was a good reminder though, had he ever gotten the others back from Jandon? It was a few years ago and he hated to think what kind of shape they might be in, Jandon certainly wasn't known for keeping his spaces clean. He essentially went from jock to artist and neither was stereotypically known for their organizational abilities. It might have been worth a trek downstairs before all was said and done.
"Oh my god, your face," went Des, likely burying his face into his paws.
I didn't know what to say.
"It's okay...I know how you feel."
Should the books in the closet be factored in? He hadn't considered that until now. May as well look before he was in too deep. The door was opened, the light flipped on. There was already a robust shelving system in here upon moving in. He used to need the step ladder to reach the top but he'd grown to where his toes were enough. Indeed there were a few books up here but most of this was actually from his school days, from elementary all the way up to his senior year in high school. Teachers were often handing back your reports, your essays. What did most kids do with them? Just recycle them? Maybe bring them home for the refrigerator, as was the old tradition? For him, they ended up in here, within a complex system of three-ring binders and notebooks. His grades were good, at least based on the conventional wisdom. Mother and Blaine seemed to like good grades. They didn't notice his as much. Perhaps it wasn't something to celebrate, it was just something you did. He'd taken that attitude over time, an A+ wasn't a special occasion, it wasn't the extra mile, it was just simply the highest attainable grade, and if you didn't reach it, then surely you failed to do something, however small. If nothing else, they never complained about the grades. One more thing which kept him comfortably invisible.
He reached up and pulled down one of the binders and flipped it open. Pretty standard stuff in here, a lot of high-graded math work. This one was for middle school, and the equations seemed so laughably easy, now. Reading and writing classes generally went pretty well too, although creative writing had proven a tougher obstacle. So much of it was fantasy, worlds, creatures, companionship, romance, where did the others pull this stuff from? A nice simple book report on a tangible topic, that was the kind of writing he could excel at.
It was a tiny section toward the back where he found some old sheet music. He'd nearly forgotten his brief time with the violin. Liam and Willa had taken piano together, and could still play a little something on the one downstairs, to their parents' delight. Reya had tinkered with clarinet and later acoustic guitar, managing to pull her mother and father to most recitals. So music seemed like a logical idea for the youngest boy. Perhaps the safer choice would have been the established ones, piano, clarinet, but something about violin seemed nice, a soothing sound the child had come to appreciate, and it wasn't too far from guitar, right? He just felt like it, an instinct a lot of rabbit families taught their young to ignore. In hindsight he wasn't sure what he expected upon announcing that he would be taking on the instrument. Perhaps there wasn't any kind of big party for the other kids when they got started, and Liam and Willa were probably pushed into piano since they already had one, a passion of mother's when she still did that kind of thing. It wouldn't be fair to say that mother hadn't supported the endeavor to a point, she did often drop him off for the concerts, adding "just call when you're done" before heading back to the house. And by the time high school rolled around, he was more or less done.
He wasn't sure how to alphabetize these. Maybe they didn't need to be. Into the boxes they went. The one for elementary school had something sticking out of it. He pulled it out, turned it right side up. A birthday card. Yes, he remembered this. A cartoony picture of smiling rabbit on it. Tan fur. Sunny background. Lop ears. He opened it up. There was a pre-printed message inside. Below that, a written note:
I hope you're having a happy birthday, Julius! I just want you to know that I'm thinking about you. Try to do something fun. You're good enough just the way you are!!
-Ms. Alden
He bit his lip. Something about that last part. She made a smiley face at the end, using the dots of the exclamation points as eyes. He carefully tucked it back into the binder, and it joined the others in the box. He wiped back his ears. Those notes from school, why isn't he making friends, he's so smart but why can't he talk to the other kids? If you asked him, why should it matter? The grades were good, so what if you're quiet, you're not there to talk, it's pretty much the first rule of most classrooms. But he still got those notes, or they made a phone call or two, trying to figure the kid out. He thought he was keeping a low profile but perhaps there's such a thing as being too inconspicuous. "Stop being weird," was the clearest direction he'd gotten for it. "Hey, my kids are just fine, you deal with Julius."
He'd brought many of his clothes with him to school but there were still some outfits here. Was he supposed to take them? He couldn't imagine that they wanted him to leave them. Some of them he'd outgrown. Maybe they could just toss them into the donation bin, or give them out to relatives bringing up their own kits. But they probably wanted every last trace gone. It was likely the energy for hand-me-downs wasn't quite there, anymore. He was hungry.
Was it proper to grab something from the fridge? Yes it was his childhood home but even back then he was tentative about making too many trips there. It wasn't entirely clear if this was an everybody-fridge. All the same, it was expensive to live on your own, even on a scholarship. He wasn't the kind of rabbit who required much of a personal life so he was willing to work here and there, sleep when he could. He wasn't going to call home, he was surprised enough at what they gave him to start, something to keep him comfortable where he was. So he didn't waste a ton on food, he never ate much anyway. But after a while it becomes a matter of survival. Maybe he could get away with a veggie wrap.
He yawned as he reached the bottom of the stairs. A little rub of the eyes. This was originally going to be one of those sleeping days before he got that call from mother. But it was relaxing in its way, organizing among only the sound of the breeze and the birds outside. He did love to put things in their place, keep them tidy, line them up. Cleaning up was never much of a punishment for him, not that he ever got into any trouble. There had been ample occasions of both parents scolding the other kids about keeping their bedrooms clean. Seemed like an ideal strategy for him to just keep it that way all the time. It hadn't amounted to much but it turned out to be a pretty okay activity.
There was the piano, en route to the kitchen. It didn't surprise him that Reya had gone with clarinet instead, and later the guitar. The young doe always did have a way of forging her own path. And after that, acoustic guitar. Oddly enough, it was she who was known as the loner of the family. The youngest kid had mastered it to the point of going beyond the radar, at times it was almost as if he wasn't actually there, Blaine and Mother, ironically, reminded themselves of it more than he ever could. In any case, Reya was around just often enough for you to notice that she wasn't around much. Perhaps she could be called his 'favorite,' they seemed to have the best mutual understanding. If they both happened to wander into the kitchen at the same time, no words, barely even eye contact, everybody got what they wanted. If she had any opinions on the situation she hid them well. She wasn't mean, just reserved. From what he had gathered, she hadn't exactly been endowed with the same morals and leanings as her mother and father. She seemed the type unwilling to subscribe to any one, established outlook. He'd assumed, anyway. She never did say much. Sometimes as he crept back to his room after successfully gathering his provisions, he'd hear her plucking at those strings, and he'd stop. She didn't have the fingers for it, or at least that was the conventional wisdom, but she shaved down the tips, 'strummer's fingers' they called it, just to make them a little more nimble, and the claws on her left made fine enough picks. She was working on something. Something different. Something special. Something that made sense, somehow. He was so focused on it that one time, he hadn't noticed when she stopped, and came toward the door, until it swung open, startling him. They locked eyes.
"Um...do you want something?"
There was nothing to say, nothing he could bring himself to say, anyway. So instead he just scampered away. It probably made him look even weirder, but by then he had very little to lose in that regard. 'It sounds nice' might have seemed easy enough to say in hindsight. But at the time, he imagined little more would have come out than a pitiful squeak had he tried. He never did forget that melody, though.
They got a new refrigerator. It looked nice, reflected much of the kitchen off of its chrome surface, which wasn't ideal. Despite how often he did it, he wasn't the biggest fan of looking in the mirror. Even though he was certain the house was empty, it was just a habit, even after a year away, to glance around his shoulders. Nobody here, of course. He opened up the fridge. It was pretty full even though the house hadn't been for a while, now. Luckily things were still basically where they'd always been. He'd been making veggie wraps for himself since grade school. Easy, tastes alright, and fits nicely into a lunch bag. He glanced out past the patio door, at the chairs and table out there. Tempting, today. But he didn't want to be surprised out there should they return unexpectedly. All they'd asked him to do was clean out the bedroom, they hadn't asked him to sit down, relax, or stay a while. They hadn't said anything about eating, either. That was all the risk he was willing to take.
He he was as meticulous as he was immaculate. Despite the preparation of his lunch on the counter top, he was exceptionally careful not to leave even a sliver of lettuce behind. The surface would likely be cleaner than before he arrived. He hadn't lost his touch here, just as efficient as before he left. This was an interesting house, containing multiple routes into the same room most of the time. The lop possessed and intimate knowledge of every combination of paths to take if you wanted to get a snack without causing a fuss. In a house of eight you never could be perfect but he did his best to get in and get out before anyone would have to see him. He remembered being in this room when another argument broke out upstairs. Mother and Blaine again. At the time, he'd been preparing his lunch for the next school day, a habit his mother certainly appreciated that he'd gotten into. The topics echoing from the second floor of the house covered a wide range. Finances, careers, intimacy, betrayal. It was followed almost rhythmically by the closing of nearly every bedroom door in the house. A familiar soundtrack. Blaine had to move houses, big houses, houses just like this one. People wanted to buy houses from people who looked like him, whose family looked like his. A mother, a father, and five long-eared smiling children. Mother had nearly thrown it all away, according to him. She should have "taken care of it when she had the chance." He didn't believe that all the time, but he believed it when he needed to.
Maybe a little iced tea would be okay, he was surprised to see it was still getting made without Langley around. He brought his food and drink to the table, taking a seat. There were questions, no doubt. Was he from around here? Two towns over? From work? Couldn't very well ask to meet the guy. But there probably wasn't much to learn, anyway. Officially, it never happened. He'd been given the family name. Just one of the gang. A glance to his left. A wine bottle was left on the kitchen island. Again, tempting. But he could wait until he got back to school for a sip of his own. It wasn't as nice as this stuff, but it still worked. He took a careful bite. The lettuce was nice and crisp. Something of a cliché for a rabbit to enjoy a good piece of lettuce, but his kind were known to get the most out of that and many other vegetables. It had been a very long time since he'd eaten at this table. He couldn't be sure this was even the original one. It seemed so big and empty. There was something strangely comforting about all the empty surface. In this case, it wasn't just him, the others had slowly drifted away from family meals. There just wasn't much to say anymore and within these walls at least, little for pretense still remained. The other kids were pulled aside by mom or by dad, asked questions, even information. The favorite changed on a daily basis, a source of stress Julius was uniquely able to evade. So much talking behind the doors, currying favor, you couldn't trust anyone for long. There wasn't much of a desire to eat near them. In general the six children did their best to keep the tension on the adult level, locked behind the parents' bedroom door. Despite their best efforts, however, it never does seem to work that simply.
That was one half down. He'd cut the wrap into two parts. One doesn't exactly buy fresh produce too often when on a college budget so this was a refreshing change of pace. He'd been used to eating alone for even longer. After all, the arguments were loud. Blaine's opinions were pretty clear. Nobody wants to be the one making nice with the kid with those 'stupid looking ears.' There was enough drama within these walls as things stood without invoking the patriarch's direct ire. Everyone had noticed. And for whatever reason, the drooping lobes had been the sticking point but that solid, grey coat was pretty hard to miss in a family of sandy brown. The neighbors certainly noticed. Blaine was furious. It was best to stay away from Blaine.
Mother was different. It was relatively safe to make a request of her, although whether or not it would be honored was up to chance. She didn't have the hostility of Blaine and instead harbored the resentment of a situation that couldn't have gone worse. If even just the ears were right, or maybe the coat, maybe there would be some plausible deniability. But it hadn't happened that way, it was exactly as bad as it could have been. It was like when you drop something on the floor and of course it also rolls under the sofa. A roll that bad felt like something in the cosmos was at play, that punishment was actively being dolled out. It was, in a word, irritating. He didn't want to bother her. He never wanted to ask. He owed her a lot for that. Like the books, he immersed himself instead of askng. And he always had done so well in literature classes. "Good job making your lunch yesterday, Julius, I must have forgot...is that something you'd like to do every day?" How many other kids got to decide what they ate for lunch? "Are you good walking?" He certainly knew how to get around. The child could essentially manage himself, a set of skills which would serve him well in the solitude of adulthood.
He didn't normally eat so fast but he didn't want to linger. His meal finished, the lop sipped up the rest of the tea. He washed and dried his dishes thoroughly before placing it them with the rest. Of course, he wiped down the counter and the table. Not a hint of his presence remained. It was time to head back upstairs. There really wasn't much else to do besides organize a little and then cart it all outside.
In a household of eight, it was so rare for it to ever be this empty. It happened only a few times as he was coming up. Sometimes he'd take the risk and bring one of his books down to the den and read on the couch. His bedroom felt safe but everyone could do with a change of scenery every few years, even if just for an hour or so. He hopped back up the stairs. It was inevitable though, sometimes he'd run into one of them. Most of them didn't have much to say. But spending nearly two decades in any home with the same folks will eventually find you alone with each of them one way or another. Sometimes his discreet trip to the kitchen was botched and Blaine would walk in. He would try to go even quieter and sometimes it would just pass. Other times, "don't eat up all the food unless you're planning to pay for it." Or perhaps "is there any reason you need to be in here right now?" Or maybe just "move." But most of it happened from their bedroom, the one he was passing now. It was directed at his mother. "I look like a fucking idiot," he'd say. "Every time that stupid looking kid walks out the front door." He tucked his ears back as he entered his bedroom again. "The neighbors come up to me saying 'oh hi, Blaine, how's the family,' like it's some big fucking joke." Of course, for mother it wasn't much different. "Well how do you think I feel, with everyone always asking me about you, 'how's Blaine doing, spending much time with the husband?' You're not the only one dealing with it."
"Well whose fucking fault is that?" was the expected follow up. Indeed it was hard to argue. And yet it happened anyway. Ultimately she'd trying to quiet him down, "you want Julius to hear?" It was, perhaps, Blaine's only compliment directed at the boy if one ignored the context. "You've seen his grades, the kid's not dumb, he probably already knows." Of course, so did all the other kids. They hadn't made it difficult to uncover. He knelt down on the floor, organizing one of the boxes. It was ready to go.
"Sorry I couldn't go with you to school," Des said, with that breathy voice of his. He was probably hiking one of his knees up to his chest. "You know how it is. I'll um...see you around, maybe?"
Maybe. I don't know.
Des was right, things had changed, he wouldn't be around so much anymore, and as time went on, it was harder and harder to remember what he looked like. He hoisted up the box and exited the room. Did the neighbors really talk? Did people even care about this sort of thing? He couldn't be sure, he'd gotten into the habit of walking with his head down a long time ago. He went down the stairs. He was just some evidently weird looking rabbit trying to live in this house, it didn't seem worthy of conversation but then he never did quite understand the culture. Any culture, to be more accurate, but out here especially, it was all he ever knew yet somehow the most difficult to fathom. Through the patio doors, now. He read for hours every day and it still never seemed to make any sense.
He shut the car door. Just a little more to go. If he could change it, he would, why not, it would make some people pretty happy. Whether it just came out a bit different or never came out at all, it would have made an immensely positive impact on the household. That much was certain, but it didn't happen that way. So everyone just made the best of it. Two parents, three sons, three daughters, they'd have to get along somehow.
"Well, two sons at least. The jury's still out on Julius," he could remember Blaine quipping. He wasn't going out of his way to be weird, he didn't even fully realize why he liked Des' eyes so much until much later. Everything that Blaine and the school children thought was being 'girly' was just his best attempt at being quiet. He eventually realized there wasn't much of a difference. He had his mother's eyes, and her eyes were striking, there was no doubt where he got them, but they, by themselves, didn't mean anything. Boys were supposed to have longer lashes, didn't they know that? It was just the shape that made them more noticeable. He did spend a lot of time in the mirror preening, nitpicking over every little detail, he just wanted to look acceptable, he didn't want to be an embarrassment. Jandon did it too, why was it so weird? Why was everything so weird?
Jandon. He'd nearly forgotten, had to check his room downstairs for those comics. The weren't his favorites but they were his. He trotted through the doors, making his way toward those carpeted stairs which led down to the basement door. He knew Jandon was supposed to be out with the others but he'd hate to be surprised, so when he reached the bottom of those steps, he knocked. No answer. A slow turn of the knob, opening the door just a crack. He called quietly inside. Still no answer. He pushed the door further open, creeping inside.
As expected from a young bachelor who also happened to be dabbling with art, the place was rather disheveled. For one with such a strong sense of tidiness and organization, it bordered on distressing. He did all that he could to stop himself from stacking those used up dishes a little straighter or organizing those periodicals a little better. It was a bit of a hike, looking for those little holes of clean floor to traverse. Interestingly enough, despite the mess it smelled oddly pleasant in here. A subtle yet multi-layered fragrance, one you'd expect from a high end mix. All the same, the state of this place indicated a potentially foreboding fate for his novels. It seemed almost futile to search for them but he figured he would at least make the effort.
It was hard to stand here and not think about that night between Jandon and mother. What a loud, terrible fight. Jandon was getting less predictable. Out later, they were never sure with who. He was legally an adult by then, and like most that age, began to question why he was under his parents' jurisdiction. Mom had screamed the answer at him.
"Because you're still living in our house, and we're still your god damn parents!"
Jandon was willing to go there. "Oh, so you're sure about that, this time? 'Cause I mean there's that one weird looking kid upstairs, so I just figured...."
That was bad. It was hard to remember exactly how she reacted but she was stuck. Luckily for her, Blaine wasn't home at the time but she couldn't very well ask for reinforcements on it. He was already rather checked out from parenting, his last two kids had turned eighteen, and she certainly wasn't going to repeat what the second-youngest boy had said in an effort to get backup. Well played by the rebellious buck, although their relationship would take quite some time to recover.
There. He could hardly believe it but on one of the smaller shelves, no taller than two feet off of the ground, he found one of the comics. He pulled it out, looking it over. It could have been worse, perhaps. But there was no hint of the other. Likely couldn't be found without some level of excavation. It was probably best to just run with what he had. He trotted back up the stairs.
Once again, that weird looking kid had backed her into a corner. Nothing ever really did happen to Jandon for that one. Another price to pay for the past. That weird looking kid, that stupid looking kid, ear boy, he just kept on coming back, a constant pair of reminders dangling around his shoulders. He tucked them back, again. It was impossible to ignore despite everyone's best efforts. He got back to his room, putting the comic in the last box to go.
Kids imagine all kinds of things, they wonder about the silliest of ideas. So sometimes it was interesting to just grab the shears out from the drawer and just sit there, looking at the blade, looking at his drooping ears. Of course, he probably was never going to do it. He just couldn't help but wonder what it would be like. He wasn't dense, it was never going to straighten everything out. All the same, with a little finger squeeze on the tips of them, it didn't seem like the most sensitive area of the body. Maybe once you got started, got past that initial wince, it'd be easy to just go all the way through. But he'd probably never do it. Just touching the cold steel to the fur and flesh was as far as he'd likely get. And very occasionally closing its jaws there, just a little, just enough for a pinch. But he always was weak, or perhaps 'girly' like Blaine and the kids said. He'd probably never do it.
With the last of it, he trotted down the stairs one last time. He couldn't blame them. Most of the time when you make a mistake, you get to make up for it, put it behind you and move on. It doesn't normally haunt you like this, a nearly two-decade reminder of what you've done, punishing you for it both psychologically and financially. To be the embodiment of error could be, at times, a rough lot. Like the reaper, you don't necessarily want to hurt anybody, it's just the role you're given. He did all that he could to be as forgettable as he could, reading with the door closed, collecting food and drink as seamlessly as possible. Perhaps this was the ultimate gift he could offer. That room upstairs at the end of the hallway served as a place to house your failings, somewhere to put them out of side behind closed doors, but in the end, it was still there. Now, finally, it was empty, devoid of at least any physical reminders of the before-and-after. Perhaps now everybody could finally move on. Leave it behind. Forget about it.
He reached the bottom of the stairs. He hadn't noticed before, but there was a sticky note lying on the floor near the front door. Looked like it had fallen off. He reached down and peeled it from the carpeting, looking it over:
Julius,
Don't forget to lock up when you're done.
He hadn't.
He punched the code into the pad once more. The alarm was counting down, putting him on a ninety-second timer to get out. More than enough, there was nothing else to see. He moved quickly for the patio doors one more time, turned the knob, door was open. There's that breeze again. It really was a gorgeous day out there. He turned back toward the house. This was usually the part where you said 'so long' or 'see you later' or something. But there was nobody else here. Yet weirdly it felt improper to just leave, but what else was there to do? Julius doesn't live here, anymore.
A wave, small, from the hip. At who, nobody really. Just the house, apparently. It kept him dry for the first several. The spare key was still in his pocket, ready to finish the job and then be returned to its home. He could hear the timer, still counting down. He stepped through the door, closing it behind him.