OIT II

Our Intertwining Tale, chapter two: Josiah’s Beginning

I could almost feel the souls circling me like a pool of water. It was as if I was standing up to my knees in an ocean. Their waves would be pounding against me, feeling my heartbeat become engraved into the motioned sadness. I close my eyes, hearing moans and cries of help, but no matter what I could do, the only answer that came to me was “nothing”.

I press my icy cold fingertips hard against the bridge of my nose. I feel a slight twitch come from my thoughts, realizing I have demeaned myself, even in my mind.

 I was only human. Only a god could do what I dreamt of doing.

This pissed me off. I immediately stomped the ground, feeling like a child. I hated being challenged, demeaned, even if it meant I had to make myself angry just to ignore everything my head was clouded with – all of the death that surrounded me.

Slamming my foot down again, I heard a crunch, the sound of marble being shattered under my powerful ankles. Looking down, seeing it clearly, I got mad at myself again, but I decided to act childish later.  Staring into the dusted and weed grown marble plaque, I stared at the beautiful words. They weren’t hard to miss; the font was larger than the person’s name. Who couldn’t miss that?

 GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.

The words didn’t sound as reassuring as I’d hoped.  You’d think it would say, “We will never forget you” or “Living always by our side”. But it wasn’t exactly the type of thing you repeated to make yourself into a better mood. This was the type of thing that said, “We will never see her again until we join her, but she is in her thoughts.” This made me…

Depressed, actually.

Stepping off the plaque with no cautious thoughts whatsoever, I took a good look at the rest of the words. The words were the same as any other tombstones. The name was there, including the date of birth and death. Once again, disappointing.

My pocket began to shake furiously, and the darkness around me felt even more isolated when I felt the cell phone in my hand light up in a strange green light. Flipping it open, my mother’s name was written in beautiful black letters. I spoke into the receiver.

“What is it, mom?”

“Honey, you need to come home.” I could hear her voice begin to break, but I made no note of it.

“Why? I’m fine.” Protesting with her always created problems, and I had a feeling she was going to fight harder to bring me home.

“It’s Donovan.”

She always put my brother in these idiotic conversations.

“You need to come home, he’s in trouble.” She continues, but I speak louder.

“He’s a grown man, you can’t hold him in chains, mom. What is this really about?” I felt like throwing the cell phone, but I remember what happened to the last one when I got mad.

“It’s really about him, Josiah.” Pleading in her quiet voice, I turn up the sound. She always spoke quiet when she wanted me to listen to her, but it never really helped. It only gives me more time to not listen to her, so I could listen to the voice in my head, otherwise.

Not listening to her voice in the background of the phone, I kneel down, trying my best not to pay attention. I begin to brush my icy fingertips against the dewed grass. Strangely, even the rain moisted grass is warmer than my own body heat.

Finally, I listen to her last words: “…And now they’re taking him away!” She cried it out, and I wondered exactly who it was she was talking about.

“Whatever, mom, I’m coming.” I spit the words, not thinking about her feelings at all. Hanging up, I don’t feel guilty, not realizing that I was supposed to be.  

Kneeling back down, I read the words: “Gone, but not forgotten” once again. It reminds me too much of my father, the day he had died in that plane. I had just been born and he was coming to the hospital from a business trip. 

My eyes seem tired and worn out. I’ve been thinking too much, I thought. I check my watch. Eleven thirty-two. I was going to be late, anyway. I stood up, not thinking too much anymore.  

Dodging past the old tombstones and carved words, I dart through the dark. I memorized this graveyard like my own city. And because of the cold, unforgiving winter that is up ahead, I can see my breath. Even in the pitch black valley of death.

My mother is standing beside the phone when I enter my home, twirling the cord around her finger, as if she stood there all night. Of course, that couldn’t be possible. It’s only been an hour. I put my black handbag beside me onto the scraped up wood floors. She looks at me quickly, but turns her face back towards the floor, silently mumbling something that I cannot hear.

I pay no attention to it, looking around the walls of my house. Why had she been so worried about me? I stare at her for a second, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. Something is obviously wrong, but she looks as if she doesn’t want to tell me.

“What?” I ask, walking up to her, trying my best to see what has gotten her so fidgety. When I slowly bring my hands up to put them onto her shoulders, she moves away from me.

“You should have showed up when I told you to.” She snaps, glaring at me. She looks like she’s ready to attack me. At first, my body wants to look afraid, but I mimic her emotions.

“You should stop worrying about me about stupid things.” I glare back, crossing my arms protectively. If she’s going to play it like this, I’m going to do the same.  

She shakes her head slowly, “It’s about family; your brother, Donovan. Don’t tell me that isn’t something to worry about.” Pausing, waiting for me to say something, she stands there looking at me with thin brown eyes. After all these long years, she’s gotten more depressed. You can see the gray lines underneath her eyes.

After a long disturbing moment, she speaks before I can do so, “He is residing in an insane asylum.”

“Wh-.” She cuts me off with my question.

“That is not for you to know.” She pauses again, but now, I’m ready to ask my question in time.

“Why can’t I know? I’m his brother.” I’m sick of being pulled from my own life. She thinks it’s for my own good. Well, she’s wrong.

“Yes, you’re right.” She looks away from me, taking several steps backward, “But it is for your own good.”

“How?” I take a step ahead, knowing that I can get the information out of her through mental communication.

“It will hurt you to know the truth.”

I’m sure the truth hurts less than the lies.

She takes a deep breath, moving to the side to make sure I won’t move any farther. She has tried her best to prepare me for this information, but it’s not enough. I’ve lived my life without knowing anything about my family’s life. And finally, without warning me again, she starts to tell me the truth.

“We, as in the insane asylum committee and I, have decided that it’s best to keep your brother locked up because we fear he is trying to…” Another pause. I feel as if this is really something that I don’t need to know about. Even when I was young and she was explaining where my father was, she never stopped as much as she did now.

But, I guess it would be better if I knew.

“Kill you.” Or not.