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icked child, who not even God would have the sense to forgive. And it was b
ecause he’d taken his brother’s life. Or rather, he’d taken the life that O
liver might have had.
Oliver had been intelligent, strong. Born a full three minutes and eleven s
econds ahead of David, there was a time when Oliver had done everything fir
st. He’d been the first able to roll over, to crawl, and to stand. He’d eve
n started to talk a whole year before David moved past the only word he eve
r managed to say: his brother’s name. But, it hadn’t mattered back then. Th
ey were happy, or so David was told. He and Oliver were the best of friends
, and everyone was happy.
Until he ruined it. His grandmother’s house. David didn’t remember her now
, but he remembered the house. There’d been a window in the room he and Ol
iver shared while they were visiting, and he remembered looking out it. No
t very clearly, but he remembered some things. Like, the park across the s
treet. He and Oliver would wake up after their naps and just watch the oth
er kids, wishing that they could go play, too. He was positive that he rem
embered looking out that window. He even remembered it being opened a crac
k, the cool air hitting his face, refreshing him every morning as the sun
warmed the sky. But what he did not remember was the one thing that his pa
rents talked about every time that window came up in conversation. What he
absolutely couldn’t remember, was pushing his brother out that window.
Because it hadn’t happened. And if it had, David was damn sure that he wo
uld have remembered it. He would have remembered it, and it would have bee
n an accident, because, Christ--he’d been three. Not that that even matter
ed, because it hadn’t happened.
“I didn’t do it.”
The sound of David’s own whispered, coarse voice startled him into opening
his eyes as he wrapped his arms more tightly around his chest and drew in h
is knees, fighting off a cold chill.
“You’re the ones who’re fucked up,” he continued, taking in the darkness in
front of him, allowing his mind to conjure shadows that weren’t there.
David knew that there was no one there to hear him. He wasn’t so far gone th
at he thought otherwise. But nonetheless, in his mind he was very pointedly
saying these things to two very particular faces, as if they were actually l
istening. Saying it out loud was just a way to make himself feel better. Or,
at least he hoped that it would make him feel better. Calm. After all, talk
ing to one’s self always seemed to work for Oliver. Why not him, too?
“You can’t keep talking to Mom like that, David. Dad’s not gonna like it, a
nd you’ll be in trouble. I don’t like it when you get in trouble. I think w
e should hide for a while. Like when we go camping. No one ever sees us. Ca
n we go, David?”
David remembered the day he’d walked in on that conversation. Walked in on,
because he hadn’t exactly been a part of it. Oliver had been around the ba
ck of the house, raking up what was left of the leaves littering the ground
. They’d seemed out of place there on the ground, like Christmas lights tha
t had never been taken down; they were what was left over from winter, now
overshadowed by green trees and warm, humid air that smelled like the raspb
erry pies their mother had been baking all morning. He’d moved right up beh
ind his brother, smiling as he lifted a finger to tap Oliver’s shoulder.
“You know I can’t agree to that if you’re not even talking to me, don’t you
?” David remarked.
Oliver turned, frowning, and it caused David to sober. “You know you were t
alking to me a second ago, don’t you?” David asked, just because sometimes
Oliver really didn’t know. But, Oliver’s sheepish shrug told him that this
was not the case... this time.
“I was just...I’m sorry, David.”
“That’s okay, Oliver,” David replied, and then he left it at that, mostly bec
ause he didn’t want to be involved in that conversation anywhere outside of w
hat Oliver considered reality.
David had suspected that Oliver was becoming uneasy with the way he and his
mother had been getting along lately, and walking in on the one-sided conv
ersation had confirmed it. David imagined that Oliver would have liked to s
ay those things to his face--ask him to stop being so argumentative. So dif
ficult every time their mom told him to do something. But, the thing was, D
avid didn’t want to. In fact, lately he rather enjoyed being difficult. Of
course, Oliver didn’t need to know this, so there was no need to talk about
it, as far as David was concerned.
Oliver was of a different opinion. “David? Can we?” he asked, dropping his r
ake to follow his brother past the house, towards the back of the garage.
“Go camping?”
“I want to go before Dad gets home, David,” Oliver said. “Maybe Mom’ll fo
rget if we’re gone.”
Forget he told her fuck herself when she ordered him to finish cleaning up
the yard on his own so Oliver could have pie? David doubted it.
“Maybe another time, Oliver,” David replied, and then smiled as he added, “
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