Good days

The smoke still hung from her lips when I found her near the window. At first, I was surprised – after all, mom was still in the house. But then I saw her expression, glowing in the light of the cigarette, and I knew that reason was beyond her.
She brought the cigarette to her mouth again, taking another drag. The light brightened slowly, and the smoke cased itself in her mouth steadily. It shriveled up then, dying as fast as it was lit.

Noticing me, she gave me a weak smile.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Something choked her then, and she broke into a coughing fit. At first, I thought it was the smoke, so I began to move towards the kitchen, but I she raised a finger in protest.

As she expelled the remainder of the coughs out of her, I realized that it wasn’t the cigarettes. It was her heart.

“What are you doing up so late?” she asked. Her eyes were moist – perhaps due to the coughing, but something told me otherwise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered.

She grinned, and gestured towards the space towards her.

We stared for a moment – at nothing in particular. The view from our apartment reflected the price of the rent. In truth, it would’ve been better to have been watching a desktop wallpaper. All the lights were blocked by dead buildings, apartments and houses rotten to the core with its people - a hotel for runaways, junkies and the homeless. The night, which we remembered as being filled with the chorus of crickets in summer played a different song - one of one-night-stands, domestic abuse, and the 24-7 non-stop madness of ‘party music.’

I wondered what Michael would’ve said in this situation. He would always know what to say. I wondered why he had left, but it was a question only he had the answer to.

“I wish Michael was here,” I blurted out.

I bit my lip immediately, and glanced at Sarah. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and I wondered if she even heard me. She was staring at her cigarette, as if trying to magically relight it. The smoke had faded from it and it was dead, used to the very end. She muttered something which I couldn’t catch, but I knew it was about Michael.
And I knew it held contempt.

I shifted uncomfortably – sifting through my mind to find a better topic. Anything would’ve been better than to pick Michael as a topic with her. Ironically, if Michael was here he would have found the right questions to find the right answers.

“Sarah… Will we really be kicked out?” I asked.

If Michael was here, he wouldn’t have been scared of anything. Eviction would have been a myth to him, a concept, as impossible as time travel.

She glanced at me, with a masked expression. Her lips tensed, but she managed one of her fake smiles.

“Of course not.”

It was a delicious lie, and five years ago, I would have believed it.

“I’ll get a job,” I said suddenly.

Her mask broke, and I saw my sister for the first time tonight. She was no longer Sarah Decasse: the worker, the waitress, or the primary income of the household - she was Sarah Decasse: the older sister to Mitchell Decasse.
My voice was shaking slightly, but I pushed forward.

“I can get a job, and - and I’ll quit school. I can always come back to it right?”

Sarah’s face began hardening, and I saw the outlines of her mask again.

“I mean, who cares right? It’s just high school. And who cares about university? It’s not like I’m studying to be a doctor or anything.”

I was rambling now, and she was quiet, listening to every word I said. They buried themselves deep into her mind, becoming guilt, regret and pity. My efforts to lighten her had the opposite effect - she couldn’t see that I didn’t care, but responsibility chained me to her like cancer.

“And when we’ve got enough money again – you could go back to acting. I could take care of mom, and we could have movie night again on Sundays.”

“Mitchell,” she rasped.

I fell quiet, and looked at her. A hand covered her face, and her body was trembling slightly. I didn’t know what to say then, so I stayed silent.

I wondered where Michael was. He would’ve been tall enough to ruffle her hand through her hair. I’m sure she missed that. He would have known all the secrets that made her laugh. He would’ve been strong enough to beat the guys up who brought her home drunk every evening, and he would’ve had decent pay that didn’t cram us in this apartment that was at the back end of nowhere.

“Mitchell… Tell me more.”

I paused.

“Uh, I could learn to drive – and maybe we’ll go visit dad once in awhile. And we’ll actually buy a real bouquet of flowers to put on his stone.”

“Mmm.”

“We’d all be there again, just like the good days.”

We were both silent again, and I had the feeling she expected more – but I couldn’t.

A warm hand laid on my back.

“Just like the good days,” Sarah whispered.

She had another smile on, but this time I couldn’t tell if it was another mask.