Chapter 19 #2
He expects me to be disgusted, but I understand Ryan a little better today.
“But you didn’t run away. You came back, didn’t you? Your heart brought you back home and you took care of your family.”
“I still can’t forgive myself.”
“What exactly did you do?”
Past
Ryan
After Dad’s death, my mother became a different person.
She had lost the love of her life and she didn’t want to accept reality.
She didn’t leave her bed for days, she didn’t shower, talk, or eat.
She locked herself in her room and cried all day and night.
She was soon on prescription anti-depressants.
But those pills made her sick, they caused her to hallucinate, and her mood swings were getting out of control to a point that Owen was scared to be around her.
I grew up fast after my father died. I had to pick up the pieces that were left behind.
Suddenly, I was expected to know the details of everything that was going on.
Mom’s health, Owen’s education, appointments, bills, and unexpected expenses.
I was bone-tired, exhausted, and knee-deep in responsibility.
My schoolwork was falling behind and part-time jobs weren’t paying enough to take care of my family.
Moreover, Owen was being bullied at school every single day.
One night it all got too much for me, the night before my seventeenth birthday.
Two months and three days exactly after Dad had died.
I had missed practice for the second time that week due to work, and Coach had told me they found my replacement for the season.
It was final, I wasn’t getting that scholarship this year.
I wasn’t leaving this town anytime soon.
I got home from my late shift washing dishes at a local diner.
The minute I walked in through the door, I saw the endless chores waiting for me at home.
The bills were scattered on the kitchen counter, appointments and prescriptions along with it.
The house was a mess, dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes everywhere.
Just so much filth everywhere I looked. Then I heard Mom retching over the toilet bowl.
It triggered something. I remember thinking how did this become my life?
Why must I suffer when it’s not my fault?
So like a coward, before my seventeenth birthday, I decided to run away from the hellhole that held no future for me.
In the middle of the night, I packed a bag with a few clothes and pocketed the little money I had left. I sneaked through the door and crept into the front yard. And then I ran. I ran so fast, without looking back, and didn’t slow down until I reached the bus station on the main street.
“Ryan,” a shrill desperate voice called my name. I turned and Owen was standing a few feet away. Fear and panic were evident in his eyes.
Shame engulfed me for being selfish. For abandoning my little brother and leaving him behind.
Owen was so distraught when he found me.
“Don’t go. I know it’s hard. But don’t leave,” he cried, tears streaming down his face.
He was shivering as he blinked his tears.
His face was pale and he looked so afraid.
My little brother cried easily. I was the one always telling him to toughen up.
But that day I understood how being tough is not easy.
And for the first time since my father’s death, I stopped and acknowledged that I was tremendously scared too.
Life was never going to be normal for us again.
Dad wasn’t coming back. I wasn’t going to college or playing for a soccer league team.
What if Mom didn’t recover and she died too?
And Owen? He will grow up knowing his family didn’t have his back.
What kind of a shitty big brother does that to his little brother?
There was no way I was quitting on Owen.
“Please, Big B, say something,” Owen said, gripping my shirt tight.
I regretted my spur-of-the-moment stupidity. Having my little brother catch me red-handed and believing that I didn’t want him in my life was beyond humiliating. I felt disgusted with myself that night.
Owen took my silence as a sign of contemplation. He thought I was still gauging my choices and that I would leave him behind.
“I will help out around the house. You don’t have to do everything. I’ll help with Mom. Don’t go, Ryan. I don’t know what to do. I have no clue what needs to be done. You can’t leave me alone. Please. I’ll be tough. I won’t cry. Please Big B.”
My little brother bawled his guts out. I hated crying but that night tears streamed down my cheeks and I couldn’t stop them.
Owen fell to his knees looking guilty for making me stay but it was my most reprehensible moment.
I grabbed his shoulders, picked him up, and hugged him tight.
We walked back home and I made us hot chocolate.
We sat at the dining table in silence and finished our drink.
We shared a room together back then. Our single beds were by the wall on each side of the small room with a nightstand in the middle.
We went back to our room and got into our beds.
But Owen didn’t sleep that night. Next morning when I woke up, I found a soccer ball next to my bed.
It was wrapped in an old newspaper along with a handmade birthday card.
‘To the best brother in the world. Happy Birthday’, the card read.
There is so much guilt etched up in his features, as he says, “So don’t call me brave, I am the exact opposite.”
“Stop it. How can you believe such a thing? The most important thing is you returned. You were a teenager. You were thrown into a situation where even the toughest of adults give up hope. You stayed. You are strong and brave. Don’t you dare tell me otherwise.
And you will believe me when I say I’m proud of you.
And I think your dad would be really proud of you too. ”
He looks away like he is not convinced.
“You know what my grandma would say right now.” I tap on his nose. “Don’t feed your past only to malnourish your present.”
Ryan blinks.
“Oh my God, you’re so dense sometimes. I’m your present, and hello! I didn’t get any breakfast.”
That makes him crack a smile.
“My hero.” Cupping his face, I pull him down. “I’m so proud of you, Ryan.” I peck his lips. “Despite all the odds, what an amazing man you’ve become. And babe, do you know, this amazing man is mine. So don’t you dare talk shit about my man ever again.” Then I kiss him and rock his world.