The Night Before

I didn't know what had woken me up and after a minute or two of listening, I decided I had likely dreamed something. Then I heard my brother's laughing, a nasty sound with an evil edge to it, and cautiously I got out of bed and opened my door. There was an unfamiliar scent in the air, acrid like smoke but somehow powdery. Then there was a sound like an enormous firecracker, deafening and echo-y and the smoky smell got stronger and sharper. My brother's laughter turned to howls and holding my breath I pushed his bedroom door open a crack.

He was in his underwear, kneeling on his bed in front of the open window, both hands gripping a hand gun aimed at the trees in our neighbor's yard. He was cackling and his hands shook from the weight of the gun as he aimed and fired again. The noise was shockingly loud and the recoil substantial - with each shot, it slammed him backwards and his hands flew up and hit the bottom edge of the window. A trickle of blood was running down from his wrist and a few drops had hit the sill but he seemed not to notice. He must've sensed me standing there because he suddenly turned and looked over his shoulder, making cold and wild eye contact with me, and I slammed the door shut and backed into my own room, trembling and with a hard knot of fear making it's way from my gut to my throat. Barefoot and in just my pajamas, I climbed out the back window onto the roof and jumped for the yard then ran for the fence. Terrified he would follow me, I hauled myself over and ran for the safety of the nearest porch light then decided that I'd be too easy a target and changed course for the darkness of a row of thick shrubs.

The shooting stopped but I stayed put, too scared to move or think clearly. I heard the sounds of doors opening and closing, of neighbors talking and shouting, the dogs barking and after several minutes, a police siren. Feeling marginally safer, I crept out of the shrubs and approached the fence - I could see the flashing lights of the police cruiser in the driveway and shapes with flashlights moving about but the house had become still, silent and dark. I had an irrational moment of hoping that he had shot himself, that the police would break in and find his bloody body, and that I could return to sleeping with an unlocked door but it was not to be. When the police left and the neighbors returned to their homes, I made my way back across the yard and up the old oak tree to the roof - there were no sounds coming from the house and as quietly as I could I slid back into my room and my bed. My brother's room was dark and totally still except for the flickers of light and muted volume of the television - it stayed on all night.

Except for the fact that my brother got up uncharacteristically early and made a point of taking the trash barrels to the curb before pleading to a sore throat and having to miss school, the next morning was ordinary. No police arrived, no curious neighbors came knocking on the door. I left in a rush, more than slightly desperate for the predictability and sanctuary of the classroom - my daddy frowned when I turned down a later ride and I left him at the window, staring at the trash barrels on the sidewalk, a puzzled expression on his face.

By days end, it all seemed like a bad dream and after a few more days passed, I was able to sleep again although in addition to the lock on my door, I jammed a chair under the doorknob each night. I never turned my back to my brother again.