Chapter 3: Dartmouth Green
829 Words
Chapter 3: Dartmouth GreenDear Bump…
It’s me, Derek, you know, your brain-damaged brother. Remember I used to write to you almost every day?
Well, it was so long ago.
I thought I’d put you away, Bump, my still-born brother who never came home. Thought maybe I’d said all there was to say. But I need you once more.
I’m lonely, that’s what it is. The days are long since Doctor Lozeau ordered me to take a leave of absence from work, and what I thought was healed in my soul now itches like a battle wound that never quite hardened. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I forget things. I’m impatient. Easily disturbed and distracted. My hearing comes and goes in my left ear. I zone out and lose track of conversations. I walk into walls. I have these fears, these moments of anxiety, I can’t control.
Am I turning into my mother? Remember how Mom went a little…downhill after you died? Spent her days locked up in her room, had migraines and mood swings? And she was right around the age I am now. They say my accident, the coma, caused these symptoms. But sometimes, I can’t help wondering if it’s just the good ol’ O’Reilly genes manifesting themselves. Should I buy a flannel robe and start watching the Shopping channel?
Anyway, I don’t think I want to write about that. I can’t think about my physical decline without feeling despair.
So, change of subject. Let’s see…
This afternoon, I finally returned Myles’s phone call. My cousin has been back in Montreal since Tuesday. I know, I should have called him sooner. Why did I put it off for five days? Maybe it’s because I don’t want him to hear the anxiety in my voice. He thinks everything is normal with me.
Please. Has anything ever been normal with me?
Myles was sleeping when I called, and when he picked up at last, he was so confused, he didn’t even know where he was. “Derek?” he said, after a few seconds. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? What’s happening with you? Is everything all right?”
I tried not to hesitate. “Yeah. I’m fi—fine.” I bit my lower lip. Stared at my socks. I was lying on the couch in the living room, surrounded by the stunning furniture I’d chosen and strategically arranged. Every object stylish and in its place. A coaster under my cup of tea and not a trace of dust on the mantel. Suddenly I wished Spence was here so he could dirty something.
The silence. Couldn’t stand it sometimes. It reminded me of my childhood.
“Derek…What’s going on?” Myles asked, softly.
Myles’s voice is delicate and yet, there’s something steely in it. I enjoy his slight accent, too. My father had a bit of an Irish brogue.
“Well, uh,” I stammered, sitting up, “my doctor forced me to take a sick leave.”
“What? Why? What’s happening? I thought your symptoms were under control.”
“It’s nothing life threatening, okay? Just—I have to stay home and take it easy or something.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I was in Japan?”
“Because you were in Japan, Myles, getting over Ethan, trying not to throw yourself into a nuclear reactor.”
He snorted a laugh. “Japan’s kind of a nice place to be heartbroken, actually.”
“So I’ve heard.” I sighed. “I miss you. You were gone a long time.”
“I miss you, too, agra.”
Myles has many little Gaelic terms of endearment for me.
“We have so much catching up to do,” I said, excitement catching hold of me. “Do you wanna spend a few days here with me while Nick is away?”
For some reason, Myles hesitated. “Um, where’s Nick going?”
“Norway. Remember I told you about the Culinary Arts school he—we—want open in Oslo?”
Bump, it’s really Nick’s idea, as all our business ventures are, but I’m definitely behind him on this one. Nick needs to give back and part of him also yearns to return to his family’s roots in their homeland. He’s divided between his parents’ cultural heritage and his own. Split again.
“Oh, so it’s actually happening, then?”
“He’s trying to arrange a meeting with a few key people in Oslo.”
I wish I could accompany Nick overseas. Support him through those meetings. He isn’t at ease in a conference room full of suits. He gets flustered and then his dyslexia worsens and people start thinking he’s slow. Judgmental pricks.
“You can’t go with him?”
“I can’t—well, I can’t fly, so I’m staying behind.” There was so much resentment in my tone, it could have melted the battery in my cell phone.
“Okay, um, well yeah, I’ll come over and spend a few days. Yeah. No problem.” Myles’s voice was tense. “When?”
“Are you sure?”
“Nick is okay with it?”
“I haven’t asked him yet.”
“Well, how do you know he won’t mind?”
“Because he thinks I need a babysitter.”
Myles was silent.
“What?”
“Nick doesn’t like me.”
“What? You’re like my twin. How can he not like you?”
“Hmm.”
“Myles, Nick likes you plenty.”
“Okay. Okay. If you say so.”
“I’ll ask him tonight. In bed.”
Myles laughed. “So that’s how you get what you want.”
Sometimes.
- Writer
