The Code To A Don's Heart

t h i r t y

It was hard to walk down this street again, especially from the direction my brother walked away to. In the distance I could see that night. The snow falling, the cold brittle breeze. I could feel the anguish in my body as I walked over the place I knelt in the snow  that night like it didn't affect me.

I had been trying to talk to Viktor on our way here but the closer i got to the house, the quieter I became because the lump in my throat was rising and I would not let it loose. My hands shook when I reached the gate in front of our house, swinging it open. It didn't even creak as I walked up the pavement, Vitor in tow.

I climbed the steps to the house as I did those many years ago. "Don't step on the middle stair," I told Viktor jumping over it. I didn't think it hand been fixed. I walked up to the door and stared at the number beside it.

I run my hands over the digits, doing my best to take a deep breath in without having it stop at my lungs to choke me and make me cry. I tried the door and it was locked. I crossed the porch and over at the bench beneath the window, I lifted pillows and found the key. Viktor watched me quietly, looking for something to pin down what I was feeling but I was reeling in so much I felt numb.

I put the key in the lock and turned it before pushing the door open. The house was musty but clean. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. I guess Mrs. C had been popping in often. I made a note to thank her for that. I entered the house and left my shoes at the door, signaling for Viktor to do the same.

I glanced at the living room and then the kitchen. I made my way inside this particular room and looked into the sink. It was as clean as ever which made me feel a little silly to think I'd find the bowl my brother broke still sitting in there.

It had been three years. I needed to get a grip on myself.

"This place is nice," Viktor commented and I noticed him at one of the shelves in the living room, looking at some family photos. Usually, they'd be face down but Mrs. C kept them up and cleaned.

I moved over to where he was and looked at the picture he was gazing at. Surprisingly, it was the last good Christmas we had with my mom. I was young, like 10 years old, sitting in the corner of the picture, playing with a doll. My brother had his arms around my mum from behind. He was around 16 at the time and had had that large growth spurt that made me think he'd never stop growing and become as tall as a tree. My dad was the one who took the picture. He wasn't in it but he was there in a few others.

"It was," I said softly to Viktor's words. It was nice but darkness causes a lot of things to change. Somewhere safe can turn into a deadly room with a flick of a switch.

"You look a lot like your mother," Viktor commented making me smile.

"Everyone used to say that," I explained to him. "But she was more connected to my brother and he looks a little like my dad."

"You and your dad get along?" he asked.

"Sometimes," I answered because it was true. My dad and I didn't butt heads like he did with Peirce. We had common interests and a similar thought process which made conversations easy and interesting. "He was in the army when my brother was younger, trying to get money and health insurance for my mum. That's why she and my brother were so close. It's only when I was born that my dad dropped from duty and decided to settle down and take care of all of us."

I didn't say that he thought of going back when my mum got sick because the health insurance would've been a lot of help. Someone had to take care of mum and her parents didn't care enough to come visit or offer a hand. Peirce was in that season where college and a good university were on his mind but that didn't work out for him.