I considered making flyers. “Lost: Soul” perhaps. Or maybe “Lost: Will to Live”. I could paste them around town. My little brother would help. I imagined him pumping his legs, pedaling from street light to street light, flyers and tape in his bicycle basket. I couldn’t offer a reward, though. And people really only notice those flyers if they say REWARD in bold, black lettering across the bottom. Not to mention, I didn’t have any contact information. The parents had confiscated my cell phone in what they deemed a valiant and necessary punishment. Like they’d never snuck out of their parents’ house. Like they’d never smoked weed.
I studied the layout of my bedroom for what felt like the millionth time. Beanbag in the corner, tye-dye fabric. Posters of Marley and McQueen on the far wall. An enormous Pioneer stereo and speakers on the floor by the door. And the giant void in the wall across from my bed, where my tv had been before my father had calmly come in and wordlessly removed it. What I wouldn’t give to watch Comedy Central right now.
When my room wasn’t providing me any new entertainment, I decided to check in on Cale. I opened my door slowly and quietly, to make sure Mom and Dad weren’t puppy guarding me. When I found the upstairs hall to be empty, I tip-toed out and stopped before Cale’s door. I didn’t bother knocking. What 8-year-old needs privacy? I pushed the door open and found him lying on his bed, headphones on, eyes transfixed by whatever he was watching on his laptop. I watched him for a minute or two, watched the way his abnormally masculine eyebrows arched and fell with whatever material he was watching. It was something he was familiar with, because his bow lips kept moving around the spaces in his teeth, echoing the dialogue in a whisper. I smiled at how precious he could be, and made my presence known by sitting on the edge of the bed.
Cale removed his headphones and pushed the space bar to pause his show. “Hey Rice,” he said by way of greeting. “What’s up?”
“This house arrest bullshit is killing me,” I grumbled before throwing myself onto my back and taking up the majority of the queen-size bed.
Cale sighed and closed the lid of his laptop computer. He placed it gently on the floor and followed my lead. He lay with his feet near the head of the bed, and his head was somewhere by my knees. We looked like a yin-and-yang, me with my pale skin and grey eyes; him with his black hair and tanned complexion. “It’s only been two days,” he said after a decent pause.
“How long am I supposed to be grounded for again?”
“Three weeks,” he replied somberly.
“Fuck.”
“Language.”
“Sorry,” I groaned, forgetting that my brother was still only eight. Sometimes he seemed so grown up. On more than one occasion my parents had to talk me out of taking him to high school football games and dances on account of his tender age. “What am I going to do?” I asked with a desperate hitch in my voice.
Cale seemed to think about it for a time. “You could read a book. I’ve got tons I bet you’d like.”
Rather than shoot down the idea right away, as was my initial impulse, I decided to give him a chance. “Oh yeah? Like which ones?”
He sat up without effort and walked across the room to a large bookshelf. “Basically everything on the shelves above my head,” he said, indicating the top two shelves. “Mom doesn’t think I can reach them, but she’s not very bright. The ones on the top shelf, left side have a lot of sex and stuff, but the rest are pretty mild.” He removed one of the paperbacks and walked back to the bed. “This is one of my favorites,” he said reverently, handing me the novel.
The cover was soft and smooth, and I read the title. “‘The Scorpion House’? you really think this is my speed? I mean, I sometimes have a hard time getting through Cosmo,” I said doubtfully.
He looked at me heavily through his dark chocolate eyes. “I think you need to raise your expectations of yourself, Rice. There’s a lot of good stuff out there you’re going to miss out on if you don’t just try opening your mind.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re a prodigy, brother.”
The corner of his mouth raised in a smirk and he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, so they’ve told me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a documentary to get back to.” He retrieved his laptop from the floor and looked at me expectantly.
“What’s it about?” I asked, kneading the new book he’d given me.
“Polar ice caps,” he said with finality before slipping his headphones back on and giving me a small wave.
With a smile, I shook my head and mouthed “thank you”, indicating the book he’d lent me. I stood and left his room. Halfway back to my own bedroom, however, my father caught me. I held my breath and awaited another tongue-lashing.
“Rice,” he said without pretence. He had used my nickname. That was a good indication. I nodded, “Dad.”
“You wanna go to Lowe’s with me?” he asked.
I looked down at the book in my hands, and considered spending x amount of hours locked in my bedroom. “Yeah, let me just put this book away.” I ducked into my bedroom and placed the novel on top of my bedspread. I made sure nothing had been left on, and closed the door behind me. I followed my dad down the stairs and out to his Trail Blazer in the garage.
