Not with a Bang but a Whisper (Part II)

Author's Note: This is the second part of a story I wrote this semester for a short story writing class. I'll be posting the third part next week! Thanks for reading :)

Trigger Warning: This story deals with anxiety and, in later parts, contains a couple short scenes of physical abuse.

Harmony asked for ice cream, and of course whatever she wants is more important than anything Asad wants, which is to get his game on time, for once.

           Ever since Harmony went deaf in seventh grade, his mom has been solely focused on her. Maybe it’s because Asad is two years older. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have any health problems besides a dust allergy and occasional soccer injuries. Whatever the reason, he’s used to relying on no one but himself, but he doesn’t like it.

           They stop at a red light. “We’ll go to Cravings, okay?” his mother says.

           It’s 1:35 already, and Asad’s game is at 2. “Cravings is on the other side of town from the field,” he says from the backseat, straining against the seatbelt to lean forward. The cat mewls beside him, what’s left of his black fur sticking up in awkward tufts. Argo is old, but his fur shouldn’t be coming out in clumps like this.

           His mother sighs. “I know, but it’s the closest one to us. We’ll be there in ten minutes. That gives us plenty of time to get to your game.”

           He rolls his eyes and leans back against the seat rest, popping his AirPods out of their case. “Whatever.”

           Jon Bellion begins to play. His melodic voice drowns out the sounds of the radio as Sheila endlessly tunes it, and the music is the only thing that’ll keep Asad calm while Harmony—yet again—comes first. Just like the time when he won a soccer award, and his mother wasn’t there because Harmony was freaking out about a late homework assignment.

           He just doesn’t understand his sister and her anxiety. He doesn’t have problems like that, and neither do any of his friends.

           His friends. The guys on the team, the girls who say hi to him in the halls, the random people he meets at parties his mom definitely doesn’t know about. Guess that’s one of the good things about Harmony having his mom’s attention all the time.

           And now, because of both of them, there’s no way he’s getting to the game on time. He should’ve just called Jason to pick him up. Yesterday during practice, the guys had been making jokes about Harmony behind Asad’s back again, and Jason had been the only one to tell them off. Even though Asad’s tried to forget, to brush it off, it’s hard not to hear their insults replaying in his head.

           “Do you think since she can’t hear, she’ll die before the rest of us?”

           “Nah, but she’ll never get a boyfriend.”

           They all laughed. I clutched my soccer bag closer to my chest, my face burning as I listened. It was nothing new. This was what they said when they thought I couldn’t hear. This was what went through their heads when they gave me pitiful looks every time they saw me with Harmony.

           “Shut up, guys,” Jason said, glaring at them. I looked up, surprised to hear anger in Jason’s normally quiet voice. Ashamed though I was to admit it, even I couldn’t work up the courage to defend my own sister. “It’s not funny, and it’s not nice, so just keep it to yourself.”

           The rest of the guys huddled in the group looked at one another, then burst into laughter again. “You got a soft spot for the deaf girl, huh?”

           I felt second-hand embarrassment as Jason’s cheeks tinged pink. Or maybe it was jealousy at the fact that Jason—my biggest crush—might like my little sister.

           “N-no,” he stammered. “It’s just not right to talk about someone like that.”

           The biggest guy on the team—Markos—ruffled Jason’s hair. “Whatever, Jace.”

           The car hits a steel plate in the middle of the road, jolting Asad back to reality. His backpack falls over, his phone sliding out from the side pocket, and he catches a glimpse of the time. 1:39.

           Asad stares at the crushed tissue box on the floor of the backseat. Maybe he should take a leaf out of Jason’s book, not caring what anyone else thinks as long as he’s being a nice person. Maybe instead of being too preoccupied with keeping his popularity and good standing with everyone on the team, he should work on his personality instead.

           Maybe then he’ll finally work up the nerve to tell Jason the truth about how he feels.

           Asad glances at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the top half of his mother’s silver-streaked hair. He wishes a lot of things—that he could be a better friend, a better brother, a better son. Maybe then he would’ve stood up to his father, even though he was just a kid when his parents separated. Maybe his dad is the reason for Harmony’s anxiety.

           Asad never saw his father hit his mother, but he knows Harmony did. Once.

           Asad shifts in his seat, letting his music drown out his spiraling thoughts. And all other noise. He doesn’t hear the honk of the minivan behind them, or the screeching of the brakes when his mother realizes she’s about to crash. He simply feels a sensation of jerking forward, then floating, and then a sudden cascade of sound washes over him as one of his AirPods falls out of his ear and into that infuriating space between seat and seatbelt buckle.

           He’ll never forget the sound of the crash, a high, keening sound, a sound that reverberates and bounces in his head, a sound that is just as quickly dulled into a soft whistle in the background. He thinks of his sister, how she’ll never have a soundtrack to this moment. Unbidden, the last lines of a poem he read in English class last week come to mind:

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whisper.

           He remembers the last word wrong, but that doesn’t matter. He’s thinking of Harmony, and knows that for her, the end of the world won’t even reach a whisper.