It didn't have to be this way

The first time I met my brother, I did not greet him. He quietly entered the looming house, and we traversed the creaking floorboards like unwelcome animals.

‘Is she asleep?’

He picked up a dusty photo album but kept it firmly closed.

‘She should be knocked out for a while.’ I eyed him carefully. He refused to glance back at me. I wondered if he even recognized me. Jacob’s stubborn face looked just like his photos, except he was worn and old. There was a hint of red mocking his tufty hair. Those searching eyes analyzed every busy corner of the hallway. I noticed his gaze linger on the bohemian carpets blocking the kitchen.

I felt I should explain, but he closed his eyes and inhaled the air as if it were fighting him. I figured he understood enough. He ran his dainty fingers across the crimson wallpaper and the walls cringed back. The smell of whiskey clung to his breath. He twisted his body towards me.

‘You going to show me around?’ he proclaimed. His expression was one of forced neutrality. I froze for a moment, the lump in my throat threatening to arise.

‘Jacob,’ I motioned to the boxes littering almost every inch of the floor. ‘Are we going to pretend…’ but I couldn’t finish my sentence. I did not even know how to address it. I felt ill.

‘Well, no, we don’t have to pretend. But I’d still like to see your home.’ My stomach churned like a washing machine with some strange feeling. It could have been sadness.

‘It’s your home too.’ I claimed, barely even believing it myself. He stared back, his unforgiving eyes narrowing. I wished I could bury my head beneath the colossal heap of books and bags intruding on the hardwood floors. I shouldn’t have said that. His knuckles flashed white with danger.

‘It’s supposed to be,’ he mumbled so quietly I scarcely made it out. I was relieved he didn’t say something worse. My nail biting had only worsened since I picked up that cellphone call last Tuesday. It was my coming-of-age, and surprisingly, Jacob remembered. His voice sounded so gruff over the phone; I imagined him as a drunken, aging nihilist. He was sober, at least.

‘I can show you around, but there’s honestly not much to see. Except her collections.’ I changed the subject hastily.

‘What about your room?’

‘No space anymore. I sleep-’

He interrupted me. ‘Jesus, you let her take over your space?’ His tone was on the brink of accusation.

‘No!’ I exclaimed a bit louder than I meant to. Her junk had its way with the house for years, claiming residence in my room. She hoarded till she had nothing left to collect anymore and over time the heaps peered over me like breathing mountains. I didn’t know how to explain, that it was just too late.

‘I just…You don’t have to lie to me, you know.’ His words were sharper than a steel knife, but I could not deny his worries. I had started to dream I was stuck in a lifeless structure, the trash painting gargantuan shadows while the house spun around me like a carousel.

The house was bleeding, leaving organs exposed and evolving into a grotesque body. The air reeked of mold and suffocated my attempts to escape. The walls said unspeakable things.

It begged me to scrub its insides.

I wanted to ask him why he came back, after all these years. But I could tell his head was imprisoned, either by guilt or by selfishness. My lips stung as my beating heart knocked against my ribcage ferociously.

‘Come.’

I walked without him, arranging myself between the trash in the hall. He struggled through the heaps. We came to a desolate corner in the living room, a forgotten mattress blending in with the floor. I watched Jacob struggle to arrange the pillows as if it made a prettier picture.

‘You need a new bed,’ he joked. However, there was something else behind it. An unease. I chuckled despite my lungs constricting with shame.

‘Well, you should see your old mattress.’ His grin only widened, the air starting to become breathable again.

‘I’d rather not!’ he giggled. ‘Bet it’s yellow after all these…’ He trailed off, avoiding my observation.

 His withering hands reached for the blankets and fashioned the bed to his liking. We must have lingered there like ghosts for minutes on end-there was something being said between us. I heard his voice in my head, begging me to answer him. How did it get this bad? Why didn’t you do anything to stop her?

The truth was, I did not think there was anything that could be done. But that sounded pathetic. Maybe some things were better left unsaid. If I had said everything I wanted to say to him, well, he would have disappeared again. I wished I could ask him about the days he spent with mom, where she was laughing; the pictures captured long-forgotten memories. His toy telescope regularly winked at me under the Sunday Times heap in the study.

‘Do you still like to look at the stars?’ I hesitated. ‘I mean, um…I’ve just been wondering, you know.’

He looked at me sweetly. I wished I could read him. In the dim light, his eyebags protruded even more and his cracked, dry lips were full of blood. It was in our genetics to carry blood wherever we went.

‘Er, sometimes.’ He stared off outside the grimy window. ‘I guess I miss naming them for you. You didn’t really get it, though.’

‘Oh…’ I noticed he was fidgeting, and I wished I could remember.  ‘You know…it didn’t have to be this way.’

Deafening silence. Eternity slipped by in every second. His head looked the other way. My eyes watered and I wiped them hastily.

‘I’m sorry, Leslie.’ Words like crackling fire. ‘This house, man, it gave me the creeps. Can you blame me for leaving?’

‘No.’ I sighed. I didn’t have the guts to leave, but I should have. He confronted my burning eyes with his own.

‘I don’t know how you kept this house together. I owe you.’

A sweet taste danced on my tongue. He really did miss me. The radio noisily sang from the kitchen.

‘Do you want tea?’ I enquired. Mom always said it was civil to offer Rooibos to guests. Not that we ever got any guests.

He shook his head, the overly sympathetic grin still plastered on his face.

‘I should go.’ I couldn’t say I was surprised. He was a stranger in his own home. Even before I was born. I answered with a meek nod.

‘Will you ever come back?’ I withheld from asking before, but the confronting words spoke for themselves. He took a breath and parted his welded lips.

Everything happened at once. Amarula bottles clanged with hollow dread from the bedroom. The floors trembled with fear and I closed my eyes, praying we still had time. Jacob halted, his ears perking up and focus shattering. The clock’s ticking became unbearable as we listened for footsteps. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Creaks were heard from every angle of the house.

A door slammed shut with a loud vibration.

My hands were shaking. We gave each other a familiar look.

He shuffled towards the door, yet I grabbed his warm hand. His torn hat concealed his expression. He nervously dawdled in the chilly air, licking his lips, his eyes darting towards the exit.

‘I don’t want to see her. Not right now.’ He begged. I understood. The house would break under the tension if she saw him. Although maybe that would’ve been for the best. Homes were not supposed to bleed.

The wind shook the house, tampering with the solidity. Rain was pouring outside like an overflowing kettle. His footprints stained the welcome mat, and he left me in the crying house.

‘Wait for me,’ he uttered.

And I did, as I had always done.