On The Edge

Heavy bass thumps in my ears in time with my footsteps. My arms ache from the relentless motion of the broom. Dirt tickles the inside of my nose. Sweat trickles down my brow. Light filters through the cloudy air, millions of otherwise invisible particles brought to light by the single slanting ray. I pause what I’m doing to look around the room, the uneven layer of dirt showing no sign of the two hours I have been sweeping.

Red fingers rip the long white cord from my ears forcefully. Eardrums throbbing with the missing melody, I let my phone hit the ground with a thump. I choose to ignore the cloud of dust the arises when it makes contact. Just like I’m choosing to ignore the reason that I’m here. Just being here, in this room enlarges the gaping hole in my chest. A long sigh pours from my open lips as my frustration mounts. Tiny explosions appear with my feet, destroying the minuscule city of mud below me. Cobwebs stretch out their feathery arms in the corners of the room, gripping tightly.

The ancient door creaks and squeals as it opens, slashing through the silence that hangs over the room. The prehistoric red Honda, that some might call a car, is parked hazardously across the driveway greets me. Faded paint greets my outstretched palm as I dig through my pocket with the other. Lint sticks to my fingertips, but they are otherwise empty. Slapping my pockets as if that will reveal a new hiding place for my keys, I groan again. Vivid memories of placing the keys in my pocket make me grit my teeth.

Gravel skitters from underneath my feet as I walk back up the cracked pavement. The uneven floorboards fill my vision as I search for the escaped object—all of the furniture was moved from this house years ago, after the accident. From outside sirens wail down the street, red and blue shining through the dirty glass. The loud whine of a car horn pierces through the thin walls. Dull metal winks at me from the underside of a dust bunny so large that it probably took years to accumulate. Pulling my keys from beneath it I walk back towards the door. The keychain I’ve had since I was six thumps in my palm, the soft surface doing little to soothe me.

Parked next to my lame excuse for a car is a glistening black sports car. Each bumper is shined to the point of perfection. From the driver’s side, steps a man in a black tuxedo. Each hair on his head is firmly in place, gelled into a helmet. He ignores me gawking and instead goes to open the door for his passenger.

Whether from my nightmares or my dreams I am not sure, but a tall man steps from the open door. Familiarity washes over me as panic rolls inside my gut. I can’t decide whether to take a step back or to run into his arms. His already broad smile widens as he takes in my reaction.

“Well?” The question hangs in the air, suspended by my ongoing denial about the situation.

A choked sound flees my throat as I back away. The damp mustiness of the house greets me again, but each movement causes the floor to creak so badly that there is no point in hiding. Eyes smarting, I turn to the silhouette in the open doorway.

“Soph,” His smile has faded, and concern now overwhelms his features; his dark brows are pulled down over light eyes filled with tears. The resemblance from our childhood hasn’t quite worn off.

“No. No, no, no.” My hands lock firmly into my hair, the dark curls catching on my shaking fingers. A sob threatens to break loose as I step closer. “How are you here?” The words are nearly drowned by my shaking voice. “You were gone…” My voice breaks, “we—we had a funeral!” Hot warmth races down my face before I can stop it.

Although it happened years ago, the memory still hurts sharp fragments of glass cutting into the corners of my mind. The too-bright sun and the clusters of people speaking in hushed tones. What seemed like millions of condolences blowing through me. The relentless whispers from the corners of the room from people unsure of how to respond to the empty casket. The unsure glances of people mentally comparing us.

“Soph. Sophia. I am here now.” His voice drips over me like warm chocolate. “I promise.”

“How? How can you promise me something like that? You were supposed to be here for me three years ago. But you disappeared. You left me. Mom and Dad can’t even look at me now. Mom starts crying. Dad looks through me.” The cavern in my chest opens again, wider than ever. The officer’s voice plays through my mind again, filled with sorrow and compassion, Is this the home of Cameron Reed? I am so sorry… There was an accident… Ice on the roads… through the side of the bridge… No body… 

His voice breaks as he speaks as if played on an old record, “Why are you here?”

His eyes are filled with so much pain that I can’t look at him, “You know that everyone avoids this place, right? Small children walk by it and start crying and their mothers take their hands and hold them tighter. Because of what happened to you.”

Curls are tossed into his eyes with a shake of his head. “I am sorry. I really am, but I’m not supposed to even be here, let alone be talking to you about…” He gestures limply at our surroundings. Heavy footsteps pass through the open doorway. The shadow of a mountainous figure teeters over me, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It swoops down like a bird of prey shrouding me in darkness.

“I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” My brother whispers the words over and over, trying to convince himself of his innocence. Panic rolls in my stomach as I process the words. The quiet murmur of his voice like the melody playing earlier. The footsteps a throbbing, thrumming bass line.

Large gloved hands grab my forearms violently. A sharp prick in my neck makes the world go black.