A Bang and a Whimper

John brought the bottle of liquor to his lips and swayed under the blazing mid-morning sun. He kicked a piece of loose concrete down the sidewalk as the liquid scorched his throat. It tumbled off into the grass, and he briefly considered picking it up and lobbing it into the street.

His apartment loomed a couple blocks before him, with its crappy A/C and questionable security. That window there looked into his kitchen. John had left his brother, Seth, resting against the stove, arms crossed, eyes drooping with disappointment as he escaped out the front door. He hoped Seth would be gone by the time he got back.

He lowered the bottle and rubbed his sweaty, curly dark hair out of his eyes. Texas in the dead of summer was equivalent to being in a sauna lit on fire.

Flames and smoke burst out of his window as the explosion shook the street.

The liquor bottle escaped John’s grip as he fell on his backside, hand over his mouth. The bottle shattered on the ground covering John in glass and the tangy scent of alcohol. His brain raced to catch up, but he couldn’t make sense of it.

John stumbled to his feet and broke into a drunken beeline.

***

“Sarah’s worried about you,” Seth said.

He stood in the middle of John’s kitchen, furrowed eyebrows and terse mouth reminding John of someone who was trying too hard to care.

John leaned against the gas stove and took a bite of the hot bowl of soup in his hands. He hadn’t checked what kind it was when he poured it in the pot to heat up. Something with rice and carrots and chicken. It tasted disgusting.

He grabbed the lukewarm beer from the night before and washed away the taste. Seth followed the bottle with his gaze. John held it tightly in his fist, like a starving wolf defending its meal from other scavengers. Seth always reminded John of a bear.

“Why isn’t she here then?” John asked. He rested his bottle next to him and forced down another spoonful of soup. This was the first time in a long while that he felt hungover from the night before.

“She can’t just leave her job, John.”

“If she really cared-”

Seth held up his hand, expression morphing from concerned to annoyed. “You don’t get to say that. Where were you when she had her baby?”

John looked down at the stained tile. “I was busy.”

Seth’s voice was low. “I could smell the whiskey through the speaker.”

“Mom had just died, Seth.”

John could hear his brother’s brain trying to manufacture something to say.

Damn, did he really use Mom as an excuse?

Seth had never been good at talking from the heart. Neither was John. It was only a matter of moments before it all imploded.

“We all lost Mom,” Seth said. His voice was soft. “We all grieve in different ways. But this,” he waved at the beer bottle on the counter, “is something else. It started before Mom died.”

A slammed screened door, Mom chasing Dad into the night, John’s cheek stinging and red.

It had been the last time John had seen his father.

Good riddance.

John felt heat build in his chest. Flames that begged to be let out so that they could burn everything in sight, just to get him away from this situation. It was the uncontrollable fire he inherited from his father.

John set his bowl aside and downed the rest of the beer. He slammed the bottle on the counter and strode to the front door. He had to get out of here before he burned the only line he had to his old life.

Old life? Was he that far gone?

Best not to think about it. He checked the time as he passed Seth who was staring at him, eyes wide. 10:30 AM. The liquor store should be open.

Seth took a step forward. “Where are you going?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” John said, trying to quell the flames as he reached the front door.

“Enlighten me, because I’m not done talking to you.”

Don’t stretch it, Seth. I’m not like you, or Mom, or Sarah.

“Don’t be like him.”

The words punched John in the chest as he rested his hand on the doorknob. The sting of guilt slithered down his spine, but he refused to give in. 

He left without looking back.

***

Two firetrucks and three police cars were already parked in front of his building. His wrecked window was three floors above him, spewing black smoke and dirty orange flames. As far as John could tell the explosion was centralized in his apartment.

People rushed out of the building, panicked and sweating. John scanned their faces, trying to find Seth. Surely he’d left after John? Why would he have stayed?

John shoved against the crowd, trying to get to the entrance of the building, but a hand appeared out of the fray and stopped him. John tried to push it away, but the firefighter was stronger.

“No one’s allowed in there, Sir.”

The man wavered in his vision, and John tripped over his own feet trying to get past him again.

“Ay, cool it, would you?” The man said. His hand settled more firmly on his chest as he met John’s gaze. “Had too much to drink there, buddy?”

John raised a shaking finger and pointed up. “That’s my apartment,” he said. The firefighter moved his head closer to hear John’s slurred words over the roaring flames and yelling crowd. “My brother’s still in there.”

There was no denying it anymore. His brother wouldn’t have left in the hour or so that John had been gone. He’d always been a persistent bastard.

The man’s eyes widened, and his hand moved to John’s shoulder. He gripped it tightly. “We’re already on it. A rescue team went in a minute ago. They’ll recover your brother.”

“Is he dead?” The words tumbled out of John’s mouth in a rush, fighting to escape.

The firefighter didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in closer and whispered words that doused the blaze in John’s chest. “What did you do?”

***

John’s hand fumbled with the knob that controlled the gas stove. He’d left the pot of soup on for too long and it threatened to boil over. Trying not to burn himself, he poured the chunky broth into a paper bowl. The smell made him nauseous. He placed the pot precariously in the sink, adding to the mountain of dirty dishes. He wondered how high he could stack more plates and coffee mugs before it all came tumbling down.

Someone knocked on the door. John squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then walked over to answer it. He hoped it wasn’t the landlord; he didn’t have his rent ready. There were only so many second chances Jeffery was willing to give.

Instead, Seth stood there holding something wrapped in newspaper. He shifted his feet, smile plastered on his face. John’s heart thumped and fell in his chest like it had fallen down a flight of stairs. John hadn’t seen his brother in six months, and he shows up now? Was Sarah okay?

“Hey Johnny,” Seth said. He was taller than John, and wider. John had never won a fight with him even when they were younger.

John skipped the formalities. He was glad he hadn’t brought his beer bottle to the door. “Seth. What are you doing here?”

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought I’d stop by.” Seth held out the thing wrapped in newspaper.

John took it. “You live in Nebraska.”

Seth shrugged and stepped passed John when he failed to move aside to let him in. Seth had always been like that. John figured it was a symptom of being the older brother; he wasn’t afraid to assert himself in places he didn’t belong.

John shut the door and began unwrapping the newspaper to distract himself from cringing at the sight of his apartment. Dirty drapes, sagging couch, three different stains on the carpet. Thankfully, his brother didn’t comment.

The newspaper held a candle with a funky design plastered across it. A collage of flowers and pandas, tinted red and pink.

John held it up as if inspecting a fine piece of art. “Sarah’s still making these? How is she?”

“Yeah, I told her she should do it full-time. She laughed at me.”

John almost smiled. “She’d always had the most sense out of any of us.”

Seth nodded. “She still works at the hospital. She seems happy. You know Julie’s crawling now?”

John set the candle down on the counter in the kitchen. He hadn’t had the chance to meet his niece yet. He felt shame creep in his chest, but he refused to douse it with the beer he’d been drinking earlier. His younger sister had always been the one who wanted him to face reality. That’s why he had to get away after Dad left.

“That’s nice to hear,” he said.

“How have things been?” Seth asked as he eyed the empty cans of beer on the coffee table. He turned and entered the kitchen, where John was leaning against the gas stove.

“Just fine,” John said.

Seth crossed his arms, and John prepared himself for the interrogation. “You still have a job at the school?”

“No.”

“What happened?” Seth didn’t sound surprised. Was this why he came down from Nebraska? How had he heard about John being fired?

John didn’t respond. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. The coffee table littered with beer cans should be answer enough.

Seth seemed to take it for what it was and sighed. “Sarah’s worried about you.” 

***

He had been too drunk to make sure he turned the stove off. Seth must have lit the candle.

It was John’s fault.

He let the fireman maneuver him the the edge of the parking lot, a safe distance away from the building.

It wasn’t long before the rescue team hurried out of the building with Seth strapped to a stretcher and an oxygen mask over his face. John rushed forward to catch a glimpse of his brother. He was alive. His face was burned, and his clothes were scorched, but he was alive.

The firefighters didn’t slow down as they rushed Seth to the ambulance and handed him over to the paramedics. John had no idea if his brother could hear him, but he found words tumbling out of his mouth anyway.

“I’m so sorry-”

Seth waved a shaking hand in the air, dismissing John’s words. He was being raised into the ambulance now.

“I’ll be okay, you hear me?” Seth said.

John couldn’t respond. His breath felt like it had been sucked out of his lungs.

One of the paramedics leaned out of the ambulance. “You can follow behind,” she said, and then closed the door.

John watched as the ambulance drove away. The adrenaline leaking from his system left him weak and trembling, and caused the whiskey he’d been drinking earlier to slosh dangerously in his stomach.

He felt something had ahold of his ankles and was pulling him down into the depths of the Earth. It was only a matter of time before he submerged completely. He’d been here before, but this time it was worse. He knew there would be no climbing out of the bottle if he didn’t do something immediately.

He pulled out his phone and called a number for the first time in over six months.

Sarah picked up on the first ring.

***

John pushed himself off his couch and stood up. He swayed, still drunk from the night before. Nausea threatened to take hold and his vision faltered.

He hated himself.

One step in front of the other, he managed to get to the kitchen. He didn’t know what he planned on doing today. He didn’t have a job anymore, and he didn’t have any friends.

Maybe he’d drink one too many.

It wasn’t the first time he toyed with the thought. He grabbed a can of soup to heat up on the stove. He didn’t really plan on eating it. It was a distraction like everything else.



He turned the stove knob and the gas whimpered to life.