The Frosted Dandelion

His hands and knees hit the freezing pure ground, causing a shaking vibrato throughout his small frame. 

He can’t see me...He can’t see me... Can he see me?

He pulled himself into a tight human ball and slowed his breath to calm the untrained drummer that lived in his chest. Nothing else was at the forefront of his mind other than not being found, but just like his cat, he felt a curiosity bubble in his bones. He unclenched his muscles and lifted his head above the melting snowbank in front of him. His eyes meticulously scanned the white landscape drenched in sunlight. It was too late, however, by the time his eyes found another pair of colored orbs. Another pair of eyes, another heart of eagerness. He whipped his head back to the bottom of the bank, piercing his cheek and painting the snow with droplets of scarlet. 

“HA! I FOUND YOU!” echoed distantly. 

Thundering footsteps approached him, and then the chaotic movement rolled right over the snowbank on top of him. What happened next was unlawful to any boy… He was being tickled, that poor soul. Matthew, the one whose skills rivaled that of a trained spy, found himself in the clutches of his older brother, James. Matthew began to fill the sky with a high pitched giggle, that held a tinge of relief. 

“JAMES STOP TICKLING MEE!!” 

James, as compassionate as a benevolent king, listened to his little brother's request. Only little by a year, as he liked to remind adults. That was just enough to put him in a position of power, but his heart was bigger than his greed, and always stood by Matthew no matter the situation. Unless they were engaged in their worlds of imagination, composed of spies, traitors, train conductors, and football players, then all physical and verbal abuse was fair game. 

“You suck at hiding. I could spot you from a mile away!”

“Yeah!? Well, it sure took a long while for you to find me, doofus.”

“Whatever. I am still a better spy than you are!”

“In your dreams! 

Their voices found a soft conclusion, as the cool breeze whined, becoming the only sound that whirled around. James' gaze became transfixed on the bare valley before him, unmarked by impurity, only accompanied by a handful of dandelions. James broke the silence. “You think Mom would like those?”

“Those yellow flowers? Yeah! Let's grab them! Maybe it’ll make her happy.” This was followed by an eerie silence that both boys ignored as they picked the flowers.   

“We better get home,” said James hesitantly. Matthew buried his head in his brother's side. 

“I don't wanna,” he whined. 

“I don't either, but it’s getting dark and you know Mom gets mad if we’re out past dark.”

“Not like anyone’s gonna kidnap us. We’d just annoy 'em til they let us go. I am really good at doing that!”

“Don't I know it”, said James, as a small smile crept across his face. He popped up and began to sprint home, escaping Matthew’s teased fury.

When they reached the door, Matthew grabbed James’ jacket in disparity. 

“J..james..?”

“What?”

“Promise you’ll never leave?”

James sighed, followed by breathing in the bitter air to clear the fog that just wrapped his brain.

“I promise Mat. I promise.”

They both entered the house hesitantly, keeping their ears attentive for any voices that might be raised. James felt like a million-ton vest was placed on his back, making every step heavier than the last. He had recurring thoughts about escaping into the woods, but just as he was reminded, he couldn't. He was there for Matthew. They slipped in their bedrooms, but not before seeing their Mom.

“Boys, you were out late. I told you I don't want you out late!”

“I am sorry Mom, but there is still daylight out. And...and look! We brought some dandelions back!”

She found her tensed face washed away with a soft smile, attempting to mask her frustration. She gently pinched the stem of her beautiful weed, and hugged her sons, feeling her eyes grow hot. She gritted her teeth and drove her nail into her arm, as she enveloped the two boys with a facade of peace. She shook her head, “You get washed up and finish your homework. I’ll have dinner for you soon.”

Matthew cocked his head up with inquisitive and concerned eyes, “Are you and Dad still mad at each other?”

Her eyes grew hot again.“....You go on now! I don't need you getting dirt in your beds.”

They reluctantly retired to their bedrooms. They waited for the match to return home to the gasoline. It wasn’t until they heard the front door, that their spines were shot with adrenaline. They looked to each other, with a look of fear and reluctancy, not uttering a word. They understood each other already. They walked downstairs to see their father. He was a shorter man, with coarse hands and ragged pepper and salt hair. There were large snags along his shirt and pants, evidence of his vocation. Hanging up his coat, he leaned forward, having no semblance of a posture. His head turned till his boys were in his line of sight. His eyes were cold, colder than normal, resembling porous stones. “Hey boys. You done your homework?” James raced through his response, without a breath to fuel his words, “Yeah! We are finishing it up right now and then we are getting cleaned up and ready for bed. How was work?” His father paused, taking a second to roll his eyes towards the ground. “Another fatality at work. That makes the 15th this year. I am starting to envy them.” Their father was a construction worker, making ends meet where he could, but finding himself walled by fear and locked within instability. James felt his skin rise and his heart crawl up his throat, forcing him to regurgitate the thought he was just fed. Mom entered the room. Matthew clutched James' hand. James squeezed back. 

“Hi, Lorrie.”

“Don’t pretend. Don't you dare pretend”+

The decibels were rising, causing James to wave Matthew upstairs. Matthew’s eyes pleaded to stay with him, but his body instinctively moved towards the stairs. James gave him a shove, as Lorrie began to hurl expletives as hard as her vocal cords could muster. You could hear the echo of Matthew’s feet, see the growing heat trapped inside his father’s brain, and feel the frayed ends of James' courage. He felt he needed to stay, in order to institute peace. Becoming God’s magician, he had to find hope within a field of ruin. Lorrie lost her temper often around Dad, but James understood she wasn’t angry, she was just tired. She was tired of the ten thousand needles that stabbed her heart daily. The needles were engraved with the word regret. His father was never abusive, yet always left a strong presence of discipline, through punishment and yelling. James knew he wasn’t mean, he was just tired. Tired of the haunting pain that permeated in his brain daily. 

“Things never change, John. You are nothing but a worthless piece of...”

Her words weren’t given a chance to find completion, as James witnessed his Dad raise his hand and whip it across his Mom’s cheek. She crashed to the floor and found her back striking the wall. John leaned against the opposite wall, staring at her in disbelief. James found in front of him, an image he could only ever have observed in a nightmare. Two broken hearts taped together by obligation, and he was the product. He stepped back, rocking on his heel. He then leaned in the direction of the stairs until finally springing towards Matthew. He reached their room, finding Matthew curled in the corner.

“Follow me right now and don't ask questions.” Matthew obeyed, as they teetered down the stairs and broke through the back door, only accompanied by a lantern. The sun had already fallen and night had consumed their side of the world, but neither were intimidated by the dark. They ran for longer than their legs could physically manage until they found themselves at the snowbank. There was evidence of Matthew's blood droplets, marking their territory. James slumped to the ground, as Matthew interrogated his troubled mind. 

“James! James, please tell me! I have to know what happened! My imagination is killing me!”

“Matthew!” James yelled, watching Matthew leap back. Immediately, James softened his face, already ashamed of the emotions he was allowing to wound Matthew.

“Remember earlier today when you peeked your head above this snowbank and I saw you?”

“Yeah…”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I was curious where you were.”

“Do you regret doing that?”

“Yeah because you won the game.”

“Well Matt, I can't let you see above the snowbank this time because I don't want you to regret it.”

Matthew sat silently, then slowly sunk under James' arm. 

“Do you regret it, James?”

“Yeah, Matt. I regret it.”

They fell into a hazy sleep, blown over with a biting temperature, as they clutched one another in need of warmth and safety. James began to wake. The sun was rising, highlighting their bodies and giving them the radiance of the sky, but impeding its full beauty was the clouds. In fact, the clouds began to crowd the beautiful ceiling and choke out the yellow hues. James began to weep softly, attempting not to wake Matthew. He was sick of his skies being bombarded with grey and his beauty being overshadowed by reality. He was shaking with sadness, feeling the weight of reality grasp his shoulders and push him to the earth. He never felt so desolate and bathed in loneliness, as the sobs seized his body. As his gaze turned down, the internal storm was shattered. He found what was perfectly upright and peeking out the snow. It was a dandelion; a yellow dandelion. His face unclenched and his tears stopped rolling, shocked by the unsuspected wonder before him. For a moment, he was given a sun. He was given an orb of beauty. He was given hope. He held Matthew tighter, looking skyward. It was just in time for him to witness the clouds begin to part and the sun begin to peek through once again.