I’d tell my dad he’s a hypocrite if it wouldn’t require me to communicate with him.
My flatlining pulse gets a massive spike when my father crouches down in front of me. “We are going to visit Joey tomorrow.” Its unusual climb doesn’t last long. It fades to barely a blip on the radar when he adds, “Mr. McGee has assured me Brandon won’t be there, so you can come with us if you would like.”
When I remain as still as a statue staring out in space, giving him no indication whatsoever I’m interested in his offer, he sighs before leaving my room. How do I know he sighed if I didn’t see his lips move? I felt the vibration of his disappointment. It rattled right through my ribcage before belting my heart with painful slaps.
I flop onto my back when the pang of disappointment in my chest is overtaken by the hollow rumble of my hungry stomach. I’m starving, but since eating is the one thing my father can’t control, I refuse to bow to the pleas of my stomach until my one demand is met. My father either lets me see Brandon, or I starve to death. The choice is his.
Curiosity overtakes my anger when a flash of light captures my attention a few minutes later. I’m not wearing anything reflective, so it isn’t coming from me, and it’s past nine o’clock, so it can’t be from outside.
My inquisitiveness gets the better of me when it happens again. This flicker was quicker than the last one, but there’s no doubting it isn’t a natural event. Someone is purposely shining a light into my room.
My sludge-like steps from my bed double when I realize the light is coming from outside. It’s projecting from an area I’ve glanced at more times than not the past three days. It’s coming from Brandon’s bedroom window.
When I hold up my hand to shelter my eyes from the bright light, I spot a shadowed figure in Brandon’s window. Although white spots are dancing in front of my eyes, and Brandon is the size of a lady beetle, I’m confident he’s smiling at me. I’d recognize that wonky grin anywhere.
It takes me a few seconds to work out why he places his hand in front of the flashlight longer sometimes than others, but when I do, my cheeks groan in protest to my smile. My father didn’t just teach us how to physically survive an ambush, we learned many things—including Morse code.
After holding up my hand from Brandon to stop, I snatch a notepad and pen off my desk before hunting for the flashlight I hooked into my cupboard when I told my dad I wasn’t doing his drills anymore. Fingers crossed the batteries are still good.
Once I’ve found my flashlight and tested its batteries, I return to the window. I almost give Brandon the signal to talk first, but the hurt in my chest has me sending him codes first. It takes me referencing old notes to recall the pattern needed to tell Brandon I miss him, but it was worthwhile when he replies that he misses me more.
We stare at each other across an overgrown field for several heart-healing minutes before Brandon commences his next lot of code. It only takes six letters for me to know what he’s going to say.
Please eat.
Even through an ancient form of communication, I can feel his worry.
When I shake my head, he repeats his code again, but he adds an additional word at the end. Please eat, Mellowy.
His use of my nickname burns my eyes with tears, but they don’t fall down my face. I’m too dehydrated and malnourished for that.
Please…
Brandon stops Morse coding when I briefly nod. I hate that I’m giving in, but since it’s more for Brandon than my dad, it doesn’t fill me with as much frustration as you’d suspect.
Brandon waits for me to consume one-third of my plate before responding to the question I asked before I commenced eating.
How did you know?
I’ve always been a talkative person, so the shortness of our conversation is annoying the shit out of me, but I’d rather it over continued nothingness.
Brandon’s reply is shorter than my question but extremely anticipated.
Your mom.
When I put down the plate, his sequence of flashes beep closer together since he’s so eager to get his message across.
More.
I shake my head.
Sick.
Even from a distance, I can see the panic on his face. I’m not feeling sick because I am unwell. It’s because I haven’t eaten in so long, my stomach needs time to adjust.
Since it would take all night to explain that to Brandon, I use an easier approach.
Full.
