When she spots my gawk, the absolute agony on her face intensifies. She gallops down the stairs, her fast pace hindered like she’s had too much to drink.
I’m anticipating she will sling her arms around my neck and hug me tight, so you can imagine my surprise when she grunts while signing, “Where were you?” The absolute fury she releases when she slams her fist into my chest is easily audible over the boom box in the corner of the room. “Where were you, BJ? Why were you not here!”
The anger in her eyes utterly blindsides me. She isn’t panicked or upset.
She’s devastated.
“You said you would be here, Brandon. You promised you would always be here for me.”
Her reply is like a punch to the gut. She hasn’t called me Brandon since the time I came close to losing her.
Fretful she’s about to pull away, I step closer to her. “I am here. I have always been here.”
She yanks away from me when I attempt to cup her ears like I always do when she’s panicked. Her brisk movement has her stumbling into one of the four dozen or more people witnessing our first fight as a couple.
Her face whitens even more when she spots her reflection in the mirror. She’s as white as a ghost, her unnatural skin coloring amplifying the streams of mascara running down her face.
“Melody!” I shout, stomping down my foot when she pivots on her heels and pushes through the people swarming in close to get their daily dose of drama firsthand.
When I follow her through the packed kitchen and onto the isolated back porch, Grayson’s feet thud along with mine. It’s like we’re once again hunting Melody’s stalker, except this time, we’re running for Melody instead of away from her.
I take the three steps of the back porch with one leap so I can get in front of Melody before begging for her to give me a chance to explain. “Please give me the chance to explain. It isn’t as it seems.” When she attempts to sidestep me, I get desperate. “Please, Mellowy…”
That stops her like it always does, but instead of appeasing her anguish, it doubles it.
“Don’t call me that. I am not a child. I am also not as stupid as everyone thinks I am!”
The horror on her face truly guts me, but it has nothing on the gut-wrenching image I spot behind her left shoulder. “Joey!”
As my heart shatters beyond repair, I sprint toward the old oak tree Melody use to climb to sneak into my room when we were kids. When I reach Joey’s still legs, I band my arms around his thighs, then hoist him as high as I can, praying a bit of leverage will loosen the grip of the noose around his neck.
“Help me!” I scream to anyone listening when the cool grass beneath my feet has them slipping out from beneath me.
Several people spin around to face me, including Melody, who appears seconds from collapse, but only one jumps into action. Grayson drags a stack of chairs off the back porch as if they’re weightless, climbs on top of them, then scoots across the large branch the rope strangling Joey is flung around. It takes him ripping his switchblade knife through the rope three times before the weight of Joey’s limp body falling into my arms causes my knees to buckle.
As I commence CPR on my brother whose lips are as blue as Grayson’s eyes, mine stray to where Melody once stood, except she’s no longer there. She’s vanished. As invisible as the thin slither of hope I’m endeavoring to clutch.
23
MELODY
I step behind a tree when Brandon’s head swings to the right before he slowly drags it to the left. He’s seeking me amongst the crowd, aware I’m here for him but confused as to why I’m not filling the spare seat next to him. It’s been five days since Joey hung himself in the old oak tree situated between his and Brandon’s childhood bedrooms.
Five days of recalling the smoothness of the chin that grazed my neck before I gave in to the dark pit attempting to swallow me whole.
Five days of remembering the stubble on Brandon’s jaw when he finally arrived at the party as promised.
Five days of scrubbing my skin until it was red and blistering.
And five days of wondering if Joey killed himself because of what he had done.
The evidence is damning. It’s right in front of me in black and white for the world to see, but no matter how many times I tell myself the nightmare is over, he can’t hurt me again, I can’t bring myself to believe it.
That’s why I must leave this life behind because
You can’t protect yourself from sadness without first protecting yourself from happiness.
—Jonathon Safran Foer
