When We Collide

by A. L. Jackson

  Yet still so very familiar.

  My nerves ramped up what felt like a hundred notches when I turned onto Main Street and followed the single-lane road through town. It was exactly the same as I remembered. Angled parking spaces lined the storefronts of the one- and two-story businesses. Some had gone out of business and had been replaced by new owners, a few were vacant, and many were the same. I passed by the high school where I’d graduated and the county hospital where I was born.

  I struggled to hold back the thousand memories that flooded me when I came upon the playground. It was the playground where my mom had pushed me on the swings when I was a small boy, where I’d played soccer in middle school, where she had left me six years before.

  I slowed and inched by the vacant lot. Swings swayed in the gentle wind, the trees rustling as the night sucked the last of the light from the sky.

  Like I’d known it would, it felt just like yesterday. Like I could reach out and touch her, wipe away her tears that had fallen when she’d broken both our hearts, kiss her one last time.

  I rubbed a hand over my face to break up the memories.

  Coming here had been a really bad idea.

  Two minutes later, I turned onto the narrow street I’d grown up on, and I found myself fighting with conflicting emotions to both stay and run when I was engulfed in a swell of homesickness. Barren elms and full evergreens grew tall along the sidewalk bordering the road, the trees shading the mostly two-story houses, the yards boasting flowerbeds and trimmed lawns.

  Something fluttered in my conscience when I slowly eased into my parents’ driveway, a suggestion of nostalgia and regret. Gravel crunched beneath my tires, and I pulled up behind a huge monster of a truck that I could only assume belonged to my brother. My parents’ house was much like the others, a modest white two-story with a stone path extending from the sidewalk to the five steps leading up to the front porch.

  I felt like the prodigal son when my mother suddenly burst through the screened door and out onto the front porch. She froze when she saw me, one hand covering her mouth and tears glistening in her green eyes, as if she couldn’t believe I had actually come.

  My mom, Glenda, was in her early fifties, a little wide through the hips, but thin everywhere else. Her brown hair had grayed a bit since the last time I’d seen her, and worry had lined her face.

  Blake walked out behind her. A wary smile was forced on his face, and his posture was tense as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn work jeans. He and I favored each other, brown eyes and dark blond hair like our father’s. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, though, stockier, his muscles thick from years of playing high school football and then his move into construction work as soon as he graduated.

  For a moment I just sat there, staring out the driver’s side window up at the family that had been waiting for me.

  I finally allowed myself to admit how much I’d really missed them. Six years since I’d seen my brother. Three years since my mom had been out to California, begging me to come home. Two years since I’d even spoken with my dad. I hadn’t even come out for Blake’s wedding because I couldn’t risk the chance of seeing her.

  God, I was such an asshole.

  Taking in a deep breath, I shut off the ignition and stepped from the car, not exactly sure what to do or what to say. Shame bit at my skin, and I shifted on my feet.

  In a flurry of motion, Mom rushed down the steps. Before I could comprehend it, she threw her arms around my rigid frame. It took a couple of seconds for her welcome to sink in, for me to react and wrap my arms around her.

  She was shaking and crying as she clung to me. She kept mumbling, “You came...you came.”

  I had no words. My throat was thick, my emotions tight. I just hugged her. She was wearing the same floral perfume she’d worn ever since I could remember, and I was struck with memories of how incredibly good she had always been to me.

  I stood there wishing I would have at least been brave enough to give her a reason, that sometime over the years I would have explained that it had nothing to do with her or Dad or Blake.

  She would have understood.

  She finally pulled away and wiped beneath her eyes before she reached out a shaky hand to touch my cheek.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her eyes were serious, filled with disappointment and brimming with relief.

  I resisted the urge to look away.

  Instead I nodded and choked over the words, “I’m glad I’m here, too.” At least it was partially true.

  She smiled and turned to head back into the house. “Come on then.”

  I wasn’t so foolish to believe that would be the last I’d hear about my absence, but for now, it would have to be enough.

  Inside, my Aunt Lara lay dying, and this trip wasn’t about me.

  I went around to gather my things from the back of the SUV. Blake appeared at my side, his wary smile from before now welcoming.

  “Here. Let me give you a hand with that.”

  I paused to look at my brother, six years gone, now a man, a father.

  Blake had never been one for grudges. Our battles had been fought with fists and curses, the fight almost always forgotten by the next morning. Spats, my mother had called them. I wished it could be that simple now.

  “Thanks, man,” I said, tugging the large suitcase from the back of the SUV.

  “Not a problem.” Blake leaned into the cargo area and dug out the smaller suitcase and laptop case.

  I followed Blake up the same steps I had taken a million times.

  I glanced over my shoulder and up the road toward the playground that remained just out of sight, wondering if she still snuck to that secluded spot and if the memories of what had taken place there affected her as much as they did me. Did she feel drawn there, the way I did now? Or maybe I’d just always been drawn to her.

  Shaking myself from the thoughts, I turned back to follow my brother inside. My feet faltered halfway through the front door. My guilt amplified when I set my eyes on the people in the living room.

  I knew them only from pictures, Emma and Olivia, Blake’s two little black-haired, round-faced girls. They were on the floor on their bellies, Emma coloring, Olivia scribbling. Their mother, Grace, sat on the edge of the couch, watching over them. Her mouth twisted up into an obligatory, faked smile when she looked up at me. I had known Grace for years, had grown up with her, graduated in the same high school class.

  Her expression told me how little she thought of me now.

  I don’t think I’d ever known a more awkward moment than when my brother had to introduce me to my two- and four-year-old nieces who I had never met.

  “Hey, Olivia, Emma. Come here. I want you to meet someone. This is your Uncle Will, my brother.”

  The oldest regarded me with cautious curiosity and the youngest with outright fear.

  Apparently expensive gifts sent on birthdays and Christmases didn’t make me any less of a stranger.

  I rushed a hand through my hair and averted my eyes, never feeling more like an outsider than I did now. I’d missed so much, what felt like a lifetime. How could I have been such a fool to allow my past to chase me from my family?

  “Your father is already asleep,” Mom said from where she stood in the middle of the living room, looking just as unsure about me being there as I felt. “He’s still working the early shift. Why don’t you get settled and then you can go in and see your Aunt Lara?”

  Nodding, I started up the stairs to my old room. Blake’s footfalls echoed on the wooden staircase behind me. I nudged the door open. The hinges squeaked from disuse. Flicking on the overhead light, I stood aside and allowed Blake to enter ahead of me.

  He dumped my things on the floor and cast a cautious glance around my room. “Everything’s pretty much the same in here. Mom couldn’t bring herself to change anything.”

  If it weren’t for the lack of dust, I would have wondered if anyone had stepped foot in it since I’
d left. The same worn blue and green plaid bedspread was draped over the full-sized bed, posters of cars tacked to the walls, the shelves cluttered by academic trophies.

  Blake suddenly laughed. His eyes glinted with the same old amusement that had always come at my expense.

  “God, you were such the little nerd.” Blake grinned in my direction, and I smiled in spite of myself at the memory. “It was so easy to piss you off. You’d come after me with fists swinging. For some reason, I thought it was my job to toughen you up. Figured if I kicked your ass enough, I’d make a man out of my little brother. Guess I taught you well. Remember that time you kicked the shit out of Troy Clemons?” Looking at the ground, he shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “Shit. You nearly killed that guy. Nobody was going to mess with you after that.”

  My jaw ticked involuntarily and my fists curled, an instinctual physical reaction evoked at the mention of Troy’s name.

  Maybe I should’ve killed him.

  God knew I wanted to.

  Blake cut his narrowed eyes my way. “Of course, it didn’t matter much. Wasn’t long after that you disappeared.”

  I looked to the ground when Blake’s disappointment covered me like a shroud.

  “What happened, Will?” Blake took a step back to lean against the bedroom wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “One minute everything was just fine and the next we never see you again.”

  I struggled to find a valid explanation, but there wasn’t one to give.

  Dragging a hand through my hair, I released an ashamed breath.

  “I just...” I glanced up at my brother and wished I could say something to erase the last six years. I’d been wrong to take the path I had—maybe just as wrong as she had been. Finally I said, “I’m sorry,” because I had no excuse for the choice I’d made.

  From across the room, Blake lifted his head and exhaled toward the ceiling. The sound hung in the air, filled with questions and dissatisfaction and a sense of letting go. He looked back at me and jerked his chin in my direction. “How long are you staying?”

  I glanced around the room in discomfort, then looked back at him. “I’m not really sure. A while...” I shrugged. “I guess.”

  Frowning, Blake studied me, his expression one I knew well, one of the protective big brother.

  No. Some things never changed.

  “You and Kristina having trouble?”

  I resisted the urge to laugh.

  “Something like that,” I said, scratching at the side of my jaw to mask my unease. Having trouble didn’t begin to describe it.

  Blake nodded as if he understood and rubbed his hand over his chin. “Well, if you decide to stick around here for a while, Grace and I have a little guesthouse out back. We lost our renters a couple of months ago. It’s not much”—he gestured around my old room—“but anything’s gotta be better than this. It’s yours if you want it.”

  “I…uh…” I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. Six years I’d been gone, without a word, without an explanation, yet my brother welcomed me back as if I had never committed the offense.

  Blake grinned. “Don’t sweat it, man. Just let me know what you want to do.” He clapped me once on the back as he walked by, only to pause and turn around in the doorway with his hand on the knob. All evidence of the smile had been wiped from his face. “Just promise me you won’t take off like that this time.” Something passed across Blake’s face, an emotion I wished I couldn’t read. “I mean it, Will. I won’t let you do that to Mom again.”

  Guilt rushed up my spine and settled in the back of my neck. I looked away and palmed the tense muscles, unable to face Blake and what I’d done. It’d been a bitch to ignore it in California. Here it was almost unbearable. “I won’t.”

  Blake said nothing more, just turned away and pulled the door shut behind him.

  I released a heavy breath through my mouth and rushed an incessant hand over the back of my head, feeling like a bastard standing in my own room.

  ~

  Twenty minutes later, I crept out the door and into the dim hallway, the only light emanating from downstairs.

  Mom had just taken the last step onto the second-floor landing when I emerged from my room. She paused and offered a guarded smile, as if the satisfaction of my arrival had waned and worry had set in, a wall of unease and unfamiliarity that the years of absence had built between mother and son.

  “Hi,” she said. Her gaze swept over me. Her eyes were red but tender, and they softened further when she looked back up to my face.

  “Hey,” I whispered and stepped forward, noticing the distinct silence that had set in the air. It was a calm, almost disturbing quiet. “I was just coming to find you.”

  She smiled at the words. It appeared as if the action hurt.

  “Blake and the girls left for the night, so I came up to check on Lara.” She glanced in the direction of Blake’s old room then back at me, her face suddenly swamped in sadness. “Did you…want to see her?”

  My gut twisted, and I instinctively looked in the direction where my aunt lay dying. A dense haze of dread clouded my mind as I thought of facing what waited behind that door. I looked back at Mom, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  She nodded. “I need to warn you, she’s sedated. She’s not awake much, but when she is, she isn’t making a whole lot of sense.” Pausing at the closed door, Mom turned back to look at me, her mouth trembling. “She’s getting near the end.”

  I reached for my mother’s hand and squeezed it. I wished I could give her some form of comfort while knowing I could offer her none. She pressed her eyes closed in return, a rush of tears suddenly falling down her face, then opened the door and stepped back to allow me to pass.

  All the breath left me when I saw Aunt Lara lying in the hospital bed. The head was inclined to keep her propped up, her hair thin and patchy. I’d always remembered her strong. Now she was bone thin. Her face was sunken, her cheekbones prominent, her skin brittle and gray. A single machine sat next to her bed, attached to an IV administering narcotics to make her comfortable.

  I forced myself across the room and sank down onto one of the two chairs at the side of the bed. I took her cold hand in mine. Her mouth hung open while she slept. Each breath seemed to be a struggle as she forced the air in and out of her lungs.

  Had I forgotten how much I loved her?

  Dropping my head and eyes, I ran my thumb over the back of her hand, hoping she could feel me and that she somehow would know I was there. I whispered, “I’m so sorry, Aunt Lara.”

  Her grip was weak, but I felt the change in pressure when she tried to clasp mine. When I looked up, her eyes were fluttering, unintelligible sounds voiced from her moving lips.

  Quickly, I shifted forward and touched the back of my other hand to her forehead.

  “William.” It was raspy, but clear. Her eyes came into focus when they locked with mine.

  I smiled down at her, ran a hand down her stringy hair, and wished I could take back the last six years. “Hi, Aunt Lara.”

  “I knew you’d come.” Her lips quivered as she attempted to smile, gurgling audible in her throat as she fought to suck in air.

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t.” She coughed, her eyelids fluttering as if she were being pulled under again, barely hanging onto consciousness. “I know you’re...sss...sorry. You’re here...now...is all that matters.” Her hand tightened in mine as her lucidity faded, the hint of a smile touching the edge of her mouth. Her breaths came heavy once again and her jaw went slack, her mind dragged back into oblivion.

  I looked up at the white, stained, popcorn ceiling, fighting the quaking that jackhammered against my ribs.

  This was harder than I’d ever believed.

  I sat with her for the longest time, longer than I probably knew. I finally stood and brushed my lips across her forehead.

  When I stepped back out into the hall, Mom was still there, waiting in a cloak of anx
iety, passing time by studying the pictures lining the wall that detailed mine and Blake’s childhood.

  “How is she?” she asked when I latched the door shut behind me.

  “Resting now. She woke up for a couple of minutes. She knew I was there.”

  I watched her reaction, the small dose of joy mixed with what I now recognized as suffocating grief. I’d felt it myself, the helplessness, the impending loss. I could only imagine how much greater it was for my mother.

  “I’m going to sit with her for a while…make sure she’s comfortable for the night. Can you get yourself settled?” She drew her brows tight, almost as if she were bracing herself for my answer. “You are…staying?”

  I knew what she was asking. Not whether I was staying the night. She was well aware my things were in my room.

  She was asking for a commitment, for a promise that I wouldn’t suddenly disappear from her life, the way I had done six years before.

  My head was tilted down and my hands were stuffed in my pockets while I looked at my mother beneath the hedge of hair hanging over my eyes. It was the best I could do to expose myself and hide all at the same time. “Yeah. I’m staying.”

  ~

  I collapsed facedown onto my old bed in a heap of exhaustion, my body weary from the long hours of travel, my mind and soul broken and filled with loss.

  I’d wasted so much time.

  The sheets were cool against my skin. I pressed my palm flat on the mattress where she had lain the first time I made love to her. I could almost remember how soft her hair had been as I wound it between my fingers. Could feel the sting of her fingertips digging into my back. Could see the love and trust overflowing in her eyes as she stared back up at me.

  Suffocated by her lingering presence, I pulled the covers tight over my body, buried myself in the pile of sheets and blankets to protect myself from the cold seeping in through the cracks of the old, drafty house. Gusts of wind knocked at the windows and clattered the panes. Forcing my eyes closed, I struggled to shut off my head full of memories. Just for one night, I needed to rest. I’d face everything else tomorrow.