“Channing.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“Yeah.” Glass shattered. “I could’ve been around more. I know that much.” It was the same conversation I always heard from them. My brother blamed himself—for what I had no idea. I didn’t blame him for his absence. Hell, half the time I was jealous of him. I wish I could’ve disappeared like he had when he was growing up. He spent most his time from eighth grade until he got his own house on someone else’s couch. I would’ve done that too, if I could’ve. I’d been too young. Heather half consoled him, but she was always frustrated too. I could hear it in her voice. It was in everything, actually, even the way she walked around the house. Some days I wished she would move in, but part of me was scared of the day it happened—because when that happened, something else would happen. I didn’t know what, but I always felt it. I carried it around in my stomach. The relationship between Heather and me was half because of that. We were half friends. We were half not-friends. We were half present, half not-present. Half haunted, half alive. Or wait, maybe that was just me? But Heather averted her eyes when we talked to each other sometimes, and she avoided having conversations with me in the first place. But other times, she was in my face, eyes blazing with fierce determination. I was never sure which Heather I would get, but I knew it wasn’t me or her. It was the question of her relationship with Channing. I got it. I did. I could sympathize somewhat. I generally avoided everything. Heather was nice. She loved my brother, but I was in the way. They couldn’t have a normal relationship because of me. A part of me ached at the thought. Who was I to stand in their way? But this brought me back to the conversations they always had: I would be out. Channing would grumble. Heather would comfort. And when I overheard, I’d always wonder: why didn’t they just let me go? Why did my brother keep trying to play the part of father/parent/big brother extraordinaire? It wasn’t a role that suited him. He was a legend. He was a fighter. He ran his own crew. The domestic look was not something he wore well. I agreed with Heather on this part. He hadn’t been around when it was just my dad and me. Our half-brother was never around, or hardly. He was kept with his mother most our life. Channing started his own crew in high school—the whole reason the system was created. And when he graduated, he started working right away. He took over my dad’s bar two years ago, and he made it better. He brought in our cousin, and they made it a success. And he’d been fighting at events the whole time. He talked about retiring, but I never knew if that was a wish, like he was wishing to become an adult? Or he was wishing he didn’t have a teenage sister to take care of? Or he was wishing for his old life again? Like that. Maybe fighting was his way of coping? I didn’t understand that either. It wasn’t like he and my dad had been close. Channing was like our mom, and when she died, it was like he went with her. He left the family. I mean, I saw him around town and at parties sometimes—until he either kicked me out or had my guys and me kicked out. He said we were all too young. Jordan was relieved when Channing stopped attending the same parties we did, and we had learned to avoid him at the bigger parties. The Roussou scene was different than other towns. People didn’t leave. Or if they did, they weren’t in the system, and those people—the Normals—didn’t really exist to us anyway. In the crew system, we’re all part of a big, fucked-up extended family, no matter the age. “I’m going to get a refill.” Heather’s chair groaned. “You want more beer?” That was my cue. I stood and slipped down the hallway to my bedroom just as the patio screen door opened. Then the refrigerator opened, lighting up the kitchen and dining room. I grabbed my backpack and returned to the hallway. I paused, listening as Heather opened some bottles, pouring into a cup. I smelled rum. Bottles clinked together, and then the fridge door shut. The inside of the house fell into darkness again. The screen door opened and closed. As I heard her footsteps going over the patio, down to the backyard, I slipped out the front door again.