Ethan and Jacob: Wish You Were Here
by SalientLane
Chapter 19
The drone of Mrs. Peterson's voice seemed to echo from the far end of a tunnel, her words about Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers barely piercing the fog in my head. The classroom around me may as well have been a cardboard cutout for all the depth I felt it had. Chicago's skyline peeked through the window, indifferent to the French-Canadian transplant trying to find his bearings.
"Mr. Belanger?" Mrs. Peterson's voice sharpened, slicing through the haze. "How does Romeo persuade the Apothecary?"
I blinked, finding a roomful of curious eyes on me—the new kid with the accent they couldn't quite place.
"He appeals to his poverty," I said, my voice flat. "Offers him money, which he can't resist despite his fear of death." Technically correct, but devoid of any of Romeo's desperation or the Apothecary's dilemma. Just facts, as lifeless as I felt.
A murmur rippled through the class. They noticed. Smart kid, the look in their eyes said. But inside, I was just hollow echoes and dust.
The bell jarred us all, sending bodies shuffling towards the door. I was halfway out when Trevor, a sandy-haired kid whose grin seemed permanently etched on his face, jogged up to me.
"Hey, Ethan, right? You wanna join our study group?" His voice held the warmth of someone who hadn't just moved a thousand miles from everything that mattered.
"Sorry?" My ears rang like I'd been underwater. Everything was muffled, distant.
"Study group. We meet Thursdays." He tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Sure," I heard myself say, anything to shorten the conversation. "Thanks."
"Awesome! I'll fill you in on the details tomorrow. Later!" And just like that, he was gone, leaving me wondering if I'd ever feel like part of their world or if I was destined to always be on the outside, looking in.
I pushed the peas around my plate, creating little green constellations that I had no intention of eating. Across from me, Maman and Papa exchanged worried glances over their chicken casserole. I knew they were talking about me without saying a word. The weight of their concern was a blanket too heavy to lift.
"Are you okay, chéri?" Maman's voice was soft, laced with the accent that used to wrap around me like a warm embrace.
"I'm not hungry," I mumbled and stood up. Their eyes followed me, twin mirrors reflecting back a ghost of their son.
In my room, the sweater felt like a shackle. I yanked it over my head, the fabric catching on my ears. My shirt followed, crumpled on the floor in a heap of indifference. Bare-chested, I caught my reflection. Ribs where laughter used to live. Cheeks hollowed out from missing him.
The bed accepted my weight without complaint. Curled up, thumb brushing my lips, a habit left from childhood, comfort found in the familiar. Tears welled, then fell. Each one whispered his name, a litany for the lost.
"Jacob," I breathed into the stillness. His name was a prayer, a curse, a wish.
"Please, just let me die." The words slipped out, ice over a frozen heart. Home was Jacob's smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Now, Chicago's skyline mocked me with its lights, each one a reminder of distance, of difference.
"Come back," I whispered to no one. "Please."
The silence was a void, echoing back my own loneliness. I wrapped myself tighter, seeking solace where there was none. Jacob was everything. And I, I was adrift in a sea of sheets, drowning in a cold room that refused to understand.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
