Sweet Dandelion

We sit across from each other, but we’re worlds apart with no idea how to breach the distance. We try in little ways. Small, everyday questions. Nothing too deep. Tiptoeing around the trauma we’ve both endured. Sage might not have been in the building that day, but he’s had to shoulder the burden of many things because of it and it couldn’t have been easy.

“I got you the white pizza.”

“It’s my favorite.” I look at my bare nails. I haven’t painted them yet. I should do that tonight. “What’d you get?”

I squint at the menu hanging above the register.

“Meat lovers.”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes playfully. “What is it with guys and having to have meat on or with everything? Is it the caveman in you?”

“Probably.” He picks up the shaker containing the powdered cheese and shakes it around, furrowing his brows as he stares at a chunk that’s clumped together. “Want to do something this weekend? You haven’t done much since we’ve been here and that’s partly my fault. I should’ve shown you the city more, taken you exploring or some shit. Fuck,” he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, “I’m the worst brother ever.”

I was only well enough to leave the hospital in May. It’s almost September, which meant he spent six months away from his home, working remotely, so he could be with me in the hospital. Once I moved here with him, seeing the city was the last thing on my mind and I definitely wouldn’t have expected him to take more time off to show me around.

“No, you’re not, Sage.”

He blows out a breath.

“You’ve done a lot more than most siblings ever would. You stayed by my side in the hospital—my God Sage you moved into my room and slept on the couch for months so I wouldn’t be alone, I don’t think you could’ve gotten away with it if the nurses hadn’t had a major crush on you.” He chuckles, ducking his head. He can deny it all he wants, but flirting with the nurses was practically his part-time job while he was there. “You moved me in with you. You’ve bought me clothes, school supplies, a new computer. You’ve never made me feel alone and that means more than you’ll ever know.”

My brother looks like he might cry. I reach across the table and place my hand on his.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

When our order is called he slips off the chair silently and returns with two fresh pizzas in boxes.

“Want to head back to the condo?” I ask him. “We could put a movie on.”

“No.” He shakes his head, looking out the window at the passing cars and pedestrians, all of them oblivious to the simple horrors that can shatter our lives in minutes. Seconds. “Let’s stay out for a while.”

“Okay.” I open my box of white pizza, inhaling the heavenly scent. It’s my favorite food and I swear I could live off of it. Honestly, the food pyramid is a triangle, so is pizza, therefore all you need for a balanced diet is pizza.

I take a bite of the ooey-goodness stifling a moan.

“This might be the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

Across from me Sage grins as he dusts more cheese on his and then a thick coating of red pepper flakes. “It’s my favorite.”

“This could be dangerous,” I warn him around a mouthful. “This place is only down the street and I could live off of this.”

“It has spinach on it. It’s practically a salad.” He winks and I laugh.

It feels nice for at least a moment to feel happy. That’s the thing about trauma, fear, grief—all of it—you don’t feel those emotions fully twenty-four-seven. There are brief moments of reprieve, and when you have them you learn to cherish them.

Sitting in this hole in the wall shop, eating pizza with my brother, is one of the simplest things in the world but I know this memory will stay with me forever, because in the darkest time of my life this is a bright spot.

Chapter Eight

It’s the last day of my first week of senior year and it’s dragging.

More than usual anyway.

But at least I’ve survived the first five days even if they’ve tried my patience from the sheer monotony of it all. Honestly, the whole day could be condensed into a few hours, yet they subject us to nearly seven hours of this. Is that even humane?

“I don’t know why you won’t eat in the cafeteria. There’s plenty of room at the table I normally sit at with my friends.”

“Then go sit with them,” I say, letting go of the library door. He catches it, following behind me to the table that’s become mine this week. I’m thankful none of the librarians mind me, or us, eating in here since we clean up.