He fell asleep as the sun began to rise.
I didn’t sleep for a long time.
AFTER THAT, anytime he had a bad dream, he asked (cried, screamed) for me and I always went to him.
He would shake and sob, his eyes half-crazed with the trappings of his nightmare. But then my hands would be on his back, rubbing soothing circles, and he would quiet until there was nothing left but shuddery breaths and a wet face.
THREE WEEKS later, I found out their secret.
moon
“OX.”
“G’way.”
“Ox, wake the fuck up!”
I opened my eyes. It was still night, the only light coming from the full moon high in the sky.
There was someone else in the room, shaking me.
“The fuck?” I said.
“Get dressed.”
“Gordo? What the hell is—”
He stepped back, eyes narrowed. “You need to come with me.”
My heart was in my throat. “My mom—”
“She’s fine, Ox. She’s asleep. She won’t hear anything. She’s safe.”
I threw on a shirt and some discarded cargo shorts. Gordo waited for me at my bedroom door. I followed him down the hall toward the stairs. My mother’s door was partway open and I could see her sleeping. Gordo tugged on my arm.
We were outside before he spoke. The night air was warm against my skin. Everything felt too loud.
“There are things,” he said, and through my haze of sleep, I tripped over his words and couldn’t process them. “Things you’re going to see tonight. Things that you’ve never seen before. I need you to trust me. I won’t let anything hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you. You are safe, Ox. I need you to remember that.”
“Gordo, what’s going on?”
His voice cracked when he said, “I didn’t want you to find out this way. I thought we’d have more time. If you ever had to find out at all.”
“For what!”
A howl rose from deep in the forest and I felt chilled to the bone. It was a song I’d heard before, but it sounded distressed.
“Fuck,” Gordo muttered. “We have to hurry.”
The house at the end of the lane was dark.
The moon was fat and white overhead.
There were stars. So many stars. Too many. I’d never felt so small in my life.
We entered the woods at a quick pace.
I was half listening to Gordo, trying to avoid tripping over tree roots and stumps. He was sputtering his words, false starts and syllables that died before they could combine into something more. He was nervous, terrified, and it affected his speech.