❝ please keep him safe. ❞
ALL NIGHT I STRETCHED MY ARMS ACROSS / HIM, RIVERS OF BLOOD, THE DARK WOODS, SINGING / WITH ALL MY SKIN AND BONE.
you stir from an uneasy / sleep, the dream where you see nothing, hear a long, low / train whistle, to the crackle of an old fire, to a voice speaking very fast, very / soft. in your sleep-haze, you struggle to distinguish between / the scraping consonants, just the echoing, resonating / vowels. you barely recognize it, claw yourself / into the firelight. your brother sits against the knee of a figure / it takes you too long / to recognize as tony. you close your eyes again, and strain / to listen.
the silent woods, no birds, no beatrice, no insects / in the trees. just the sloshing / water / on the shore, just the fire. tony, very still, glittering / in the firelight, and your brother’s high voice, garbled in a way you know how to recognize. you would have worried / about attracting the beast / but you had shivered so badly, tony was forced to stop walking and light a fire out of the snow-damp / branches around you. for hours you sat beside the fire, wrapped / in your thin costume cloak, teeth / chattering, wondering how your brother / hadn’t caved to the cold.
you take care of greg, okay ? says your stepdad, as he adjusts greg’s overalls. he reaches toward you / and you shy away. make sure he’s safe. and even though you know he’s going to double-check all of greg’s candy / for tears, you say, it’s halloween, what could happen ? oh, how you have screwed / up. you let him climb over / the garden wall.
where did this / come from ? this onslaught / of memories, these swirling / waves ? try to remember any / halloween and come up with just / your repertoire of costumes. hold onto the night, hold / onto your breath.
and here tony is, putting your burden / on your brother, the wearied / pity in his voice. you want one soul to absolve you / of responsibility, and maybe that is why / you don’t open your eyes, why you don’t / go back to sleep. why you don’t rise / and claim / your own responsibility. let greg play his own part. let him feel / how you feel.
it sounds like a resignation, and from greg’s serious voice in reply, he knows / too. you have never heard your brother / so serious. and you, trapped / outside a conversation / you were never meant to hear.
“ wirt’s really lost, isn’t he ? ” says your brother, garbled, / distant, / and you imagine tony / nodding. he says something unintelligible, though whether it is because of / his night-voice / or your sleepiness, you don’t know.
“ that’s okay, ” says greg. “ i can look out for him. ” you crack your eyes to see / tony’s hand on greg’s shoulder, a better big brother / than you ever were.
after / beatrice, you would rather believe someone / who makes no promises, would rather stumble toward a / forgiveness / with no certainty of being forgiven / than follow a blind promise. you carry hope / like a stone in your gut, cold / and sinking, but you don’t tell / your brother. it drags you down / into the river, / no matter how you struggle to swim up. beatrice never knew / a way out; adelaide never knew; tony, stumbling / through the woods / with you, doesn’t know. but now when your brother asks after / your plans, you tell him to ask tony. you don’t have to be / the leader. you were never cut out for the task. if you walk to the end of the forest, will you find / your home ? if you take greg’s hand, / will you be there?
and tony’s words sound like a goodbye, a final / request. resigned, / at least. oh, how you recognize that weariness / inside yourself, and you hate that someone else / is putting this burden on greg. you are standing / outside yourself, watching your brother and your guide / beside the fire; you are watching yourself pushing / your baby brother’s head; standing up from the dinner table, spitting / vitriol. suddenly the unfairness of it all sweeps across your shivering body, until you are shivering / with guilt. and the longer you listen to this secret / conversation, the more wakeful / you grow, restless. you fight the urge to shift / to give yourself away, biting / your tongue to keep / your protestations inside your throat. greg prodding the fire, the fire / splashing up into the sky.
you stir, over-exaggerated, stretch / your arms over your head. you twist and push yourself onto / your elbows. “ greg ? is that you ? ” your scratchy voice still sounds sleep- / blurred, and you are glad. “ what are you doing still awake ? ”
leaves crunching underfoot as he makes his way to you. you squint your heavy eyes up at him, burning / in the firelight. he puts a hand on your shoulder. “ go back to sleep, wirt, ” he says. “ when you wake up, everything will be okay. we’re gonna get us out of here, me and tony. ”
“ m’kay, ” you say, as though what he said was something / reassuring, instead of something that could rend / your world apart, as though you can almost / forgive / what you and the world / have pushed onto your baby brother.
