Johnny and Matthew

[SouthernBreeze]

This is part of a story I've been working on.

Chapter 1:

Gently, I allowed my fingers to trail along the cool pearls about my neck, watching as the stranger with sad eyes staring back at me from the mirror did the same. This necklace is the only thing I have that belonged to my mother. As a child, I would often sneak it out of the old jewelry box to wear. I would touch each individual pearl, hoping to feel some bit of warmth that had been a part of my mother. I knew her face only from an old, grainy photograph. She was smiling in that picture, standing arm in arm with a man that only vaguely resembled my father, but I had no voice to go with that smile. I didn’t know what she sounded liked or how the touch of her hands felt. All I had were her pearls and one, worn picture.
“Grace?” His soft voice and light knock upon my door interrupted my thoughts, and I blinked a few times as if waking from a dream.
“I’ll be ready in a moment,” I called back, my voice sounding distant in my own ears. Quickly, I straightened my dark dress and crossed the room. I opened the door to leave, allowing my memories to flood inside. A woman walked out of the room as a girl of eight danced inside.

(())(())(())(())(())

“I want to decorate Mama’s grave!” I announced defiantly, clutching a handful of pale wildflowers in my hand. I had never heard of Decoration Day before that morning when someone had mentioned it in church, but now I was determined to mark the grave of the mother I had never seen.
Pa turned his bleary, red eyes toward me. Only his eyes moved. The rest of him was hunched over the splintered, wooden table like a sack of flour. His mouth remained shut as if it had been nailed together, and his silence annoyed me.
“Where’s Mama’s grave?” I demanded. I had never spoken to Pa in such a tone before, but I was too aggravated to consider this.
He growled slightly, the sound seeming to come from somewhere deep inside him, and he slowly began to straighten himself. Normally, the sight of the giant who was my pa towering over me would have frightened me into submission, but today I stood my ground.
Pa tried to stand, but his feet slid as if he had placed them on a sheet of ice. He threw down a heavy hand to balance himself, almost tipping over his cup of precious shine. Giving up the effort, he fell back into his rickety seat. “Get her outta here,” he groaned.
I started to protest, but I felt a hand touch my arm. Before I could say another word, I was gently guided outside by my brother, Johnny.
Of all the people in the world, I think I loved Johnny the best. He was only four years older than me, but he seemed so wise and somehow ancient in his twelve years. He had dark brown hair that could be unruly, but he wet it down and combed it flat every morning. It was eyes that really caught your attention though. They were dark, almost black and looked as deep and mysterious as a well. There were times you could just see thoughts and plans twisting in those dark eyes, but other times what was going on in his mind was a mystery - even to me. I let him lead me into the sun-splattered hills for awhile before jerking my arm away as I was angry. He didn’t try to hold on to me and allowed me to pull away easily.
“Why won’t Pa tell me where she’s buried?” I grumbled, frustrated tears welling up in my plain, hazel eyes.
Johnny sighed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. He didn’t even attempt to smile.
“But why?” I cried, tears now streaming down my pale, freckled face. I didn’t want to cry, so I wiped away the tears stubbornly before they could drip off of my chin. He took another deep breath before raising those mysterious eyes to meet mine. “‘Cause Mama’s not dead,” he answered in a quiet tone.
Color and sound drained from my world as I stood transfixed as an oak tree. Johnny’s words whirled around in my head like angry hornets, but I just couldn’t make sense of their meaning. “What?” I finally managed.
“Pa told me not to tell you,” he explained, “But I reckon you’re old enough now, and I hate lying to you.” He paused for a moment as if letting the truth sink home. “Mama ran off right after you were born. I think Pa would prefer to think that’s she’s dead instead of just gone. That’s why he stays so stinkin’ drunk all the time.”
The flowers I had been holding all of this time fell from my numb fingers as I struggled to find my voice. “Did she leave because of me?”
Johnny stepped forward and hugged me. “Course not,” he said, “She just ran off to some city. Not everyone can live in the hills you know.”
I nodded and tried to take comfort in his words, but my heart kept shattering more with each painful beat. It was like an acid voice inside of my head kept chanting, “She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.” In a way, it had hurt less to have a mother who was dead instead of now knowing that she was alive and just had never tried to see me. Despite my brother’s words, I couldn’t push aside my fear. Was it my fault she had left? Is that why Pa couldn’t seem to love me?
Stepping way from Johnny, I ran towards the solace of the hills, stomping the fallen wildflowers I had meant for my mother’s grave.