The First

Carter had mixed up the nametags again. When he worked at the dollar store twenty minutes away from home, he needed a square, black one on his lapel. But the Advent Food he did evening shifts for required a slightly longer one with a white border. He just forgot which job he was going to when he got in the car. And with the way his manager kept watching him, his job wasn’t going to survive many more infractions.

            “Carter,” she demanded, calling him over from the register. He finished with a customer by swiping a bag of chips over the table and excused himself to run over to the rat-haired, narrow-eyed woman waiting at the end of the store.

            “Yeah, Rebekah?” He stayed a few feet away so she wouldn’t tower over him. She rectified that by stepping forward, closing the gap to a few inches. He could feel her breath on his face. The extra effort put into looking straight up made him shake.

            “You were late this morning.”

            “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

            “Why?”

            “I was having trouble starting up my car.”

            “Have trouble starting it up sooner.”

            “My shift at my second job ended forty minutes before. I didn’t have much time at home before I came here.”

            Rebekah huffed, her arms crossed in front of her. “Okay, if you can’t do two jobs well, you need to drop one of them. And if you’re late one more time, it’ll be this one.”

            “I won’t be late again. I promise.”

            Her eyes ran up and down his height, lingering on the lack of a white border on his nametag. She was suppressing a grimace. “Look at you, Carter. You’re losing weight, you’re pale, you’re shivering�"have you eaten or slept in the last week?”

            He didn’t respond to that. Trying to maintain eye contact when she was boring into him took too much energy.

            She sighed, “Wash your hair and eat a sandwich. It’s depressing the customers.”

            “I will.”

            Rebekah shook her head and went off to the storage room. Carter stood there a moment, willing his blood to melt and run again. Once he could feel his face and his fingers relaxed from fists, he pulled a smile into his cheeks for the customers and returned to his register.

            Laying eyes on the next family in line, there was a realization that sunk from the lump in his throat to the pit of his stomach that the previous customer hadn’t paid before he left. They were long gone by then. It was fifty dollars down the drain.

-

“Noah!” yelled Carter, through the door to announce it was him who was entering. That was the ritual they agreed on. It would alert the neighbors of who was home, but Noah kept saying that knocking scared him. Carter’s voice was all his own, but knocking could be anyone.

            With the hand which wasn’t holding a bag of groceries, Carter pushed the door open and stepped inside. Then he set the groceries on the ground, flipped the light switch near the doorway, and pried off his shoes. The house was so big. He used to think it was small, but after so much of the furniture had been sold, everything loomed over him and it surprised him every time. It seemed wasteful, like he could chip off inches of the walls and put it to better use elsewhere. He put the groceries in the corner, and then went to the living room to find his brother sitting on the edge of the couch, sunglasses draped over his nose, running his finger over the dots in the pages of a workbook.

            “How was work?” Noah asked, facing up straight ahead.

            Carter shook his head. “It was fine. Has studying been getting better?”

            “All good here. It’s easier than it looks.” That was showing. He was feeling across the page faster than he normally did “Did you get groceries?”

            “Yeah. I have bread and some bananas and apples.”

            “Gimme a banana?”

            “Yeah.”

            Carter traced his way back to the kitchen and grabbed the bag. When he got back, Noah was holding his hands out, palms up to accept the whole thing.

            “Are you eating too?” he asked.

            Carter stammered, “I�"I’m not hungry.”

            “Too bad,” Noah scoffed. “Eat.”

            There was a moment of silence where Noah could only guess what Carter was doing. Silence was much to the contrary of what Noah expected when he told his brother to eat. A few weeks ago, so much changed. Eventually, Carter gave in and sighed, “Okay.”

            A smile melted into Noah’s face as he fumbled around in the bag and picked out an apple. “Can I feed you?”

            That made Carter lean away a bit, stiffening his brow and raising his hands a little. “How come?”

            “It’s the only way I’ll know for sure you’re actually eating.”

            “I can eat later.”

            “Why not now?”

            “You need this food. I’m fine.”

            “Nobody’s fine without food.”

            “Exactly,” said Carter, talking straight into the bag in Noah’s hands. He was raising his voice, which he really hated to do. It was only an accident. “Ever since Mom and Dad left us, this is the most food we can afford. And you need to eat, so I’m not taking it.”

            “I need to eat and you don’t?” Noah said, growing quieter if anything. “What makes us different?”

            Carter didn’t answer that.

            Noah peeled a banana and took a bite.

            “How long can we keep this up?” he asked. “Assume there isn’t anyone in Hillborough who will hire a blind b*****d like me. With your salary and Mom and Dad’s savings, how long can we keep the house?”

            “Two months?”

            “Are you being optimistic?”

            “Trying to.”

            Noah took another bite. “Two months is plenty of time. We’ll keep selling the furniture, I’ll keep applying to different places�"you never know what could happen. All we have to do is get by until then. I believe in us. Do you?”

            In response, Carter sighed. “I do. For you.”

            “I don’t want you to believe for me. I want you to believe for yourself. Can you do that?”

            Carter’s chest felt too heavy to take in air. It was largely a wheeze which left his lips, but he had attempted to say, “Yeah. I can.”

            Noah didn’t say anything. He reached out in front of himself and his hands found Carter’s shoulder. Then, Noah leaned forward and hugged him, resting his hands flat on Carter’s back. But he never felt Carter’s hands on his.

-

The closest thing in that place Carter had to a bedroom was a pile of sheets in the corner of the staircase. He slept there as long as he could remember since his parents had occupied both the bedrooms. Once they abandoned their belongings on the floor, it felt too much like the rooms had been claimed. The beds, nightstands, and lights had already been sold, though. All Carter could scavenge was a few empty photo frames and a little fridge for food.

            He approached one of those photo frames. It was a black and gold one that had served its purpose as an anniversary gift once upon a time. It could probably be pawned off for a week of food, but Carter decided it would be the last thing to go. Noah wanted to hang onto it too much. It was smooth without sharp corners, so it was nice to run his fingers along the side. Carter liked holding it to know what Noah felt when he thought of their parents.

            A wave of blurriness hit him�"one forecasted by the head and heartaches he got from skipping sleeps, and the numbness inside him from not eating. His knee buckled from under him and he crumpled while the frame flew from his grip and crashed onto the floor with an awful, grating snapping noise. It was dulled by the dizziness, but Carter wasn’t spared the sight of it sprawled on the floor. His hand reached for it, but the first thing he met was an inch-long crack along the black plastic. That’d drive the value down by at least half.

            That would cut down their time in ownership of the house by a few days.

            He was trembling as if he were about to cry, but it felt more like falling asleep. He actually might’ve fallen asleep and woken up without knowing it. From there, the day looked too much like the night. His muscles were quivering with the effort of keeping him from spilling all over the floor and in the end, they gave up on him. The ground refused to swallow him up. He floated like oil on water, existing without a place to go.

            “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “I want to die.”