Chapter 7

 “Hey,” Brandon’s voice was outside my door, “can I come inside?”

 

We were born only a year apart and amongst a family of eight, we were the only boys.

 

“Yeah,” I managed to choke out. I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t want to move.

 

He had always been able to read me like a book.

 

“Are you okay, Zane?”

 

We were brothers; a bond that I hoped would never be broken. Yet, like the barrier that sat between us then, I had already closed so many doors on him.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

I knew his response. Out loud, he would never against question me but I knew that inside he doubted me and that the burden of anxiety would pick at his conscience. He cared far too much.

 

“If it’s something about Asher, you need to tell me.”

 

My brother’s blue eyes narrowed at the mention of the name and his angelic features seemed to take a devilish turn. There was the obvious loathing that hung in the air.

 

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Brandon.”

 

He hesitated, unsure of what to say then. I was surprised; he still trusted me even through my lies.

 

“Well, okay. Let’s go to breakfast. Everyone’s waiting on us, Zane.”

 

The table is crowded, like every morning. Darcy and Maryanne sat on the left while Lisa and Ruth sat on the right. My sisters were a perfect copy of my mother, their hair all cut in the same fashion and those smiling faces had given everything such a perfectionist brush. My mother and father sat on opposite ends of the table and there are two empty seats adjacent to my father’s edge. Brandon looked just like my father. Everything seemed so idyllic, except for me. I had always asked myself: where did I belong in this paradise?

 

Except, I think that I already knew the answer to such a question. I didn’t belong. I was too different. I was a sinner among angels and I knew that I would burn in the deep pits of Hell. That is, if my demons had not already claimed my sanity before my death.

 

We all awkwardly eat in a common silence where not a word is spoken, not an emotion is shared. Under the layers of the household caste, I’m sure that we had all formed a type of affection towards one another but here at the breakfast table there was a hush that gripped us. Not a word was spoken instead the angels looked as if they were statues, caught in a faultless past.

 

After breakfast, I changed into my church clothes. A dark somber mood swept over me as if to match the stiff clothing. Church always brought my more apprehensive side to light. My family packed into a van, the eight of us seated comfortably as we departed. I fidgeted against the seat while Ruth and Lisa talked amiably behind me. They were twins and fourteen. But they had hit the teenage world scrambling to make a difference; I had felt bad for them. They weren’t given the same opportunities as the other girls; my father had always made sure of that.

 

The car ride itself was twenty minutes but everyone spoke to one another. My mother would talk to my father of the day’s plans, her timid voice barely broke through the clutter of conversations while my twin sisters discussed the newest celebrities and their shallowness was not ignored. I smiled at their blissful observations, of their concerns with things that didn’t matter nor would ever matter. Darcy complained of her history teacher, Mr. Horne, to which Maryanne always laughed in response.

 

“Zane, what’s really up with Asher?” Brandon prodded at my ribs and I looked away from the window.

 

“What are you talking about?” Sometimes, I despised how perceptive Brandon was. It seemed that he could always discover the secrets that people buried in the dirt. Except for the secret I had long past concealed. I vowed that I would tell no one and he was no exception.

 

“Asher hasn’t gone to mass for almost a month now. We all know that he’s not really sick. If something’s wrong you have to tell us.”

 

Asher had been skipping for the last few weeks. I had asked him about his absences but he had just mumbled about being busier with more important things in his life. There was a clutch at my heart and without warning my chest became tight. I knew now exactly what was more important in his life. David.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” I said coolly. There’s clench at my jaw and I knew that Brandon didn’t miss it. We approached the church, with the absence of words and the familiar building towered over the two of us. It felt as if God was watching us from the church window’s himself; I could almost imagine him commenting on the Sunday displays.

 

There are Asher’s parents who greeted everyone as they step towards the church. His dad was the preacher, who exhausted every moment of the day screaming of the faith, for the faith. There’s Aunt Ana, Asher’s mom, who was always at her husband’s side. She was caught up in the same rush, the same fanatical euphoria that surrounded the Lord and his disciples.

 

They were never home, never including their only child into their lives. Unlike me, Asher was alone in the big house of his. But I guess that he had always compensated with me, we had spent relentless hours in one another’s company. It used to be the three of us: Brandon, Asher and I. Over time though, Brandon started to drift away and it became just Asher and I. Even though I was close to Brandon, with Asher it was an entirely different story. I loved him but it was not just that. When I was with Asher, everything was different.

 

“I’m afraid he’s home sick again,” Aunt Ana’s diplomatic voice rang her lie ironically down the church walls. She played her words like a politician and my eyes caught the small glint of guilt that seemed to attach itself to her personality.

 

We seated ourselves in the numerous pews. I had never felt at ease here in the church, it was like the family table at home. I wasn’t a part of them, part of everyone around me. I was the piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. Nervous fingers played at my shirt, I fidgeted against the word wood of the pew. My demons didn’t even seem discourage that this was a place of worship. They didn’t seem to mind that angels resided here. They continued in their taunts, reminding me over and over of my sins.

 

I longed to confess, though my own beliefs were at best described vague. It was not that I doubted God’s existence; I doubted instead my own existence. My skepticism was stemmed from the lack of truth I found behind his studies. There was no way to pinpoint his evidence and I found myself longing for a deeper connection. I only knew that I longed for God’s acceptance and that only the idea of obligation kept me shackled to the church.

 

During mass, I fell in and out of the conversation with God. My demons entertained me so much more, as they rambled of dangerous thoughts as if they were coerced by Satan himself. But Uncle Howard looked especially fervent that morning; his red face outlined his keen words. There was another definition to his words, an underlying cause that was blind to everyone, suddenly I begun to listen.