Walk Like A Man

After a traumatic experience, Thomas Sans returns home to live with his siblings: whom he doesn't quite understand, and they certainly don't understand him

Thomas walked into his childhood bedroom for the first time in almost five years. His torn poster was still taped onto the wall, the tape still barely clinging onto the boards. His bed was dusty, the blankets tucked neatly under the corners of the mattress, and as he sat down on it he felt the old springs groan under his weight.

            “How you feeling?” Damian asked, plopping his suitcases down next to his own bed across the room.

            Thomas glanced around the room, he felt like a stranger sitting on bed in a place that didn’t seem at all familiar. “I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his arms together.

Damian’s footsteps caused the floorboards to creek, his boots left behind bits of mud and dirt around the room.

“You want something to drink?” Damian asked, leaning against the bedroom door.

“I don’t know,” Thomas replied.

“You wanna say anything else? Maybe ‘I’m not sure’ or ‘Gee, I don’t know.’”

Damian turned away and stared into the dim hallway. He felt the silence between he and his brother as real as a spider crawling across his arm, he had to shake it off.

“I’m sorry,” Damian said, “that’s not me, you know that.”

Thomas looked away, “Yeah, sure.”

            The two of them remained silent until their sister’s voice echoed down the hall. “Hey, dinner!” She yelled. Damian walked away, leaving Thomas alone in the cold room.

“Get some glasses up there,” Kim said, referring to the cabinet above the sink. Damian grabbed three wine glasses from the cabinet and placed on them on the little dining table in the corner of the kitchen. Kim prepared the three plates while Damian poured wine into two of the glasses and soda into the other. Thomas entered, the silence growing again.          

            Thomas sat down at the table and looked at the three glasses. Kim and Damian stood together at the island counter and prepared the final touches on their dinner.

“I don’t get wine?” Thomas asked, holding up his glass.

Kim was silent and stared at the plates. Damian sighed. “We didn’t think that was a good idea.”

“Why no?” Thomas hunched forward anticipating the answer.

“Let’s just eat, please,” Kim said, carrying the plates to the table.

            The three siblings sat in silence as they ate, the scrapes of the forks along the plates were the only sounds audible in the home. Thomas glared as Kim and Damian sipped their wine, he wished he was treated normally again"like when he was a boy.

Feeling distressed by the silence, Damian finished chewing and said: “It’s weird to be home again.”

Kim looked around the kitchen, “Yeah, a little. Dad didn’t really keep the place clean.”

Damian took a sip of his wine. “I think he just stopped caring after mom died.”

Kim nodded and resumed eating, Thomas pushed his half-eaten steak away and removed himself from the table without speaking a word. Damian and Kim shared a look before pouring themselves more wine.

*

            Thomas laid in his bed, hidden under the crocheted blankets, and watched the moon rise across the roofs of the neighboring homes. The window had let in a cold draft, and Damian shivered as he entered the room.

“Jesus Christ, it’s cold in here. Why don’t you close the window?” He flipped on a table lamp and rummaged through his suitcases.

“Used to it. It was always cold there,” Thomas mumbled. He rolled on his side, away from Damian. Damian rolled his eyes and grabbed his toothbrush, he turned off the lamp as he left the room. The bedroom was dark, a black hole within the house; a bitter wind burst through the window, and Thomas finally felt calm.

*

            The sunlight awoke Thomas the following morning. The wind had turned warm as the sun rose and Thomas threw the blankets off of him. He ripped off his shirt, grabbed some fresh clothes from his bags, and walked to the shower.

            Kim sat in the living room watching television. The program was black and white, the camera was fuzzy, and the nostalgia of evenings at home with her parents was sinking into her. She pushed it away.

“Kim,” Damian said, buckling the belt on his uniform, “Have you seen my badge?”

“No,” Kim replied, twirling her hair, “haven't seen it.”

Damian walked back to the bedroom and searched for it. Kim watched the old show and wanted to laugh; she realized she hadn’t laughed in a long time. The last time she remembered laughing was with her ex-husband just a week before she announced the divorce. Three months felt like a lifetime.

“Found it,” Damian said, re-entering the living room. Kim nodded. Damian tied his shoes and left the house, his car revved as he pulled out the driveway. Kim wished she could leave too.

            Thomas exited the bathroom and threw his bath towel on the floor of the bedroom. He sat down on his bed and closed his eyes; he felt nauseous being home again. He still hadn’t felt comfortable there, and he wished he was back in the city. The city was vivid, always something to do or somewhere to go, there was never a dull moment. Sitting on the bed, Thomas had his first dull moment in a long time.

He grabbed his phone. No messages or emails or even Facebook notifications. The endless rain of “Get Better soon,” and “I’m praying for you,” and even the rare “We all love you!” Had finally come to an end. The last post was dated a week ago, Thomas felt like a bug on a windshield again: unnoticed and just being carried along by others.

The room was quiet save for the crinkling of the leaves from outside, and Thomas slept practically the whole day. 

Author's Note

THIS IS NOT COMPLETE--IDEAS AS TO POSSIBLE DIRECTIONS WOULD BE GREAT