no time to cry

Michael sat at the kitchen table, staring absently at the pages of his calculus textbook and tapping his pencil against his chin as he thought about the day. His aunt Thea passed through the kitchen, squeezed his shoulders gently and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” she said. “How much longer do you want to wait?”

Michael looked up, swallowed the lump forming in his throat and said, “He’ll be here.”

His aunt forced a small smile and nodded, carrying her cup to the living room. Michael checked his watch again, disappointed to see that only minutes had passed since the last time he looked. He knew that Lincoln would be there. He wouldn’t have forgotten.

The doorbell rang, and Michael jumped up from his chair and ran to answer it. His aunt stood up and smoothed back her graying hair. She was his mother’s older sister, the only relative he and Lincoln had after their mother died. She had taken them in without question five years earlier and treated them as if they were her own sons. Every year, on the anniversary of her sister’s death, she drove Michael and Lincoln to the cemetery to lay flowers on her grave. When Lincoln quit school at age 16, he left and moved in with friends and Michael didn’t see him much. But he always came back on this date.

Michael opened the door and grinned at his brother. Lincoln took one last puff of his cigarette and flicked the butt behind him onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, Mike,” he said.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“Almost didn’t.”

Michael stepped aside as Lincoln entered the house. He greeted his aunt with a nod but made no move to hug her. Michael had noticed that over the past couple of years, Lincoln wasn’t as affectionate anymore.

“Did you bring flowers?” Michael asked.

Lincoln blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t you think this is getting ridiculous?”

“What?”

“Why do you keep doing this, Michael?”

“Doing what? Linc, what are you talking about?”

Lincoln threw a glance towards their aunt. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Sure, sure,” she said, and headed for the stairs.

Lincoln waited until he heard the door to her bedroom close before turning back to Michael.

“She’s gone, Michael. You need to let her go,” he said.

“Mom? Let her go?”

“I mean, what’s the point of putting flowers on her headstone? They die within a few days anyway.”

Michael was frowning as he spoke. “It’s a matter of respect, Lincoln. She’s our mother and she loved us.”

“I just don’t see the point anymore, that’s all,” Lincoln said and shrugged.

“The point? The point? Are you being serious?”

“She’s dead, Michael. Dead and buried.”

Michael gripped the back of an armchair with both hands. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“Why not? She wasn’t much of a mother anyway, if truth be told.”

Michael felt his heart lurch against his ribcage. “What the hell are you saying? Are you high?”

“So what if I am?” Lincoln countered. “Maybe I’m seeing things clearly. Mom’s dead, Dad’s gone, and you’re holding onto a figment of your imagination. We were never a perfect family, and we’re never going to be. So why don’t you just suck it up and move on?”

Michael shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. He took a deep breath and glared at Lincoln.

“Shut up. You’re being stupid,” he said.

“No! You’re the one that’s being stupid, Mikey. You care about people too much, you put too much faith in them. And you know what? No one gives a shit about you. Except you.”

“That’s not true. Aunt Thea cares about me. And you, Linc. You care about me.”

Lincoln pursed his lips and looked at his shoes. “I gotta go now,” he said.

He started to walk past Michael, but Michael reached out and grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Linc, come on, stop kidding around,” he said.

“Let go, Michael.”

“Lincoln!”

Lincoln slapped Michael’s hand away, and when Michael tried to step in front of him, Lincoln shoved him down.

There was complete silence for a full minute as Michael stared up at his brother in shock and confusion. Lincoln rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “Moving on. You should do the same. I don’t have time to look out for you anymore. Don’t call me, Mike, all right? I won’t answer.”

Then he left, without pulling the door shut behind him. Michael slowly stood up and closed the door. He bit his lip to keep from crying, then called up the stairs to his aunt that he was ready to go now.

She saw the pained expression on his face and tried to pull him into a hug, but he squared his shoulders and reached for the flowers on the table near the door. As they left the house together, Thea cursed Lincoln for being a stupid, selfish asshole. Just like his father.

~end