I wonder if he remembers that day. Probably not the same way I do.
I was weirdly robotic. And shaky. Some of that day feels like this strange fog, with bright moments of clarity that I can play back like it just happened 5 minutes ago. One of those moments was with my brother.
I was talking with him on the phone, he had heard what had happened though my mother. I was staring at my computer screen looking at apartments for rent, only half hearing him at first. Until he said something that cut through my jittery “I’vegottogetoutofhere-I’vegottogetoutofhere- I’vegottogetoutofhere”.
“Why haven’t you gone to the fucking police, Bec?” I can still hear his tone. Like a crisp recording, the deep concern, the anger, the hair pulling frustration in his voice that I was just standing there, not doing anything. As if he could see the blank, dead look on my face. It was like he had grabbed me by the shoulders and given me a good hard rattle.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought to do that”, I said slowly, feeling like I was trying to talk from underwater, or that english was somehow not my first language. My throat was sore.
“Go now. Hang up the phone and go do that right now. I love you.” He spoke with strength and conviction.
I felt less sure.
“Okay. I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.” I tried to absorb his words.
“Seriously, Just go right to the station. I love you, Bec and I’ll talk to you soon.”
After we said our good-byes I was standing there with the phone in my hand, staring blankly at the pattern on the counter top.
The next thought through my mind was, “I don’t think I should drive…”