Suddenly, I feel it, that strange sensation that something is about to happen, and there is nothing I can do. He stares back at me, though I can't decipher what he means. I stare at him blankly, caught up in emotions. “I want some macaroni,” he replies in a way that makes me feel like a child. He puts the packet of cheese down and looks up. He starts to open the macaroni box and I ask, “What are you doing?” “W-what did you find out?” I stutter, staring at the pot of water that's boiling higher and higher with each moment. I feel the cop's presence behind me and I turn. My brother Bob, so young and now in the pool, so dead. The same thought plays over and over in my head like a broken record. But despite my attempt to console myself, it doesn't work. I sit back down and let my head fall into my hands. “I'll find out what happened.” I nod, still in shock. Finally, I see the blue and white lights flashing on my street, casting shadows on the other dark houses. I sit in silence and solitude while I wait for the police to come, watching the simmering water start to boil, though I have no intention of making the macaroni. I race to the nearest phone and dial 911, my fingers moving robotically. I feel my knees grow weak as I struggle to remain vertical. There is my brother, floating facedown, his toy truck bobbing next to him. When my eyes land on the pool, I feel a sense of insanity thrust upon me. I place my hand on the doorknob leading out to the backyard and push it open, scanning the yard. I can feel my pulse through every vein in my body, beating harder with each second. And although I know the situation is urgent, something holds me back. I whip my head around to see an object in the pool in my backyard. “Bob!” Something flickers in my peripheral vision. “Bob!” I call, my voice echoing through the house. The empty bar stool screams at me, shrieks in my ears, pierces every bone in my body. Everything around me goes blurry, but my fuzzy vision barely impairs me as I race back to the kitchen. From my scalp to my toes, everything twitches, trying to send me a signal. I feel deep inside, the feeling that something is going wrong, terribly wrong. I hear a faint sound like someone calling, the silence beckoning for help. Now where is that macaroni? I crouch to look when suddenly and unconsciously, I stand up. I wander back into the pantry, which is separate from the kitchen. It's hot!” He nods, but I'm not sure he heard me since he's completely engrossed in making vroom noises with his truck. “I have to go get the box from the pantry,” I say to him. “You're making macaroni, Jamie?” Bob asks, like a puppy begging for a treat. I call for Bob and he comes in, his truck cradled in his arms, and sits on a bar stool. I step from the open window where I had been standing, not feeling any air, and enter the kitchen to start boiling the water. The fall weather seems to be settling in, and the sun had rested far beyond the mountains before I had the chance to make Bob's and my favorite meal: macaroni and cheese.
My parents half-willingly left me in charge for the evening, and I half-willingly accepted. But through the soul of the nothingness, the silence screams at me the loudest.Īlthough I can't hear him, I know my little brother, Bob, is playing with his toy truck in the next room.
I feel nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing. But tonight, in the moonless, breezeless, noiseless dusk of my neighborhood, there is nothing. You can feel it tingling in your bones you can feel it creeping up your spine you can feel it tugging at the depths inside you, nudging every nerve to beware, anything could happen.
Usually when something bad happens, you can feel it.