Free Ordinary World by Elisa Lorello Page B

a hint of sadness looming in the air, like a cloud of dust, I felt a sense of comfort amidst that cloud. For the first time since Sam’s death, our house felt like home to me, the empty bed notwithstanding.
     
    On our last evening together, the three of us sat out on the deck, Joey and Tony drinking Sam Adams while I drank birch beer, the citronella candles casting soft orange glows on our faces and protecting us from the nasty New England mosquitoes. The night air was chilly, and the salty scent of the distant sea wafted occasionally with the breeze.
     
    “Do you guys remember Dad dying?” I asked.
     
    They looked at each other, then back at me, a little wary of indulging me in a heavy topic of conversation, one that could put a damper on the entire week.
     
    “Sure,” they said.
     
    “What do you remember most?”
     
    “The suddenness of it,” Joey said. “It was out of the blue.”
     
    “Me too,” said Tony. “I just remember being in shock.”
     
    “Do you remember grieving it? Because I don’t remember grieving it.”
     
    “Actually, I don’t remember a lot of that time,” Joey said. “But a few years ago, I dug out some songs that I wrote back then. They were all really sad. I must’ve taken it out on the music.”
     
    “Oh, I definitely channeled into the music,” said Tony. “I played so much blues back then. It was the only way to get it out. Mom wouldn’t talk about it. At least not with us.”
     
    “Yeah, mom was just so out of it,” said Joey.
     
    I looked out at the bench swing in the yard, seeing Sam and me sitting on it during summer nights, clasped hands in each other’s laps, saying nothing and looking at the sky, rocking rhythmically. The image then morphed into me at thirteen years old:
     
      I come home from school to find both Joey and Tony sitting on the couch in the living room, which we only use for company. Quiet. Pale as ghosts. “Whose car is in the driveway?” I ask. “Aunt Jane’s,” either Tony or Joey say. “Why is Aunt Jane here?” Every fiber of my being already knows that the answer is not something I want to hear. “Dad had a heart attack at work today.” “Where is he?” “He’s, um…” “Where’s Mom?” “Upstairs with Aunt Jane.” He’s dead. I know it.
I couldn’t remember who first said the words. I couldn’t remember the funeral, other than the sea of black—strange, that was just about all I remembered of Sam’s funeral. That and the crappy eulogy, of course. But who eulogized my father?
     
    “They were our age, weren’t they,” said as I came out of my reverie. “I mean, as old as we are now.”
     
    My brothers did the math between them. “He had to be in his mid-forties, I guess. Mom’s a couple years younger,” said Joey. He then added, “Wow” at the realization.
     
    Yeah. Wow.
     
    “My God, he was just a couple of years older than Sam. I never realized how young he was. To die of a heart attack, especially.”
     
    And Mom was my age— s he was me.
     
    “He had hypertension that he ignored. Probably saw it as a sign of weakness if he couldn’t suck it up. He was stubborn that way,” said Tony.
     
    “But don’t you think that’s the type of thing we should talk about? Especially if it’s genetic. You guys see a doctor regularly, don’t you?” I asked.
     
    “You doin’ okay, And?” asked Joey. “In general, I mean.”
     
    “Yeah, I guess so. I’m seeing a therapist, and my friend Jeff is trying to get me to go back to school—he’s the department chair.” I paused. “It’ll be a year, soon.”
     
    “Hard to believe.”
     
    I took a swig of birch beer. “You’re tellin’ me.”
     
    We sat quietly and looked up at the stars.
     
    “Do you think Mom and Dad wanted me?”
     
    They both looked at me in shock and spoke at the same time. “How could you even think such a thing? Of course they did!”
     
    “They treated you both differently,” I said. “Don’t pretend you