Everything and then some

Meredith wakes to the sound of crying. She bolts up from the couch, making for the bedroom door while stepping around piles of dirty dishes in the dark. Her foot catches on a loose board and she tumbles, just barely managing to break her fall with her hands and knees. She cusses as she gets up, ignoring the stinging feeling of the brisk air on her grazed skin. The crying has lessened to intermittent hiccups now, so she opens the door and enters.

Inside, Timothy lies on the bed with a blanket wrapped tightly around his head.

“It happened again,” he says timidly, voice quivering. Meredith rushes to him and pulls him into a tight hug. He begins to cry.

“Shhhh,” she whispers, “Shhhh. It’s alright, I’m here.” She rocks him back and forth, singing softly, “...the answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind…”

And they sleep.

Meredith wakes again to the sound of her son breathing, in and out, in and out. He is small in her arms, even for a seven year old. Timothy is the shortest in his grade, and he wears this title like a badge of honor. Everyone says they look so much alike: mousy hair, up-turned nose, rosy cheeks.  Light streams in through a single window, illuminating the room and reflecting off dust particles and strands of Timothy’s hair. In these moments of quiet, Meredith can almost forget about the past four months, about everything.

 

The stillness is broken by the blaring of an alarm. Meredith nudges the boy awake.

“Time to get up, sleepyhead.” He looks up at her with bleary eyes before slumping down again.

“Tired,” he mumbles.

Once awake, they get ready in the apartment’s only bathroom. It’s cramped and unkempt. Towels are strewn across the floor and toiletries lie scattered across the counter. On the wall a blue sheet hangs pinned against a dirtied mirror, covering it’s reflection. As they brush their teeth, Timothy stares at the sheet and imagines himself looking back, Meredith does not.

“At school… the police comed,” the little boy speaks suddenly, startling Meredith out of her stupor.

“Really? What'd they want?”

“The dead man, they wanted to know about him,” a pause, then, “asked me bunches of questions.”

“What’d you tell ‘em?”

“Everything.”