Page 18 of Rhet

I stop in my tracks as my eyes connect with feet, one foot with a pair of black vans and the other bare. I can’t look up. The feet swing slowly like a pendulum in a clock. Tick tock, tick tock. Every cell inside of me tightens. I don’t want my brain to confirm what is happening around me. If I look up, I’ll have to acknowledge my failure as a brother. Time slows down as the room disappears around me. My blood, my brother’s body is swinging slowly from the rafters. My body trembles as I take it all in.

“What the fuck is this?” I whisper to myself, wanting to move forward, but my body has shut down. All I can do is stand here. I drag my gaze to his waist and stop, not able to go further. My breath is becoming shorter.

Father runs past me and holds Trent’s legs. He is motioning for me to come help him. I want to but, I can’t fucking move. My limbs feel heavy, and my heart beats loudly in my ears. All the air feels like it’s being sucked out of the room. I try blinking to snap out of it, but it’s to no avail.

People move past me trying to help my father. Everything is moving so slowly. Mother’s scream snaps me out of my state.

“Help me get him down. Cut that rope,” my father’s voice sounds slow and distant. His arms are wrapped around my brother’s calves.

Trent’s body wobbles as the men cut the rope. He collapses into the arms of my father and one of his employees. They place Trent’s body on the floor.

Mother walks past me slowly bending to her knees. She crawls toward Trent’s body. Her hands tremble as they hover over his chest. Gently, she pulls him onto her lap.

“My baby,” she cries out as she rocks him.

Her screams shake my very being. She bows her head and whispers near his ear.

Father doesn’t shed a tear; he stands stoically over my mom. His cheeks are sunken in as he digs his hands into his pockets. He takes his phone out, dials a number and murmurs into it.

I drag my hands through my hair, pulling at the roots, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to feel something, anything.

“This is your fault, Henry. Your fault.” My mom points at my dad.

“Come on, Gia. Not now baby.” He tries to reach for her shoulder, but she pulls away.

“You killed him. You killed my baby.” Her shoulders shake as she bends over and screams out in pain.

Father looks down at Mom with pity. When she raises her head, her eyes are full of rage.

“I hope God doesn’t have mercy on you, Henry. I hope he comes for you,” she shrieks.

Tears reel down her face, her chignon has come undone. For twenty-one years of my life, my mother has always looked the part of Mrs. Banner. Now she looks like a grievous woman.

“That makes you next in line,” Dad says as if his first-born isn’t lying dead at his feet.

“If this is what your line gives, you can shove it up your asshole.”

I walk out of the room. This is my fault. Maybe I should have pushed more for him to talk to me about Marcus. I should have asked him about the problems he faced especially with a corrupt, homophobic, misogynistic father.

What triggered this? Suicide? It doesn’t feel right. I protect what is mine. He was mine. My brother. I pass through the back door, dragging my feet against the patio tile. I have always been there for him, always having his back. Where did I go wrong?

I step onto the grass, shuffling my feet. I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t there to protect him.

I want my brother, back. I want to know where the fuck did I go wrong? I want to see him smile, to hear him say, “Ignore it, Rhet and walk away.”

Who the fuck is going to make me walk away now? I have no one. It doesn’t feel right. My chest burns, and I rub at it.

I can’t fix this. I can’t bring him back. I can’t because I failed. The failure echoes in my mind as I walk faster. My trot turns into a jog, then a run that turns into a sprint. I sprint through our estate grounds. Skidding to a stop, I fall but push up onto my knees. My fingers grip on to the dried, grass pulling tightly at a blade. I close my eyes needing to breathe, needing to feel, needing to scream. I do just that, I scream.

RHET

A Week Later

Standing on a hill behind an evergreen tree, I look down on my parents and family members as they bury my brother. I couldn’t sit and act like everything is okay. I didn’t want any fucking body to tell me I would be okay. I didn’t want anyone touching my shoulder or telling me they understand because they don’t.

Fuck them and fuck that. Scattered across the graveyard are green tents covering gaping holes, waiting for the dead to arrive. There will be more families like mine who will be here, in grief comforting one another. Not me. I will stand here in my pain. They say grief has stages, I wonder if rage is one because that is all I feel.

Through further investigation, my brother’s death was ruled as a homicide. He was the best of us. Marcus can’t be found either. I figure like Trent, he’s dead. After our brief phone conversation, I haven’t heard from him. He’s not even here at the funeral.

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