Page 31 of Middle of the Night

Russ cringes as he remembers that moment, just like he cringed when it happened. He wonders, not for the first time, if his mothercan hear herself. If she knows just how stupid she sounds, with her clipped English and accent so pronounced that other kids at school make fun of it when they think he isn’t around. One time, it made him so angry that he punched the wall in the boys’ bathroom until his knuckles split open. When his mother picked him up from school, saw his bandaged hand, and demanded to know what happened, he lashed out at her rather than admit other kids were mocking her.

“Why can’t you just sound normal?” he yelled.

“I do sound normal,” his mother insisted.

But he also knows it’s easier to blame his mother than to admit the truth: He does have mood swings and anger issues. He doesn’t like that he gets so mad so often. He tries not to let it happen. But with all those thought marbles swirling through his head, there are bound to be violent collisions.

The only solution he can think of is to continue to try to be more like his brother. The good parts. The Johnny who never got angry. The Johnny who was kind and confident and smart. As for the other aspects of his brother’s personality—addict, secret keeper, control freak spinning out of control—well, Russ doesn’t want to think about those. He certainly doesn’t plan on emulating them.

Having completed his search under Johnny’s bed and finding nothing that would teach him how to be more like his brother, Russ takes a peek between the mattress and the box spring. He doesn’t expect to find anything. He only looks because Petey Bradbury at school once said it’s where his brother keeps girlie magazines.

Running his hand under the mattress, Russ is surprised to discover there is something there. Magazines, yes, but not the kind he was expecting. These have names likeMuscle & FitnessandMen’s Health,and on the covers are men with gleaming pecs and sculpted torsos. Most of them are white. None are Chinese. But all of them are huge.

After a quick glance outside to make sure his mother is still in the garden, Russ smuggles the magazines from Johnny’s room into hisown. Although he’s convinced their existence says something about his brother’s life, he’s unable to understand what that something is. Maybe Johnny, tired of being admired only for his smarts, had wanted to become more athletic. And maybe that’s something Russ should aspire to as well.

Safe in his room, he flips through the magazines, spotting not just pictures but articles on proper diet, protein intake, the correct way to do a squat, the amount of weight required to make biceps bulge. Overwhelmed yet intrigued, Russ starts with the article that seems to be the most basic—a tutorial on the best way to do a push-up.

With the magazine spread open on the floor in front of him so he can follow along, Russ gets into position. Arms stiff. Legs straight. Back and torso rigid. He lowers himself to the floor, pauses, then pushes upward, arms straining.

One.

Five.

Ten.

When he’s done, Russ feels exhausted but also oddly satisfied. The burning ache in his arms fills him with a sense of accomplishment he rarely experiences. Which is why he does another set, even though he’s out of breath and his arms feel like wet noodles.

One.

Five.

Ten.

Russ collapses on the floor, the magazine sticking to his sweat-slicked cheek. He’s breathing even harder now and mildly worried his arms might fall off from strain. Yet he feels good. No, he feels better than that. He feels strong. He feels confident.

Maybe this is the feeling Johnny was looking for when he took the pills that ultimately killed him. And maybe it’s what Russ has been seeking all this time. Not a way to replace Johnny, but a means by which he can become his own person.

Russ peels the magazine off his face and starts another set.

One.

He knows what he’ll do when he’s done.

Five.

He’ll go outside, ask Ethan to play, will him into becoming his friend.

Ten.

Then his anger will fade, he’ll continue to get bigger, his mother will start to see him as more than just an inferior version of the son she lost.

And everything—his house, his life, his family—will feel normal again.

EIGHT

Scriiiiiiiitch.

I knew The Dream was coming.

---