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.It’s what he wanted: “The important day will be my deathday,” he’d said five years ago.The new tradition is that Mommy Jenny makes his favourite cake, and Dead wears a party hat, with an elastic string under the chin to hold it tight and a propeller on top.The hat is blue with big red stars and yellow swirls.It’s always the same hat.That’s all he wears.Since his death, he’s given up on clothes.Even when he was alive, my brother had trouble keeping his clothes on.People remember the date.Some years, there’s even a little item about it on the news or in the papers, with a picture of my brother.It’s such a tragedy, they say.Nobody bothers us or calls or anything on Dead’s deathday itself.There are reporters who call or ring the doorbell, but they always do it a few days in advance.On that date, friends and family respect our grief and privacy.So we don’t have to pretend to be unhappy or anything.We can party with Dead and have all the fun we want.The five candles on the cake are lit.We cheer, urging Dead to blow out the candles and make a wish.Dead takes a deep breath and holds it in, grinning, his cheeks all puffed up.Deathday is always his happiest day.His eyes are wide open, and he looks at everyone around the dining room.Just when I think he’ll blow all that air on the little flickering flames on top of the candles, his chin drops on his chest, and he lets all that air fizzle out.He gets up and leaves the room.Daddy Neal says, “Hey, where’s Jenny?”We all follow Dead.He walks up the stairs.The door to his bedroom is open.No-one ever goes there anymore.Mommy Jenny is sitting on the bed, crying.Dead stands next to her, wearing only his party hat with the propeller.She hugs him and smushes her face on his chest.Her tears get smeared all over Dead.I’m angry at Mommy Jenny for ruining Dead’s deathday.I wanted to have fun with my brother on his most special day of the year.I want to be the one hugging him.Only I wouldn’t be crying, I’d be laughing and Dead would laugh along with me and we’d eat cake and we’d lick the frosting off each other’s fingers and everything would be okay.~I’m making sandwiches with Mommy Jenny.We each make one.She makes a tomato sandwich with lettuce and mayonnaise.I make a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich.I slice a banana into circles, which I put in the middle of the sandwich.There’s too much banana to fit in there, so I eat the rest.We leave the sandwiches on the counter, and then we each go off to bed.“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” says Mommy Jenny.In bed, I wait for Dead.But he doesn’t come.I wish he visited me more often.Once or twice a week isn’t enough.I sleep better if he’s there with me.When I do fall asleep, I dream of Dead’s perfect world.In the perfect world, Dead is outside playing with me and a whole family of dogs.The next morning, Dead doesn’t join us for breakfast.But the sandwiches are gone.He doesn’t eat with us every day anymore.Even when he does, he’s silent.He’s always smiling, but I’m not sure if he really sees us.It’s been months since he last spoke to me.Sometimes I forget the sound of his voice, and that makes me sad.~Mommy Jenny is yelling at Mommy Tara and the two daddies.“How could we do this to him?” She shouldn’t be yelling like that.She swore never to hurt Dead.Mommy Tara says, “It’s too late to go back and change it.It’s what he wanted.It’s what he needs.We promised.”Mommy Jenny: “No! He’s still young.He can have a whole life.A normal life.He’s getting worse! When’s the last time he even spoke to anyone? He used to spend time with us, but for the past year – it can’t go on like this.I won’t let it.”Daddy Kent: “He’s getting older.It’s a phase.All kids do that.Carve out their independence.”Mommy Jenny: “I can’t believe.When did you become such an idiot? He should see someone.Hell, we all need to be in therapy.We’re crazy! All of us!”Daddy Neal says, “Calm down.”Mommy Jenny says, “Don’t patronize me! He was only five years old! It was a game, a whim.He didn’t know what he was doing! We were stupid! How could we let a little boy talk us into this? This crazy, stupid idea.I can’t let him ruin his whole life.He’s my son.”The mommies and daddies don’t know that I’m listening.They think I’m in bed, sleeping.Instead, I’m lying on my stomach on the floor in the hall upstairs.They’re in the kitchen, with the door closed, but they’re louder than they realize.I feel a weight on my back.Dead is here.He rests his head between my shoulder blades.His fingers squeeze my arms.Daddy Kent says, “We’re all his parents.All of us.Not just you.”“Fuck that.He’s my son.My son!”There’s a loud crash.“Don’t touch me!”There’s another crash.“I’m leaving.I’m through with this family.You’re insane, all of you, and I’m not going to let you destroy my son’s future!”Mommy Jenny erupts from the kitchen and stomps up the stairs.I barely have time to rush back to my room and close the door.Where’s Dead?~The police come with a warrant.Mommy Jenny is with them.I haven’t seen her in five weeks.Since she moved out, I haven’t seen Dead either.No-one has.At first we feared she’d taken him, but he’s still eating the sandwiches I prepare for him every night.Once, I made the sandwiches and stayed up all night.At dawn, I had to pee.When I came back the sandwiches were gone.The police tear the house apart.They look everywhere.We all keep silent, glaring at Mommy Jenny.But the police don’t find anything.They don’t find Dead.Mommy Jenny yells, “What have you done to my son?”Daddy Kent says, calmly, firmly, “Our” (he puts a lot of emphasis on that word) “son died years ago.”The detective apologizes.“We had no choice [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]