Page 122 of The Story of You

Silas ~ Fall 1988

Two months. It was two months of that before Oliver settled—a little—enough he didn’t fray Darius’s nerves screaming all night. I returned home—to the Motel—early every morning and Oliver began to trust that I would.

The three of us got used to sleeping during the day and staying up all night, but soon our routine would have to end. We finally had an apartment prospect. Darius would have to get a job so money wouldn’t be unbearably tight. I didn’t know what we were going to do if he couldn’t get one.

Darius was stressed too. “Fuck, Silas.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I barely sleep now. I don’t know how you do it.”

I got even less sleep than he did.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Pull yourself together.”

I wasn’t better—not by far—but I was comfortable in my adaptation. Providing for my brothers gave me the sense of purpose I needed. Providing for them fueled me.

“I know. Iknow, okay? Fuck. I’m so messed up in my head some days, Silas, you have no idea. It’s exhausting just keeping the tidal wave of doubts from drowning me.”

“I have some idea.”

“You? You seem so put together.”

I didn’t feel it. I was faking it until I made it. I had no other choice. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You know, if we had Simon and Shane—”

“Not yet.”

Darius nodded, probably wanting to strangle me. It was still the one thing he wouldn’t force on me.

“Please try to feed Oliver something other than mac and cheese,” I said as I put my jacket on.

“Tell him that,” Darius said. “It’s all he’ll eat and I’m not arguing with a four-year-old. You’ve spoiled him and he’s turned into a brat.”

What Oliver wanted, Oliver got … except boxed mac and cheese every day. “Is that true, Oliver? Are you making Darry cook mac and cheese every day?” I asked him, scooping him up for a kiss on his cheek goodbye.

“Mac and cheese is the best,” he said with exuberance.

I pressed his nose. “Eat what Darry gives you.” I turned to Darius. “Just be firm with him. He eats whatever I give him.”

“Heonlylistens to you, Sye. He doesn’t do a fucking thing I say. Come here you little monkey.” Darius tried to take him from me.

“No!”

“Oliver,” I said in my stern voice. “Baba has to go. Be a good boy for Darry.”

“Okay, Baba.”

“See?”

“We just … have a bond. You’ll get one with him too that’s your own.” I handed him off to Darius.

“Whatever. I’ll try, but I’m not force-feeding him.”

I felt guilty about that too. He was fifteen. He shouldn’t have been tasked with the responsibility of my spoiled four-year-old child for nine to ten hours. I tried to tell myself the circumstances were different, but were they? If Mama hadn’t gotten sick, I’m sure I would have only looked after Oliver when our parents wanted a night out or if Mama had an appointment during the day.

I was helping. Then she died and I was helping still.

Now it’s Darius.

At least I had a real adult around that could mentor me. Darius was on his own. When I was around, there was barely anything left of me.