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Wren

Past

L ife is hard—some days more than others. I’m only twelve, so maybe I’m not supposed to get it yet, but still—I don’t understand why bad things keep happening to good people. It doesn’t feel fair. Sometimes I wonder if being good even matters.

But I still try. Because maybe kindness is what makes the hard stuff hurt a little less…for someone else.

Momma always told me there’s some good in everyone. That if you’re patient and look close enough, you’ll see it. But if the last twenty-four hours have taught me anything, it’s that it doesn’t matter how good you are—life happens.

You could be the sweetest momma in the world… The cancer is still going to come.

Or you could be a girl simply craving a cold summer treat… Your body can still decide it’s going to attack itself when it doesn’t like what you choose to put inside of it.

The old screen door squeaks shut behind me as I sneak out into the starlit night.

A light breeze swoops in, carrying the chirps of crickets that fill the humid air.

The quiet, the stillness—it’s all so comforting.

It’s one of the rare places I feel like I can breathe—the front porch, in the middle of the night, with nothing but me and nature.

There’s no one to smile for. No one to make happy. Just me.

It’s well past midnight, but today was long, and I’m finding it hard to sleep. Discovering you have a food allergy the way I did today is terrifying. My throat felt tight, my heart was racing, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

If Carson hadn’t been with me… I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened. I almost went to the diner by myself. I almost told him I was fine.

But I wasn’t.

Leaning my back against the porch swing, I begin to sway gently in the late summer night breeze.

My vision blurs as tears well up, clinging to my lower lashes. I’ve been holding them in all day—smiling, nodding, pretending I was okay.

But now, with everyone asleep inside the house, I let them fall. Quiet tears in the dark. The kind that don’t make a sound…but still say everything.

Today, I missed my mom more than I think I have on any other day since she passed away. The entire time I was in the hospital, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. All I could think about was how badly I wanted her there, holding my hand, telling me everything was going to be okay.

However, I kept calm the best I could, keeping the brave face I’ve mastered for my dad and brothers.

But right now, this is my place and time to let it all out. Right here in nature, in the middle of the night, alone on the porch swing while my family sleeps inside.

I try my best to be strong and happy for my dad and my brothers.

Dad hasn’t been himself over the last year since we lost Mom.

My older brother, Cal, does all he can to step up and take care of us, even though he’s only a couple of years older than I am.

It’s a lot of responsibility to put on him, though, so I try to help as much as I can.

My little brother, Wilder, can be a handful, but the way he always makes us laugh is the medicine we all need right now when our hearts are hurting.

“What are you doin’ out here?” Carson’s groggy, sleep-filled voice calls from the doorway, startling me. My brother’s best friend seems to live at our house more than at his own.

I quickly run my hand under my eyes to remove the remains of the tear tracks, hoping he didn’t see them. “Just needed some fresh air,” I respond with a sniffle, sitting up and making room for him to join me on the seat.

Carson sinks into the spot beside me, a fuzzy plaid blanket covering his lap. His messy black hair is sticking up like he hasn’t quit pulling at it. I know helplessly watching me struggle to breathe as my airways tightened today scared him—even if he didn’t say it.

I’ve known Carson for a long time, and I’ve never seen that look of terror on his face before. But it only lasted for a moment. He quickly schooled his emotions and snapped into control when he sensed I needed someone to calm me down as my lips swelled.

“How did you know I was out here?” I ask after a few silent seconds pass, the creaking of the chain link surrounding us as we sway on the old swing.

His feet touch the wooden porch beneath us and slowly sway the swing a little more. “I always know what you’re up to, Tink.”

The nickname makes me smile. He started calling me that after we watched Peter Pan late one night after getting home from the hospital with my mom, maybe because of my blonde hair.

My brothers passed out on the living room floor beside Carson while I made a bed on the couch above them.

My siblings and I have always liked being together, being as close as we can.

Especially after the scary days we’d have with Mom at the hospital when we didn’t think she’d be coming home with us.

I glance over at him, and even in the dim porch light, I can see the tired circles under his eyes. He didn’t sleep much either.

“Tink,” he says again, softer this time, like it’s not just a nickname but a comfort.

My throat tightens, but I push the feeling down and stare up at the stars instead. They’re so bright tonight—like maybe they know I need something to hold on to. Something that feels steady when everything else doesn’t.

Carson doesn’t push me to talk. He never does. He just sits there, quiet and calm, the way he always is when I need someone to be still with me.

After a minute, I finally whisper, “I was scared today.”

He nods slowly, like he’s been waiting for me to say it out loud. “Me too.”

That surprises me. Carson’s never scared. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t flinch during thunderstorms and stands too close to the edge of the creek just to freak us all out.

“You didn’t look scared.”

“I was,” he says, his voice low. “But I didn’t want you to see it. You were already scared enough for both of us.”

I bite my lip and look away, trying not to cry again. My chest feels heavy, but also a little lighter—just knowing someone else felt what I felt. That I wasn’t alone in it.

We sit there a while longer, rocking gently on the swing. And even though my chest still aches and my heart feels a little cracked, being out here—under the stars, with the crickets chirping and Carson beside me—I don’t feel quite as broken.

Carson turns to look at me, then quickly glances back out at the empty field, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow over his profile.

“Why don’t you come back inside and get some sleep?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m gonna sit out here for a while longer,” I quietly respond.

Carson’s the only person my people-pleasing tendencies (that’s what Bonnie Rae calls it, anyway) don’t seem to apply to.

When he looks over at me again, I can’t stop the lone tear that slides down my cheek.

“Come here,” he sighs gently, pulling me into the crook of his shoulder. Carson isn’t an affectionate person, so the gesture surprises me.

“Here, cover up.”

He tosses the blanket he carried out with him over my lap, and I adjust it to cover my legs.

We sit in silence, listening to the crickets chirping and cicadas buzzing in the tall oak trees. The sounds and smells of the warm summer night help me feel calmer, but I still can’t fight the tears stinging my eyes and burning in my throat.

“You don’t have to stay out here, Carse. I’ll be fine alone,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I quickly bite my lip to cover the trembling. I came out here to cry in peace—not soak someone else with my emotions.

His grip on my shoulder tightens slightly. “I’m stayin’ right here, Wren.”

I hesitate, uncomfortable letting the tears fall now. But if there’s anyone I can cry in front of, it’s Carson. He’s the one person I’m the most comfortable being myself around since my best friend moved away. He’s not quite like a brother…but he’s definitely my friend.

And if you can’t cry in front of your friends, who can you cry in front of?

Thick tears spill over as I finally let the sobs come, all the feelings I’ve bottled up spilling out like a river that’s been waiting to break through.

Carson doesn’t say a word. He just keeps gently rubbing my shoulder, the steady motion comforting me more than anything else could.

When I finally feel like I can’t cry another drop, I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. There’s a small nagging feeling like I should apologize to Carson for crying like a baby on him, but the way he stays beside me—calm, steady, solid—quietly tells me I don’t have to.

My head grows tired, and I hesitantly rest it on his shoulder. When he doesn’t move away, I tuck my feet up onto the swing beside me to get more comfortable.

Carson’s body tenses slightly at the movement, his hand pausing briefly. He glances down at me, his face unreadable in the moonlight, before turning back to the starry sky above us.

After a few minutes of lying against his shoulder, my eyes start to droop, each blink heavier than the last. Just as I begin to lose the battle with the invisible weights tied to my eyelids, Carson starts to hum—a soft, low tune that I recognize immediately.

“I love that song,” I whisper, eyes still half-closed as I look toward the big tree in the field, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze.

When he doesn’t say anything in response, I wonder if he heard me or if maybe I did fall asleep, and now I’m dreaming. That would make the most sense. Carson Matthews doesn’t hum. Or let people touch him.

“It was my mom’s favorite,” he finally says from above me.

I know his parents are a sore subject, so I don’t say anything back. Instead, I try my best to be present, in case he decides he wants to say anything else about either of them.

I reach out and softly grip his hand in mine, making sure he knows he has someone. He stiffens at first, surprised, but then relaxes, letting our hands rest together on his leg.

The swing rocks slowly, the old chain groaning with every pass. Two friends who know they have each other. Two friends who understand each other in a way others can’t. A bond formed between us today that I don’t think anyone could comprehend.

I’ve always believed I have a knack for reading people, and from the very first moment, I sensed that Carson was someone special.

I know I’m just a silly girl with a crush on my older brother’s friend, and that he’d never see me like that , but I can’t help feeling close to Carson.

He’s kind of quiet and grumpy most of the time, but I can see more to him than he shows.

Because if you sit beside someone long enough, you learn the most in the quiet.

When Cal and Wilder are busy with schoolwork and chores, Carson and I often end up on this porch.

Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don’t. But it’s always easy.

He’s one of the few people who make silence feel okay.

I’m not quiet very often, but this past year has been different for me, and he’s one of the people who’s fine with me being myself.

The warmth of the blanket combined with the heaviness in my eyes finally wins as my eyes drift shut.

And then, just before sleep takes me, I hear his voice again—soft and low, right near my ear.

“Someday, when I’m awfully low…”

His voice is barely more than a whisper.

“…and the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you…and the way you look tonight.”

His soothing voice beside my ear lulls me into a deep, peaceful sleep—one I didn’t think I would get tonight.

When I wake up, it’s still dark—but the air feels cooler, and my body aches a little from the way I was curled up.

Sitting up, I squint over at Carson.

“ Carson ,” I mumble, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

His dark blue eyes snap open, and he shifts his groggy attention to me.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

He straightens with a groan, rubbing his neck before standing and tugging the blanket off both of us. “Come on, let’s go inside.” He holds out a hand, waiting for me to stand.

“I feel bad, Carse,” I add as I push to my feet, feeling guilty when he bends his neck to stretch it out. “You should have woken me up.”

“I’m fine, Wren.”

Carson has never been one for words, but I really do feel terrible for falling asleep on him. Who knows how long he sat there, stuck under me, just waiting for me to wake up? I needed that time outside in the quiet, peaceful night, but I’m embarrassed that he got caught in it too.

“I just… I feel so bad?—”

“Wren,” he cuts me off. “I said I’m fine. It wasn’t that bad. And you know I’d do dumber shit for you. Quit your worryin’.”

I try not to smile, but I do.

Carson and Cal love tossing around their swear words. I think they believe it makes them look more grown-up, or cooler, maybe. I don’t really like saying them, but I don’t mind when they do.

Nodding as the little sparks ignite in my chest at his words, I quietly walk back into the house ahead of him, the screen door creaking softly behind us.

Carson Matthews has always been the boy who holds my heart in his hands.

Maybe one day…he’ll want it.