Memories, Scars and Survival: High School Years

Chapter 39 - Eirik

I could tell Einar was in a great mood when he entered the car. He was as happy as I've ever seen him. At home, he played with Scruffy with some of the new toys mom and I bought yesterday. We also bought a long chain that mom had me wrap around a tree near the center of the yard.

Reaching to the door, he could run all around the backyard. Letting him out now, we joined him as he jumped around in the snow, having the time of his life. I filmed him a little on my phone and sent it to our friends. He looked so funny with snow covering his face as he kept biting it.

Back inside, we dried him off with a towel and pet him on the couch as mom made lunch. Einar and I took turns playing with Scruffy as we pretended to pull his toy from his mouth. He growled at us with his puppy growls and it was so cute.

When mom brought us fried bologna sandwiches with ketchup, Scruffy took off and ran around the house exploring some more. When I finished my sandwich, I took mine and Einar's plates to the sink and rinsed them.

Einar turned on the television, and we watched the food network until dinner. Scruffy split his time between playing with his new toys and letting us pet him. During dinner, mom fed Scruffy again. He didn't finish all his dry food from before, but she still added more.

Einar went up to the room after dinner, and Scruffy chased after him. I stayed down with mom for a while.

"Mom, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you miss dad?" Several times now, since dad left, I swear I've heard her crying in her room. I didn't know if it was because Einar was hurt or if she was missing dad. They were together for over fifteen years, after all.

"Yes. But he deserves what he's getting and we'll be better off without him. Why? Do you miss him?" she asked.

I thought about how to say it without her thinking I was picking him over Einar. I wasn't, of course. But I wanted to make sure she knew that. "Yes, but I'm conflicted. Some kids' parents are gone, but it's for a better reason. They're in the military or they passed away or whatever else. But my dad is gone because he was beating and torturing Einar. That's not something I want to share with people."

I thought some more. "It makes me wonder if he ever loved Einar or, by extension, me. We're identical, after all. How could he do that to him and love either of us? Sometimes, I feel like it's all my fault."

"Why would it be your fault?" she asked.

"Did they tell you about the first time dad attacked Einar? The time he busted his nose?"

"Well, I know it happened, but I don't know any of the surrounding circumstances," she said.

I told her everything about it. "Dad blamed Einar for it. But Einar's a follower, not a leader. I always had to push him to do things. It should have been me dad beat all these years."

Mom pulled me into her and I felt like crying. It feels like it's been a long time since she's held just me. I know Einar has always needed her more, but sometimes I feel left out.

Not that I'll ever say that. I love her and don't want her or anyone else to think I am mad at her. Nor do I want someone to say that she's hurt me.

"It's not your fault, or Einar's. It's all your father." She continued holding me for some time. "Have you talked to Einar about this?"

"No, I don't know how to. Plus, I know he doesn't blame me. But he should. I never told on dad either."

"I can't see your brother ever being mad at you for anything. I think it's important for you to share your stories with each other. It will help you grow closer. I know it's hard to see, but your dad abused you as well. Even if he never hit you."

"I'll try. But I don't know how to bring it up," I said.

"Ask your therapist how to do it. I'm sure she will have some ideas," mom said.

"That's a good idea."

I kissed mom goodnight on her cheek and went up to my room. Scruffy was laying in bed with Einar. Einar was scratching behind his ears. I felt like joining them, so I laid on the end of Einar's bed and pet Scruffy too.

Later on, I drifted back to my bed and climbed under the sheets. When I woke in the morning, they were both gone. I pulled on some shorts and went downstairs shirtless. It was cold, and I was shivering. Nevertheless, I continued down for breakfast.

Mom was sitting at the table doing some work. I asked her if Scruffy would be ok at home all day while she was at work and we were at school. She nodded and told me she would come home for lunch to let him out.

"Mom, when can Einar and I begin segment two of driver's training?"

"I don't know. A lot is still going on," she said. "Einar, you have your first chiropractor appointment tomorrow."

"I forgot about that," he said.

After two, we left for our appointments with Sarah. Scruffy was whining at the door when we closed him inside. It made me feel terrible. His cries tore at my heart. I wanted to run back in and hug him.

I saw Sarah first today, while Einar saw his psychiatrist. We talked about my tournament and getting a dog. She was happy for me for both. I thought about mentioning what Noah and I did, but was too afraid.

I thought I might get in trouble. The session ended without me mentioning that I still blamed myself for not reporting dad. I didn't have the courage to even ask about how to talk to Einar about things.

I still had the pictures in my wallet, but I never looked at them. It's so much easier to blame myself. Someone has to take the blame. Of course, dad is to blame for what he did. But it's not the entire story. I knew and did nothing. I can't blame that on dad.

The next morning, we all went to take Einar to the chiropractor. He and mom filled out more paperwork while I put in my earphones and watched a movie on my tablet. I scrolled past the movie I bought with Timothee Chalamet, but didn't watch it. This probably wasn't the best place.

Einar went back to a room for maybe twenty minutes. Once back, I thought we'd leave but mom said he had a massage too. I was jealous until I heard him groan and cry out several times from the back. What are they doing to my brother?