It Will Get Better

I waited on my tire swing as my parents fought. Again.The leaves were just beginning to turn an orangey-red, telling me that it was the start of fall. The start of cold days and even colder nights. The start of hot chocolate and snowball fights with my friends. The start of the days when my mother, father, brother and I would curl up on the couch by the fireplaceand watch movies together.

Or that's what it used to mean. Now it only meant the stirring of painful memories. Now, when i had to come out here and wait on this swing on this swing in the cold, I didn't think about the days that were to come, but the days that had already passed. I thought about the days when my brother was still alive.

I remebered when i would sit on this very swing, gripping te edges of it with an iron grasp, and he would push me while around us the sun shone and he wind blew. And how when we were younger I told him about the things I saw and heard when nobody else could hear or see them, and he told me I was special. And after reliving our life together, I thought about the night it happened. I remember hearing the scream of the tires as my brother tried to brake on the icy road, and then the sickening crunch of the Chevy that he loved so much wrapping itself around the Maple tree.

I looked to that same tree now, just across the road from where i was gently pushing myself back and forth. it stood there menacingly, threatening to haunt my memories forever. Slowly, I stood up. I had to stop living in this nightmare. I had to cure myself before I truly lost my mind.

I rushed across the slippery street, trying to move quickly, but at the same time trying to keep myself from falling. I stumbled onto the dirt that marked the beginning of the woods, and only now did i slow myself. I reached the tree and hesitantly placed my palms on it. I felt the new, smooth bark, growing in where the old stuff had been ripped off.

I stretched my arms up and stood on the tips of my toes, reaching as high as i could, and then letting my fingers trail down the tree, all the way to the moist earth that held it in place.

And I stayed there, crouched down, still with my palms against the tree, beginning to feel uncomfotable but ignoring it. I closed my eyes and breathed, slowly drawing in the frigid oxygen, and then letting it out in gasps. I felt the warm tears dance down my cheeks, growing colder as they were exposed to the freezing air.

It will get better, I thought to myself, trying to believe it. It will get better.

"It will get better." I heard a familiar voice say. I gasped and jumped, whipping my head around and searching for the speaker.

And there he was, standing right next to me, just as I remebered him. His disheaveled blue-black hair, the same color as mine. His bright green eyes, usually sparking with laughter, but right now gentle and sad. And the same thing he wore when he died, his faded blue jeans, white T-shirt, and green and gold letterman jacket.

"It will get better." He repeated, slowly fading to a world I didn't know. I stood frozen in shock as the sun melted into the distant mountains, and the moon rose, shining brightly and declaring itself ruler of the sky. And then finally, I nodded, my head.

"It will get better." I whispered, then turned around and walked away, back to my parents, back to my house, and back to life. I would heal, and things would get better.

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