Fanfic - Getting Over It (part one)
Fandom: Glee
Characters: Kurt, others
Warnings: Possibly triggering descriptions of anxiety and grief, canon off-screen character death
Summary: They told him that he was being stupid. She died a long time ago. He needed to just get over it and stop being such a drama queen.
Disclaimers: Glee is not my intellectual property
Done for this prompt on the angst meme. Posted in two parts to my journal for ease of reading now that I've finally finished it.
---
His legs were burning. It was really too cold to be out here, dressed as he was, but Kurt didn’t care. He was warm enough, thanks and couldn’t bear to spend another minute inside. Not with the throngs of people crushing him, crowded into every possible space, breathing, talking, laughing, crying, being absolutely everywhere. It was noisy and stifling, absolutely suffocating.
And Kurt wanted none of it.
So he managed to slip outside into the backyard beyond the noise and clutter of the crowd inside, and he sent up a silent prayer to the heavens that it was freezing outside. He couldn’t see another living soul beyond the threshold of the door, not even the relative gone out for a quick smoke, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The silence was deafening in the chill January afternoon, and the cold air bit into him like a knife. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d manage. Anything to get away from the chaos of the house.
Kurt had never been much of a climber, but the branches of the sturdy oak on the edge of the lawn had never looked so inviting. The bark was rough and cold to the touch, and it cut into the soft skin of his fingertips as he clawed his way up the tree. So much for his new dress shoes. They were all scuffed and worn now. It was worth it, though. Dad could always get him another pair.
He settled onto the branch and leaned against the trunk, his legs swinging free in the air. He could see the white mist of every breath as they left his lips, and he watched as the vapor disappeared into the blurry scenery on the periphery of his vision. He looked up and tried to focus on the neighbor’s house, but the roof, the trees, the siding, all remained a terrible, wavering blur. Damn it. His eyes were watering again. He scrubbed at his face with the stiff fabric of his sleeve and hoped that he hadn’t spoken those words aloud. His dad wouldn’t be happy to learn that he knew words like that.
It wasn’t fair.
None of this was fair.
His dad had been sad for so long, and Kurt had no idea how to make things better. He’d tried cleaning the house on Monday, but he was still too little to use the mop properly. Kurt knew something was wrong when his dad didn’t yell at him about the soggy pile of towels heaped at the edge of the kitchen or the water still pooled on the floor. He’d have gotten yelled at before and sent to his room to think about what he’d done. Instead, his dad had simply gathered him into his arms and hugged him until Kurt couldn’t breathe. Kurt didn’t understand. That was mom’s job when Kurt was feeling down, not dad’s. But mom wasn’t coming home again. His dad had told him that much . Something about a car crash.
Kurt shrunk against the tree trunk at the thought of the car. He’d seen the little red sedan, even if it was only from pictures on the local news. The twisted metal and shattered glass still haunted his dreams, and he’d woken up more than once in the past few days to his dad’s firm hands on his shoulders, his quiet whispering that Kurt was fine, that everything was going to be okay. He was safe.
Those people inside, those relatives whom he’d never seen before and would probably never see again, needed to go away, get out of his house. Leave him and his dad alone. They didn’t need all those people jamming up the hallways and rooms with their great terrible bodies and their never-ending chatter. They needed to go back to whenever they came from and leave him and his dad in peace. He didn’t want their sad, pitying look or their whispered comments when they thought he couldn’t hear. He wasn’t deaf. And of course, the treated him like he was five or something. Kurt knew what death was. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that his mom was gone. There was no need for them to come barging into his life and remind him.
He definitely knew that his mom was never coming back.
And right now he didn’t care about that. He loved his mom. He missed her singing him to sleep, or reading with him on the couch, or taking him to the mall to try on hats and things for hours until dad called wondering where they were and if his credit cards were still intact. He knew that none of those things were ever going to happen again, and he wasn’t ready for that, but he’d get there in time.
Right now he just wanted his dad back.
His dad, who had been so quiet these few days, barely moving from his bed or the couch unless Kurt begged him to. His dad, who’d been pale and so very sad for days, and Kurt didn’t know how to cheer him up. His dad, who hadn’t been able to serve anything other that cold cereal until the mass of people started to arrive for the funeral. His dad, who had silently held his hand as they lowered that beautiful wooden box that was his mother’s casket into the ground. He didn’t understand why all this was happening. His dad needed his mom around to make him whole. Kurt just wasn’t enough, and he knew it.
He tugged at the bowtie cinched around his neck and loosened it with his finger. The wind was starting to pick up, and his red cheeks were tingling with the cold, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was on fire. Something had crawled into his chest and set his whole body ablaze.
He hadn’t wanted to do this, any of this. Not today. Not any day. His suit jacket felt all wrong this morning and he hadn’t been able to get anything right. His tie was too loose and too tight all at once. His hair wasn’t combed right. His shoes pinched painfully at his feet. He hadn’t slept at all last night, and it was painfully obvious. The dark recesses of skin under his eyes were a testament to that.
But how could he sleep when jammed between kids he was told were his second cousins on the living room floor? How could he sleep when every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother’s smiling face or the crunched frame of what was once her car? How could he sleep when his dad was all alone in his room upstairs and Kurt couldn’t see him?
How could Kurt sleep when his dad might disappear into thin air at any moment, just like his mom?
He sniffled and curled into himself a little. It was getting cold out here. He looked up at the gathering clouds. Maybe it would snow again and bury him in ice. He heard from that older boy, Steven, who lived just down the street, that freezing to death wasn’t so bad. He’d read about it in a book for school. It was like falling asleep. Kurt wouldn’t mind falling asleep right now. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so confused. Maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“Kurt.”
He turned his head a little and saw his dad standing at the foot of the tree. He looked so strange in his black and white suit. Kurt wished he’d put on one of his soft flannel shirts and a baseball cap, just like always. Then maybe things would go back to normal, even if it was only for a little while.
His dad looked worried, his face pale and spotted with red form the cold. “What are you doing up there, bud?”
“It’s quieter out here,” Kurt mumbled into his shirt. It was getting so cold outside now.
His dad let out something that sounded a little like a chuckle. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s true. Can you come down for me?”
“I don’t want to go back inside.”
“Then we won’t. We’ll just sit on the porch, okay? I don’t want you falling out of there and breaking your arm or something.”
Kurt didn’t say anything. He knew how easy it was to fall out of trees and hurt himself. He’d spent most of the last summer with a cast over his wrist from an accident with an unfriendly maple. His mom had been so worried. She’d held him to her chest and let his tears soak into her beautiful blouse, and-
He sucked in another breath. The tears were back. He could feel them bunching up behind his eyelids, threatening to burst free from their dam at any moment. He really wanted his mom.
“Kurt?”
His dad. His dad was waiting for him. He swiped at his face again, disgusted with himself for feeling so weak, and began to slowly make his way down the tree. The second his feet touched the ground, he was swept up into his father’s arms, crushed against the warmth of his chest. It felt good, to be hugged like this, to know that his dad was here with him and not lost in a sea of people where Kurt couldn’t find him. He was safe, even if he was crying silently into Kurt’s shoulder.
It was weird to think of his dad crying. He was normally so strong. A real man’s man. And real men don’t cry, right?
Kurt wedged his arms between himself and his dad and gently pushed the man away, trying to get a better look at his face. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was surprised at the tracks of moisture running down his dad’s cheeks. He reached out with his hand and brushed at the flushed skin. “Why are you crying? I thought you weren’t supposed to cry.”
“Who told you that?”
“Uncle Andy. He said that real men don’t cry.” His uncle was his dad’s older brother. He was bigger and stronger and really didn’t like Kurt all that much. Said he should have been born a girl, he acted so much like one. Kurt liked him better than Aunt Mildred, though.
“Well, your uncle’s wrong. Everybody cries now and then, Kurt. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“But why are you crying? Because mom is dead?”
“Yeah, bud. Because your mom is gone, and I miss her very much.”
Kurt nodded and looked over his dad’s shoulder, his eyes growing distant.
“I want to go home, dad,” he whispered, the light wisps of his breath rising and disappearing into the cold air with every word.
Kurt’s quiet words broke Burt’s heart and he drew his son back in for another hug.
“I know, bud. I know,” he whispered as he gently rocked his son back and forth in the grass.
Kurt whimpered and clung to his father’s suit jacket like a lifeline. He didn’t care about the cold anymore or the trails of stinging tears working their way down to his chin. His dad was here and he could cry without making a complete fool of himself. No one was there to see. “I want to go home.”
It didn’t matter that they were kneeling in their own backyard. It didn’t matter that a few steps would take them right into their kitchen. The house was too crowded, too full of life, and even if Kurt didn’t know what the heck he wanted anymore, he knew that he wanted none of that. He didn’t want his cousins and uncles and aunts and all those people milling around in his space. He wanted his dad to pat him on the shoulder and congratulate him on a school assignment. He wanted to race down the stairs in the morning when the smell of eggs and coffee hit his nose. He wanted to go to school and not have to worry about the whispers in the halls or the sad looks his teachers gave him when he showed up for class.
He wanted his dad to stop crying and smile again.
He wanted to see the little red sedan, hale and whole in the garage, as though this had never happened.
And most of all, even though he knew deep down that it was never going to happen, Kurt really, really wanted his mom to come home.
---
Kurt thought that it would be easier now that the house had been cleared of people. He thought that once the noise and frantic, fast-paced grief of strangers claiming to be family would make things better, but it didn’t.
It was getting late; the sun had set some time ago, and his dad had sent him to bed while he finished packing up the leftover food that people had brought over. It was a school night, after all, and Kurt really hadn’t felt like helping put away the food. None of it had smelled very good anyway, and everything he’d had forced down his throat throughout the evening had tasted like glue. It now rested like a lead weight in his stomach, dragging him down into the mattress as he laid there in the empty darkness of his room, eyes wide open and mind racing with jumbled thoughts and emotions.
He didn’t understand. He’d been sleeping on his own for a long time now. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but the shadows thrown across the walls and floor of his room were creeping ever closer. The light of the few passing cars on the street made them stretch and sink, like they were dancing, and he shrunk down into the cocoon of blankets wrapped around his body.
Kurt couldn’t get to sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother’s face. She was crying, no matter what he did, and his dad was nowhere to be found. He could hear the racing cars, the crunch of metal, the blare of sirens in the distance. Tiny shards of glass rained down on him like rain, cutting his face, his hands. His mom just wouldn’t stop crying. It was unbearable, so he watched the wall instead, trying to clear his mind of thought.
He couldn’t hear his dad moving around downstairs anymore. Maybe he’d gone to bed. Maybe he was asleep. But what if he wasn’t? What if he’d died too while Kurt wasn’t there? What if he was leaving him alone? Kurt didn’t like to be left alone.
His eyes shot around the room, and panic began to set in. His heart raced in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. He was too cold, and it felt like he was swimming. He threw off the covers and shot up straight in his bed. Sweat. He was absolutely drenched in sweat. And his hands were shaking. He needed to find his dad. His dad would make everything okay again.
He swung his legs over the side of his bed and slid to the ground. The brush of the carpet against his bare feet was a shock and he winced. It felt wrong now, like steel wool. He checked the bottoms of his feet quickly to make sure they weren’t bleeding. Nothing. Same wrinkly skin as always. He was still shaking.
The door opened to the dark, empty hallway, and Kurt could see his parents’ bedroom at the end. The door was open just a bit. Just a peek, he decided. Just a peek to see if dad’s okay.
He crept down the hall, his fingers brushing the smooth paint of the wall as he went, trying to keep himself grounded and stable. His dad was okay. He had to be. But Kurt needed to be sure. Just a peek. Then everything would be okay.
The door had a tendency to squeak once it reached a certain point, so Kurt opened it only as far as he needed to squeeze himself inside. If his dad was asleep, he would be angry at Kurt for getting out of bed and snooping around in his room. He had to be quiet. He tiptoed across the carpet toward the bed, but was stopped by the white dresser against the wall. A film of blue light washed in through the thin curtains and lit up the dresser like a beacon.
Mom.
Momentarily forgetting his mission, he walked over to it, mesmerized by its presence. Everything was there-the smooth plastic tubes of lotion, the book he’d seen her reading on Tuesday night before bedtime, the little carved bottle of perfume dad had given her for her birthday. It was lilac. Her favorite. Kurt had helped his dad pick it out.
His heart was thudding loudly in his ears as he walked over to it. The wood was smooth beneath his fingertips, and the little metal handles shifted with his touch. They were old and coming loose. His mom had always meant to fix them; she said that all she needed were some new screws and a little bit of patience. She’d never get around to fixing it now.
He sighed and traced the lines of the drawers with his fingertips. The dresser even smelled like her. He breathed in deeply and felt something twist in his chest as the scent of lilacs washed over him. It was almost as if she’d walked in from a long day at work.
This wasn’t fair. He wanted his mom back. His dad needed her back. How could she just leave them like this? How could she just let herself get all smashed up in the car?
A sudden realization hit him and he froze on the spot. The thought of his dad’s black truck all smashed together like a ball of paper flashed through his head. His dad. Oh no, where was his dad? He spun around and looked at the giant bed before him, hoping to see that familiar lump of his dad under the blankets. Heck, he’d even take his dad angry and yelling at him for being awake and wandering around after bedtime if it meant the man was okay. But the blankets were perfectly made, and the bed was empty.
It was empty.
Kurt’s hands were shaking again.
“Dad?” he called out softly into the darkness, praying for an answer. None came.
No, no, no, no, no, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lose his dad too. “Dad?” he tried again, a little louder this time, as he approached the bed.
Nothing. Just silence. Kurt was alone. His mind went back into overdrive, and he couldn’t hear anything over the static filling his ears. He was breathing too fast, but he couldn’t calm himself down. His dad wasn’t here. He was leaving Kurt too. Kurt felt the hot sting of tears pricking his eyes, and he fought the urge to scream.
“Daddy?”
He had to have gone out. He had to have taken the car. It was time for bed, and yet he wasn’t there, so he had to have gone somewhere. His mom’s car flashed before Kurt’s eyes, whole and then all at once a crumpled heap of nothing. What if that was what happened to his dad? Kurt didn’t want to live with his grandma or his mean aunt and uncle in Columbus. He wanted his dad, but his dad wasn’t here. Oh god, where was his dad?
“Daddy…”
Hot tears were streaking down his face and he could hardly breathe. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing, and curled himself around his knees. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. It was all just some terrible nightmare.
He just needed to wake up and everything would be okay again. He’d race down the stairs and find his dad at the kitchen table with the morning newspaper, and he’d smile at Kurt and maybe ruffle his hair with his big, strong hands. His mom would be at the stove, hovering over some frying eggs or maybe a few pieces of bacon. She’d have her first cup of coffee sitting on the counter, and she’d drop everything the second Kurt walked in the room to give him a hug. She’d smile at him and say, “Good morning, Kurt. What would you like for breakfast today?” And they’d sit and eat and talk until it was time for mom to go to work and Kurt to go to school, and they’d part with kisses as his dad loaded him into the car, and everything would be okay.
Everything would be okay.
The light flicked on in the hallway, but Kurt was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt too much to do anything.
“Kurt? What are you still doing up?”
His dad. His dad was there. Kurt wanted to run up to him and jump into his arms. Kurt wanted to cling to him and never let go. But he couldn’t seem to get himself off the floor. He couldn’t stop shaking; he couldn’t stop crying, and why did everything hurt so bad?
He heard his dad lower himself to the floor, felt the thud of his knees hitting the carpet. “Kurt, are you okay?”
Kurt couldn’t answer. It hurt too much to breathe, how the heck was he going to speak? He just lay there, sobbing and trembling and absolutely wretched. Uncle Andy was right. He really was like a girl. He couldn’t stop crying even though his dad was right there. So stupid.
His dad‘s hand was on his shoulder, warm and comforting and so very real that Kurt felt that he would explode. “Kurt, buddy, what’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were breathy little hiccups, wet and full of snot. His chest heaved with every one.
His dad seemed to understand. He lifted Kurt from the floor and into his arms. “Oh, Kurt.” His dad’s whispered voice floated down to him, rough and full of worry. The arms around his shoulders were so warm, so solid, so comforting, and Kurt closed his eyes, melting into his dad’s embrace. He was here. His dad was here.
Everything was going to be okay.
---
His dad wouldn’t let him ride the bus to school on Monday morning, so Kurt found himself sitting in the kitchen, pushing around the soggy remains of his cereal with his spoon as his dad rushed throughout the house trying to get things in order. Finding Kurt in his bedroom after the funeral had really scared him-he’d barely let Kurt out of his sight the entire weekend, even sleeping with him on the couch Saturday night after watching a bunch of movies together-and Kurt felt really guilty about it. It wasn’t his dad’s fault that he’d panicked, and he really shouldn’t have been in there anyway.
Kurt looked up through the fringe of hair covering his eyes, and pushed the offending strands out of the way. His dad didn’t really know how to do his hair right, so Kurt needed to practice when he got home from school. It was okay. He’d be fine looking funny for one day, and he was happy enough that his dad had tried at all.
But dad didn’t have any hair to practice with himself, and his mom had always combed Kurt’s hair before the accident. His grandma had styled it for the funeral. It was perfectly natural that his dad wouldn’t know how to do it right. And besides, Kurt was big enough now, and his mom wasn’t ever coming back, so it was up to Kurt. He could learn how to do it right on his own. It would be one less thing for his dad to worry about.
Speaking of his dad, he came back into the kitchen and dropped his keys on the table as he began to shove his arms through the sleeves of his old leather jacket.
“Make sure you’re ready to go soon, bud. It got pretty cold out there last night, so I’ve got to go scrape the ice off the car. Then we can go, okay? Don’t forget your jacket.”
“’Kay,” he mumbled, but he wasn’t sure his dad heard him as the man jammed his hat onto his head and fastened his coat together in a rush of fabric and fingers. The heavy thumping of his shoes echoed throughout the house as he tromped out of the kitchen to the front door.
Kurt looked at the table. The car keys were still sitting where his dad had left them. Kurt shrugged and slid himself down from his chair. His dad would come back and get them. He couldn’t open the car otherwise, and Kurt wasn’t wearing shoes just yet. He couldn’t go outside without shoes, especially if it was as cold as his dad had said. The linoleum was cold under his socked feet, but he tried to block out the sensation as he grabbed for his cereal bowl.
The milk swayed and sloshed against the brown ceramic sides with his every step, shifting the lumpy oat wheels floating in it from side to side, the whole thing threatening to spill at any time. He’d really tried to be good today and eat the whole bowl, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Everything he put in his mouth since the funeral tasted like wet paper or sharp and metallic like a penny, and he wasn’t really hungry anyways.
He sighed as he looked at the number of cereal pieces still floating in the bowl. It was wasteful, he knew, and his dad would have been mad at him on a normal day. Two spoonfuls were better than none, he supposed, and his dad had smiled at him when he’d taken that first bite. Kurt really wanted his dad to be happy again.
The sink was still kind of high, but at least Kurt could see the bottom now if he stood really tall. He tipped his bowl to the side and watched the quagmire of his breakfast tumble down the drain. Some of the loops slipped free of the milk and caught on the sink’s bottom. Kurt frowned at them and reached up to turn on the tap. Water gushed out, strong and cold, to wash away the rest.
He hoped that the cereal had been soggy enough to go down the drain easily. He wasn’t big enough to reach the switch for the garbage disposal yet, and he really didn’t want to bother his dad with something so trivial. The last of them seemed to be gone though, after a second check, so he was safe. He switched off the sink just as the front door slammed shut once more. His dad must have realized he’d forgotten his keys and come back for them.
His dad swiped the keys from the table without a word. The bottoms of his shoes must be wet-they squeaked as he walked. Kurt looked over to the table and saw a few tiny smears of water on the linoleum. He grimaced and raced over to the roll of paper towels, quickly tearing one off and scampering over to the remains of his father’s footprints on the kitchen floor. Mom hated it when dad tracked mud and dirt into the house, especially if he walked through the carpet. It was really difficult to clean when it got into the carpet.
They weren’t very big, but the tiny touches of dirt sitting in the smears of water made his stomach turn. He scrubbed at the floor until he couldn’t see the water anymore and stood, crumbling the paper towel hard in his fist. He released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and relaxed. It was fine. The kitchen was clean again. His mom wouldn’t get upset about…oh. Oh, yeah.
That’s right.
His fist tightened around the crumpled paper in his hand and he wished it were hard enough to cut him. Maybe if the skin of his palms were sliced open and dripping blood onto the stupid, clean floor then he wouldn’t feel so awful right now. At least it would take his mind off the empty ache in his chest.
Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He didn’t deserve to cry. He’d forgotten already. His mom was gone. She wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t stupid. Death was forever. He needed to remember that.
Kurt stumbled over to the trash can, trying to keep himself level. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath as the lid closed over the little wad of paper, and he tried to calm down.
It was fine. He was fine. Mom was dead. She was going to stay dead. He needed to remember that.
He needed to keep himself together.
For dad.
He could do this for his dad.
The faint sound of the car door slamming shut reached his ears. School. He needed to get himself ready for school. Kurt’s eyes snapped open and he rushed from the kitchen to grab his shoes from over near the door. They were running late as it was, and his dad would get upset if he wasn’t ready to go.
---
Kurt didn’t understand. The school was exactly the same as it had been for the past three years. And why shouldn’t it be? Nothing had changed since he’d left. Everything should be the same. Except that it wasn’t.
Kurt saw many of the same familiar faces that he passed by everyday, teachers and classmates alike, but they didn’t seem real anymore. It was almost as if they were dolls playing the parts of the kids at Northridge Elementary School, just imitations of the people he‘d once known playing their part, like actors in some sort of twisted movie. The teachers loomed overhead like great moving statues, urging children into the correct classrooms. When had they gotten so tall?
He kept glancing at the colorful artwork pasted on the walls, the plaques and trophies nestled in display cases, and wondered just what had happened in his absence. Everything looked different, and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was that had changed. Even halls seemed so much bigger than they had last week
He was a little late walking into school. The first bell had already rung when he’d first ventured into the hall from the front office, and the late bell was sure to follow it. Kurt was okay though; his dad had taken him to the office, gotten him a pass from the nice lady behind the desk with the purple glasses. Kurt could be late to his first class if he needed. He had permission.
His fingers tightened around the thin yellow slip of paper as he watched the last few kids march from the hallways into their classes. Kurt simply stood there, in the middle of the hall, unsure of what to do. He knew that he needed to go to class, but he couldn’t remember which room it was in. It was in the B Hall, though. He remembered that. It was the same hall as his locker.
Then it hit him. His locker. They always studied math first, and he hadn’t brought his workbook home. They had to have it every day, though Mr. O’Malley had said it was fine if he missed the next couple of assignments. He was a ‘special case’ or something like that.
But Kurt was back in school now, and he needed to have that workbook or else he couldn’t keep up with his classmates. He didn’t want to share with anyone, not when he had his own copy sitting in his locker.
He lifted his gaze to the signs at the beginning of each hallway branching away from the main one. B Hall, B Hall. He needed B Hall. Like bears and buttons and there it was. His shoes tapped along the tiles of the floor as he walked. Everything was so quiet now; there didn’t seem to be anyone around.
The morning announcements began, and Kurt thought he could recognize the voices of the people speaking over the intercom, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember their names. It didn’t really matter, did it? They were just faceless voices that would go away in a couple of minutes, and he needed to find his locker and get his math book so he could get to class.
The rows of tan metal stared down at him as he rounded the corner, and he searched for his number: 417. He remembered. It was on top, so he didn’t have to crouch down low to get his things. But his steps slowed as he neared his locker, and his heart began to pound, though he couldn’t figure out why. He did this every day. He didn’t understand why this was so hard today.
There it was, 417, the same as always. Kurt reached up with trembling fingers to twist in his combination, but his mind was blank. He couldn’t remember the numbers, no matter how hard he tried. The voices over the intercom blended together into a terrible, buzzing static that filled his brain, and the shaking had spread to his whole arm.
417. He couldn’t breathe.
417. His dad was walking down the hall toward him, his face streaked with tears.
417. The number loomed above him, and he couldn’t think anymore.
The little yellow paper slipped from his slack fingers and wafted to the ground. The brown finish of his locker gleamed under the fluorescent lights, his combination lock stared at him like a great eye. He couldn’t remember what he was even here for.
His dad was suddenly there, squeezing Kurt tight to his chest, and it was too hot, too tight. The rim of his dad’s ever-present baseball cap was digging painfully into his shoulder. Kurt couldn’t hardly breathe.
His dad was shaking with sobs, and Kurt was really, really scared. He was crying; his dad, who never cries at anything, was crying and trying to tell him something, but Kurt couldn’t make out the words. The static was buzzing too loudly in his ears.
Kurt didn’t realize that his legs had given out until the pain in his knees finally reached his brain. There were little smears of water on the floor, just like this morning, except this time the dirt wasn’t there. Someone hadn’t bothered to wipe their shoes. Kurt swiped his hands over the drops of water to clear them away, but it wasn’t really helping. He didn’t have any paper towels.
His hair fell in his face and more wet spots appeared on the floor. He raised a hand to his cheek and realized that he was crying. Oh. So he was the one getting water on the floor. He was crying and his dad was crying and he could hardly hear anything over the static filling his head.
Oh god, Kurt. I’m so sorry.
His chest tightened and he fell to the floor, pulling his knees tight to his chest as his body wracked with sobs. He didn’t want to be here. He needed to go home. Where was his dad? His dad’s voice was whispering something in his ear, but Kurt couldn’t find the man anywhere.
He really, really wanted his dad.
Buddy…there’s something I’ve got to tell you.
There were voices in the distance, adult voices, and the thud of footsteps coming toward him, but he couldn’t move. Everything hurt too bad to move. Where was his dad? Why wasn’t he here? He was always there. He would make everything better. He always knew what to do.
There were people all around him, touching him, but he couldn’t make out their faces. He couldn’t understand what they were saying to him.
Kurt just wanted to go home.
There’s been an accident.
Your mom…
Oh, Kurt. Your mom didn’t make it.
---
Part two
Characters: Kurt, others
Warnings: Possibly triggering descriptions of anxiety and grief, canon off-screen character death
Summary: They told him that he was being stupid. She died a long time ago. He needed to just get over it and stop being such a drama queen.
Disclaimers: Glee is not my intellectual property
Done for this prompt on the angst meme. Posted in two parts to my journal for ease of reading now that I've finally finished it.
---
His legs were burning. It was really too cold to be out here, dressed as he was, but Kurt didn’t care. He was warm enough, thanks and couldn’t bear to spend another minute inside. Not with the throngs of people crushing him, crowded into every possible space, breathing, talking, laughing, crying, being absolutely everywhere. It was noisy and stifling, absolutely suffocating.
And Kurt wanted none of it.
So he managed to slip outside into the backyard beyond the noise and clutter of the crowd inside, and he sent up a silent prayer to the heavens that it was freezing outside. He couldn’t see another living soul beyond the threshold of the door, not even the relative gone out for a quick smoke, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The silence was deafening in the chill January afternoon, and the cold air bit into him like a knife. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d manage. Anything to get away from the chaos of the house.
Kurt had never been much of a climber, but the branches of the sturdy oak on the edge of the lawn had never looked so inviting. The bark was rough and cold to the touch, and it cut into the soft skin of his fingertips as he clawed his way up the tree. So much for his new dress shoes. They were all scuffed and worn now. It was worth it, though. Dad could always get him another pair.
He settled onto the branch and leaned against the trunk, his legs swinging free in the air. He could see the white mist of every breath as they left his lips, and he watched as the vapor disappeared into the blurry scenery on the periphery of his vision. He looked up and tried to focus on the neighbor’s house, but the roof, the trees, the siding, all remained a terrible, wavering blur. Damn it. His eyes were watering again. He scrubbed at his face with the stiff fabric of his sleeve and hoped that he hadn’t spoken those words aloud. His dad wouldn’t be happy to learn that he knew words like that.
It wasn’t fair.
None of this was fair.
His dad had been sad for so long, and Kurt had no idea how to make things better. He’d tried cleaning the house on Monday, but he was still too little to use the mop properly. Kurt knew something was wrong when his dad didn’t yell at him about the soggy pile of towels heaped at the edge of the kitchen or the water still pooled on the floor. He’d have gotten yelled at before and sent to his room to think about what he’d done. Instead, his dad had simply gathered him into his arms and hugged him until Kurt couldn’t breathe. Kurt didn’t understand. That was mom’s job when Kurt was feeling down, not dad’s. But mom wasn’t coming home again. His dad had told him that much . Something about a car crash.
Kurt shrunk against the tree trunk at the thought of the car. He’d seen the little red sedan, even if it was only from pictures on the local news. The twisted metal and shattered glass still haunted his dreams, and he’d woken up more than once in the past few days to his dad’s firm hands on his shoulders, his quiet whispering that Kurt was fine, that everything was going to be okay. He was safe.
Those people inside, those relatives whom he’d never seen before and would probably never see again, needed to go away, get out of his house. Leave him and his dad alone. They didn’t need all those people jamming up the hallways and rooms with their great terrible bodies and their never-ending chatter. They needed to go back to whenever they came from and leave him and his dad in peace. He didn’t want their sad, pitying look or their whispered comments when they thought he couldn’t hear. He wasn’t deaf. And of course, the treated him like he was five or something. Kurt knew what death was. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that his mom was gone. There was no need for them to come barging into his life and remind him.
He definitely knew that his mom was never coming back.
And right now he didn’t care about that. He loved his mom. He missed her singing him to sleep, or reading with him on the couch, or taking him to the mall to try on hats and things for hours until dad called wondering where they were and if his credit cards were still intact. He knew that none of those things were ever going to happen again, and he wasn’t ready for that, but he’d get there in time.
Right now he just wanted his dad back.
His dad, who had been so quiet these few days, barely moving from his bed or the couch unless Kurt begged him to. His dad, who’d been pale and so very sad for days, and Kurt didn’t know how to cheer him up. His dad, who hadn’t been able to serve anything other that cold cereal until the mass of people started to arrive for the funeral. His dad, who had silently held his hand as they lowered that beautiful wooden box that was his mother’s casket into the ground. He didn’t understand why all this was happening. His dad needed his mom around to make him whole. Kurt just wasn’t enough, and he knew it.
He tugged at the bowtie cinched around his neck and loosened it with his finger. The wind was starting to pick up, and his red cheeks were tingling with the cold, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was on fire. Something had crawled into his chest and set his whole body ablaze.
He hadn’t wanted to do this, any of this. Not today. Not any day. His suit jacket felt all wrong this morning and he hadn’t been able to get anything right. His tie was too loose and too tight all at once. His hair wasn’t combed right. His shoes pinched painfully at his feet. He hadn’t slept at all last night, and it was painfully obvious. The dark recesses of skin under his eyes were a testament to that.
But how could he sleep when jammed between kids he was told were his second cousins on the living room floor? How could he sleep when every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother’s smiling face or the crunched frame of what was once her car? How could he sleep when his dad was all alone in his room upstairs and Kurt couldn’t see him?
How could Kurt sleep when his dad might disappear into thin air at any moment, just like his mom?
He sniffled and curled into himself a little. It was getting cold out here. He looked up at the gathering clouds. Maybe it would snow again and bury him in ice. He heard from that older boy, Steven, who lived just down the street, that freezing to death wasn’t so bad. He’d read about it in a book for school. It was like falling asleep. Kurt wouldn’t mind falling asleep right now. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so confused. Maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“Kurt.”
He turned his head a little and saw his dad standing at the foot of the tree. He looked so strange in his black and white suit. Kurt wished he’d put on one of his soft flannel shirts and a baseball cap, just like always. Then maybe things would go back to normal, even if it was only for a little while.
His dad looked worried, his face pale and spotted with red form the cold. “What are you doing up there, bud?”
“It’s quieter out here,” Kurt mumbled into his shirt. It was getting so cold outside now.
His dad let out something that sounded a little like a chuckle. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s true. Can you come down for me?”
“I don’t want to go back inside.”
“Then we won’t. We’ll just sit on the porch, okay? I don’t want you falling out of there and breaking your arm or something.”
Kurt didn’t say anything. He knew how easy it was to fall out of trees and hurt himself. He’d spent most of the last summer with a cast over his wrist from an accident with an unfriendly maple. His mom had been so worried. She’d held him to her chest and let his tears soak into her beautiful blouse, and-
He sucked in another breath. The tears were back. He could feel them bunching up behind his eyelids, threatening to burst free from their dam at any moment. He really wanted his mom.
“Kurt?”
His dad. His dad was waiting for him. He swiped at his face again, disgusted with himself for feeling so weak, and began to slowly make his way down the tree. The second his feet touched the ground, he was swept up into his father’s arms, crushed against the warmth of his chest. It felt good, to be hugged like this, to know that his dad was here with him and not lost in a sea of people where Kurt couldn’t find him. He was safe, even if he was crying silently into Kurt’s shoulder.
It was weird to think of his dad crying. He was normally so strong. A real man’s man. And real men don’t cry, right?
Kurt wedged his arms between himself and his dad and gently pushed the man away, trying to get a better look at his face. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was surprised at the tracks of moisture running down his dad’s cheeks. He reached out with his hand and brushed at the flushed skin. “Why are you crying? I thought you weren’t supposed to cry.”
“Who told you that?”
“Uncle Andy. He said that real men don’t cry.” His uncle was his dad’s older brother. He was bigger and stronger and really didn’t like Kurt all that much. Said he should have been born a girl, he acted so much like one. Kurt liked him better than Aunt Mildred, though.
“Well, your uncle’s wrong. Everybody cries now and then, Kurt. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“But why are you crying? Because mom is dead?”
“Yeah, bud. Because your mom is gone, and I miss her very much.”
Kurt nodded and looked over his dad’s shoulder, his eyes growing distant.
“I want to go home, dad,” he whispered, the light wisps of his breath rising and disappearing into the cold air with every word.
Kurt’s quiet words broke Burt’s heart and he drew his son back in for another hug.
“I know, bud. I know,” he whispered as he gently rocked his son back and forth in the grass.
Kurt whimpered and clung to his father’s suit jacket like a lifeline. He didn’t care about the cold anymore or the trails of stinging tears working their way down to his chin. His dad was here and he could cry without making a complete fool of himself. No one was there to see. “I want to go home.”
It didn’t matter that they were kneeling in their own backyard. It didn’t matter that a few steps would take them right into their kitchen. The house was too crowded, too full of life, and even if Kurt didn’t know what the heck he wanted anymore, he knew that he wanted none of that. He didn’t want his cousins and uncles and aunts and all those people milling around in his space. He wanted his dad to pat him on the shoulder and congratulate him on a school assignment. He wanted to race down the stairs in the morning when the smell of eggs and coffee hit his nose. He wanted to go to school and not have to worry about the whispers in the halls or the sad looks his teachers gave him when he showed up for class.
He wanted his dad to stop crying and smile again.
He wanted to see the little red sedan, hale and whole in the garage, as though this had never happened.
And most of all, even though he knew deep down that it was never going to happen, Kurt really, really wanted his mom to come home.
---
Kurt thought that it would be easier now that the house had been cleared of people. He thought that once the noise and frantic, fast-paced grief of strangers claiming to be family would make things better, but it didn’t.
It was getting late; the sun had set some time ago, and his dad had sent him to bed while he finished packing up the leftover food that people had brought over. It was a school night, after all, and Kurt really hadn’t felt like helping put away the food. None of it had smelled very good anyway, and everything he’d had forced down his throat throughout the evening had tasted like glue. It now rested like a lead weight in his stomach, dragging him down into the mattress as he laid there in the empty darkness of his room, eyes wide open and mind racing with jumbled thoughts and emotions.
He didn’t understand. He’d been sleeping on his own for a long time now. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but the shadows thrown across the walls and floor of his room were creeping ever closer. The light of the few passing cars on the street made them stretch and sink, like they were dancing, and he shrunk down into the cocoon of blankets wrapped around his body.
Kurt couldn’t get to sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother’s face. She was crying, no matter what he did, and his dad was nowhere to be found. He could hear the racing cars, the crunch of metal, the blare of sirens in the distance. Tiny shards of glass rained down on him like rain, cutting his face, his hands. His mom just wouldn’t stop crying. It was unbearable, so he watched the wall instead, trying to clear his mind of thought.
He couldn’t hear his dad moving around downstairs anymore. Maybe he’d gone to bed. Maybe he was asleep. But what if he wasn’t? What if he’d died too while Kurt wasn’t there? What if he was leaving him alone? Kurt didn’t like to be left alone.
His eyes shot around the room, and panic began to set in. His heart raced in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. He was too cold, and it felt like he was swimming. He threw off the covers and shot up straight in his bed. Sweat. He was absolutely drenched in sweat. And his hands were shaking. He needed to find his dad. His dad would make everything okay again.
He swung his legs over the side of his bed and slid to the ground. The brush of the carpet against his bare feet was a shock and he winced. It felt wrong now, like steel wool. He checked the bottoms of his feet quickly to make sure they weren’t bleeding. Nothing. Same wrinkly skin as always. He was still shaking.
The door opened to the dark, empty hallway, and Kurt could see his parents’ bedroom at the end. The door was open just a bit. Just a peek, he decided. Just a peek to see if dad’s okay.
He crept down the hall, his fingers brushing the smooth paint of the wall as he went, trying to keep himself grounded and stable. His dad was okay. He had to be. But Kurt needed to be sure. Just a peek. Then everything would be okay.
The door had a tendency to squeak once it reached a certain point, so Kurt opened it only as far as he needed to squeeze himself inside. If his dad was asleep, he would be angry at Kurt for getting out of bed and snooping around in his room. He had to be quiet. He tiptoed across the carpet toward the bed, but was stopped by the white dresser against the wall. A film of blue light washed in through the thin curtains and lit up the dresser like a beacon.
Mom.
Momentarily forgetting his mission, he walked over to it, mesmerized by its presence. Everything was there-the smooth plastic tubes of lotion, the book he’d seen her reading on Tuesday night before bedtime, the little carved bottle of perfume dad had given her for her birthday. It was lilac. Her favorite. Kurt had helped his dad pick it out.
His heart was thudding loudly in his ears as he walked over to it. The wood was smooth beneath his fingertips, and the little metal handles shifted with his touch. They were old and coming loose. His mom had always meant to fix them; she said that all she needed were some new screws and a little bit of patience. She’d never get around to fixing it now.
He sighed and traced the lines of the drawers with his fingertips. The dresser even smelled like her. He breathed in deeply and felt something twist in his chest as the scent of lilacs washed over him. It was almost as if she’d walked in from a long day at work.
This wasn’t fair. He wanted his mom back. His dad needed her back. How could she just leave them like this? How could she just let herself get all smashed up in the car?
A sudden realization hit him and he froze on the spot. The thought of his dad’s black truck all smashed together like a ball of paper flashed through his head. His dad. Oh no, where was his dad? He spun around and looked at the giant bed before him, hoping to see that familiar lump of his dad under the blankets. Heck, he’d even take his dad angry and yelling at him for being awake and wandering around after bedtime if it meant the man was okay. But the blankets were perfectly made, and the bed was empty.
It was empty.
Kurt’s hands were shaking again.
“Dad?” he called out softly into the darkness, praying for an answer. None came.
No, no, no, no, no, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lose his dad too. “Dad?” he tried again, a little louder this time, as he approached the bed.
Nothing. Just silence. Kurt was alone. His mind went back into overdrive, and he couldn’t hear anything over the static filling his ears. He was breathing too fast, but he couldn’t calm himself down. His dad wasn’t here. He was leaving Kurt too. Kurt felt the hot sting of tears pricking his eyes, and he fought the urge to scream.
“Daddy?”
He had to have gone out. He had to have taken the car. It was time for bed, and yet he wasn’t there, so he had to have gone somewhere. His mom’s car flashed before Kurt’s eyes, whole and then all at once a crumpled heap of nothing. What if that was what happened to his dad? Kurt didn’t want to live with his grandma or his mean aunt and uncle in Columbus. He wanted his dad, but his dad wasn’t here. Oh god, where was his dad?
“Daddy…”
Hot tears were streaking down his face and he could hardly breathe. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing, and curled himself around his knees. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. It was all just some terrible nightmare.
He just needed to wake up and everything would be okay again. He’d race down the stairs and find his dad at the kitchen table with the morning newspaper, and he’d smile at Kurt and maybe ruffle his hair with his big, strong hands. His mom would be at the stove, hovering over some frying eggs or maybe a few pieces of bacon. She’d have her first cup of coffee sitting on the counter, and she’d drop everything the second Kurt walked in the room to give him a hug. She’d smile at him and say, “Good morning, Kurt. What would you like for breakfast today?” And they’d sit and eat and talk until it was time for mom to go to work and Kurt to go to school, and they’d part with kisses as his dad loaded him into the car, and everything would be okay.
Everything would be okay.
The light flicked on in the hallway, but Kurt was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt too much to do anything.
“Kurt? What are you still doing up?”
His dad. His dad was there. Kurt wanted to run up to him and jump into his arms. Kurt wanted to cling to him and never let go. But he couldn’t seem to get himself off the floor. He couldn’t stop shaking; he couldn’t stop crying, and why did everything hurt so bad?
He heard his dad lower himself to the floor, felt the thud of his knees hitting the carpet. “Kurt, are you okay?”
Kurt couldn’t answer. It hurt too much to breathe, how the heck was he going to speak? He just lay there, sobbing and trembling and absolutely wretched. Uncle Andy was right. He really was like a girl. He couldn’t stop crying even though his dad was right there. So stupid.
His dad‘s hand was on his shoulder, warm and comforting and so very real that Kurt felt that he would explode. “Kurt, buddy, what’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were breathy little hiccups, wet and full of snot. His chest heaved with every one.
His dad seemed to understand. He lifted Kurt from the floor and into his arms. “Oh, Kurt.” His dad’s whispered voice floated down to him, rough and full of worry. The arms around his shoulders were so warm, so solid, so comforting, and Kurt closed his eyes, melting into his dad’s embrace. He was here. His dad was here.
Everything was going to be okay.
---
His dad wouldn’t let him ride the bus to school on Monday morning, so Kurt found himself sitting in the kitchen, pushing around the soggy remains of his cereal with his spoon as his dad rushed throughout the house trying to get things in order. Finding Kurt in his bedroom after the funeral had really scared him-he’d barely let Kurt out of his sight the entire weekend, even sleeping with him on the couch Saturday night after watching a bunch of movies together-and Kurt felt really guilty about it. It wasn’t his dad’s fault that he’d panicked, and he really shouldn’t have been in there anyway.
Kurt looked up through the fringe of hair covering his eyes, and pushed the offending strands out of the way. His dad didn’t really know how to do his hair right, so Kurt needed to practice when he got home from school. It was okay. He’d be fine looking funny for one day, and he was happy enough that his dad had tried at all.
But dad didn’t have any hair to practice with himself, and his mom had always combed Kurt’s hair before the accident. His grandma had styled it for the funeral. It was perfectly natural that his dad wouldn’t know how to do it right. And besides, Kurt was big enough now, and his mom wasn’t ever coming back, so it was up to Kurt. He could learn how to do it right on his own. It would be one less thing for his dad to worry about.
Speaking of his dad, he came back into the kitchen and dropped his keys on the table as he began to shove his arms through the sleeves of his old leather jacket.
“Make sure you’re ready to go soon, bud. It got pretty cold out there last night, so I’ve got to go scrape the ice off the car. Then we can go, okay? Don’t forget your jacket.”
“’Kay,” he mumbled, but he wasn’t sure his dad heard him as the man jammed his hat onto his head and fastened his coat together in a rush of fabric and fingers. The heavy thumping of his shoes echoed throughout the house as he tromped out of the kitchen to the front door.
Kurt looked at the table. The car keys were still sitting where his dad had left them. Kurt shrugged and slid himself down from his chair. His dad would come back and get them. He couldn’t open the car otherwise, and Kurt wasn’t wearing shoes just yet. He couldn’t go outside without shoes, especially if it was as cold as his dad had said. The linoleum was cold under his socked feet, but he tried to block out the sensation as he grabbed for his cereal bowl.
The milk swayed and sloshed against the brown ceramic sides with his every step, shifting the lumpy oat wheels floating in it from side to side, the whole thing threatening to spill at any time. He’d really tried to be good today and eat the whole bowl, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Everything he put in his mouth since the funeral tasted like wet paper or sharp and metallic like a penny, and he wasn’t really hungry anyways.
He sighed as he looked at the number of cereal pieces still floating in the bowl. It was wasteful, he knew, and his dad would have been mad at him on a normal day. Two spoonfuls were better than none, he supposed, and his dad had smiled at him when he’d taken that first bite. Kurt really wanted his dad to be happy again.
The sink was still kind of high, but at least Kurt could see the bottom now if he stood really tall. He tipped his bowl to the side and watched the quagmire of his breakfast tumble down the drain. Some of the loops slipped free of the milk and caught on the sink’s bottom. Kurt frowned at them and reached up to turn on the tap. Water gushed out, strong and cold, to wash away the rest.
He hoped that the cereal had been soggy enough to go down the drain easily. He wasn’t big enough to reach the switch for the garbage disposal yet, and he really didn’t want to bother his dad with something so trivial. The last of them seemed to be gone though, after a second check, so he was safe. He switched off the sink just as the front door slammed shut once more. His dad must have realized he’d forgotten his keys and come back for them.
His dad swiped the keys from the table without a word. The bottoms of his shoes must be wet-they squeaked as he walked. Kurt looked over to the table and saw a few tiny smears of water on the linoleum. He grimaced and raced over to the roll of paper towels, quickly tearing one off and scampering over to the remains of his father’s footprints on the kitchen floor. Mom hated it when dad tracked mud and dirt into the house, especially if he walked through the carpet. It was really difficult to clean when it got into the carpet.
They weren’t very big, but the tiny touches of dirt sitting in the smears of water made his stomach turn. He scrubbed at the floor until he couldn’t see the water anymore and stood, crumbling the paper towel hard in his fist. He released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and relaxed. It was fine. The kitchen was clean again. His mom wouldn’t get upset about…oh. Oh, yeah.
That’s right.
His fist tightened around the crumpled paper in his hand and he wished it were hard enough to cut him. Maybe if the skin of his palms were sliced open and dripping blood onto the stupid, clean floor then he wouldn’t feel so awful right now. At least it would take his mind off the empty ache in his chest.
Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He didn’t deserve to cry. He’d forgotten already. His mom was gone. She wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t stupid. Death was forever. He needed to remember that.
Kurt stumbled over to the trash can, trying to keep himself level. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath as the lid closed over the little wad of paper, and he tried to calm down.
It was fine. He was fine. Mom was dead. She was going to stay dead. He needed to remember that.
He needed to keep himself together.
For dad.
He could do this for his dad.
The faint sound of the car door slamming shut reached his ears. School. He needed to get himself ready for school. Kurt’s eyes snapped open and he rushed from the kitchen to grab his shoes from over near the door. They were running late as it was, and his dad would get upset if he wasn’t ready to go.
---
Kurt didn’t understand. The school was exactly the same as it had been for the past three years. And why shouldn’t it be? Nothing had changed since he’d left. Everything should be the same. Except that it wasn’t.
Kurt saw many of the same familiar faces that he passed by everyday, teachers and classmates alike, but they didn’t seem real anymore. It was almost as if they were dolls playing the parts of the kids at Northridge Elementary School, just imitations of the people he‘d once known playing their part, like actors in some sort of twisted movie. The teachers loomed overhead like great moving statues, urging children into the correct classrooms. When had they gotten so tall?
He kept glancing at the colorful artwork pasted on the walls, the plaques and trophies nestled in display cases, and wondered just what had happened in his absence. Everything looked different, and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was that had changed. Even halls seemed so much bigger than they had last week
He was a little late walking into school. The first bell had already rung when he’d first ventured into the hall from the front office, and the late bell was sure to follow it. Kurt was okay though; his dad had taken him to the office, gotten him a pass from the nice lady behind the desk with the purple glasses. Kurt could be late to his first class if he needed. He had permission.
His fingers tightened around the thin yellow slip of paper as he watched the last few kids march from the hallways into their classes. Kurt simply stood there, in the middle of the hall, unsure of what to do. He knew that he needed to go to class, but he couldn’t remember which room it was in. It was in the B Hall, though. He remembered that. It was the same hall as his locker.
Then it hit him. His locker. They always studied math first, and he hadn’t brought his workbook home. They had to have it every day, though Mr. O’Malley had said it was fine if he missed the next couple of assignments. He was a ‘special case’ or something like that.
But Kurt was back in school now, and he needed to have that workbook or else he couldn’t keep up with his classmates. He didn’t want to share with anyone, not when he had his own copy sitting in his locker.
He lifted his gaze to the signs at the beginning of each hallway branching away from the main one. B Hall, B Hall. He needed B Hall. Like bears and buttons and there it was. His shoes tapped along the tiles of the floor as he walked. Everything was so quiet now; there didn’t seem to be anyone around.
The morning announcements began, and Kurt thought he could recognize the voices of the people speaking over the intercom, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember their names. It didn’t really matter, did it? They were just faceless voices that would go away in a couple of minutes, and he needed to find his locker and get his math book so he could get to class.
The rows of tan metal stared down at him as he rounded the corner, and he searched for his number: 417. He remembered. It was on top, so he didn’t have to crouch down low to get his things. But his steps slowed as he neared his locker, and his heart began to pound, though he couldn’t figure out why. He did this every day. He didn’t understand why this was so hard today.
There it was, 417, the same as always. Kurt reached up with trembling fingers to twist in his combination, but his mind was blank. He couldn’t remember the numbers, no matter how hard he tried. The voices over the intercom blended together into a terrible, buzzing static that filled his brain, and the shaking had spread to his whole arm.
417. He couldn’t breathe.
417. His dad was walking down the hall toward him, his face streaked with tears.
417. The number loomed above him, and he couldn’t think anymore.
The little yellow paper slipped from his slack fingers and wafted to the ground. The brown finish of his locker gleamed under the fluorescent lights, his combination lock stared at him like a great eye. He couldn’t remember what he was even here for.
His dad was suddenly there, squeezing Kurt tight to his chest, and it was too hot, too tight. The rim of his dad’s ever-present baseball cap was digging painfully into his shoulder. Kurt couldn’t hardly breathe.
His dad was shaking with sobs, and Kurt was really, really scared. He was crying; his dad, who never cries at anything, was crying and trying to tell him something, but Kurt couldn’t make out the words. The static was buzzing too loudly in his ears.
Kurt didn’t realize that his legs had given out until the pain in his knees finally reached his brain. There were little smears of water on the floor, just like this morning, except this time the dirt wasn’t there. Someone hadn’t bothered to wipe their shoes. Kurt swiped his hands over the drops of water to clear them away, but it wasn’t really helping. He didn’t have any paper towels.
His hair fell in his face and more wet spots appeared on the floor. He raised a hand to his cheek and realized that he was crying. Oh. So he was the one getting water on the floor. He was crying and his dad was crying and he could hardly hear anything over the static filling his head.
Oh god, Kurt. I’m so sorry.
His chest tightened and he fell to the floor, pulling his knees tight to his chest as his body wracked with sobs. He didn’t want to be here. He needed to go home. Where was his dad? His dad’s voice was whispering something in his ear, but Kurt couldn’t find the man anywhere.
He really, really wanted his dad.
Buddy…there’s something I’ve got to tell you.
There were voices in the distance, adult voices, and the thud of footsteps coming toward him, but he couldn’t move. Everything hurt too bad to move. Where was his dad? Why wasn’t he here? He was always there. He would make everything better. He always knew what to do.
There were people all around him, touching him, but he couldn’t make out their faces. He couldn’t understand what they were saying to him.
Kurt just wanted to go home.
There’s been an accident.
Your mom…
Oh, Kurt. Your mom didn’t make it.
---
Part two