Katie Kobold

First in the Rainbow

For Drake, who understood from the beginning.

Potter book, homework long forgotten. He was nervous to see her today when he got home. Would she act the same way? Would she be back to normal? He desperately wanted to talk to her about his bad grade, but didn’t want her to be angry with him again. He’d never thought much of their age gap until last night. He didn’t realize he could feel so embarrassed for being born at a certain time—that wasn’t even in his control! Sam never cared much for the color red. 

It was the color of tomatoes, blood, the Eye of Sauron, the Cincinnati Reds, and complete death and total despair. It was also the color of the large “3/16” that bore into him on the Algebra quiz he had taken the day before, passed back during Homeroom. Sam could envision Mr. Wylie laying back with his feet up on his desk, taking his sweet time carving the loops, curves, and lines by Sam’s name right at the top, the thick red sharpie squeaking in protest on the page while the color bled through, and Mr. Wylie laughed maniacally in the ominous shadow of his desk lamp.  

Sam placed the failed quiz on his music stand and slumped in his orchestra chair, his head leaning against his cello. A useless melody entering his head, he instinctively moved his fingers to pluck over and over again: G, B flat, A natural, D. G, B flat, A natural, D. Each time with more allargando. G, B flat, A natural, D. His 6th period Orchestra class still wouldn’t start for another six minutes. The only other people in the room were two girls giggling in the corner making vines, the violin prodigy studying sheet music that would’ve given Sam a headache , and a boy viola player sitting two rows ahead of him, reading a book. Since starting seventh grade two weeks ago, Sam had gone gratefully, generally unnoticed, so he plucked on—G, B flat, A natural, D.  

Did he ask Mr. Wylie for another chance? Did he blubber through telling Mom and Dad? Sam knew they would be disappointed in him for the grade, but probably more if he lied about it. Was it lying if he just didn’t tell them? He’d planned to study last night after going on a drive with Lydia, which became routine last year after she got her license; they used to go on drives with Dad when they were younger, him blasting the Beatles and rolling the windows down, telling his kids to not care what other people thought as long as they were happy. He stopped taking them when Sam was 10: Mom got laid off so Dad started working the night shift to make more money and was always too tired to take them no matter how much Sam and Lydia begged. Mom had found a new pet clinic to work at now, but Dad had kept the night shift, so drives with the three of them never made a comeback. Luckily, when Lydia got her license last year, the two of them started going on long drives to preserve the tradition. The only thing Sam had been excited about for the school year was their drives starting back up again. But when the school year started and Sam asked his sister every day after school for the last two weeks, Lydia continuously brushed him off: saying she “needed more time” to get into the swing of things again. He figured two weeks was enough, so yesterday he asked her again and she exploded.  

Sam, I’m a junior now and I have more important things to do than spending every second with my lame baby brother, it’s embarrassing. Stop asking me and grow up.  

Her words still stung him like a fresh papercut. After she said that, Sam had retreated to his room and cried for a long time. When he finally stopped, he ignored his feelings some more by diving into re-reading Prisoner of Azkaban, his favorite Harry 

Voices bursting into the room shook Sam out of his stupor. Scared someone would see the red mark of death on his quiz, he quickly shoved it into his backpack with a crinkle, anxious to focus on just the music for the next 50 minutes.  

Ever since starting Orchestra last year, Sam had become addicted to puzzling out where to put his fingers to get the richest sound out of the strings, his bow a conductor wand he used to transfer magic from his body into the world. He loved the warmth and friction running the bow along the chords made, like he could set the world aflame with just his hands and his cello, even if he wasn’t quite right on the center of the pitch. 

Sam didn’t think many of his classmates felt the same way. Most students in Orchestra were forced to take a music class since it was required during 6th and 7th grade. Many of the other students ended up taking whatever their parents wanted them to—including the three boys whose real “thing” at school was playing basketball, but for some reason their parents also wanted them to play strings. He didn’t understand how there was already a crew of unspoken jocks at school since they were only thirteen, but somehow overnight their names became known to him and everyone else. 

Ms. Simpson emerged from her office, reminding everyone it was placement test day. Just great. He had forgotten about practicing for that last night too. Sam heaved a heavy sigh as Ms. Simpson ducked back into her office with a mutter about sheet music, the basketball jocks starting to surround the viola player in front of Sam as soon as she was out of sight. 

“Ooooh, Bennett is such a good student…he’s reading for fun!” the first one whined, grabbing Bennett’s book out of his hand and handing it to Lackey Number Two. 

“Is it a romance novel for girls?” Lackey Two flipped the cover and presented it around the room like show-and-tell. It was a small blue paperback book titled Call Me By Your Name. Sam recognized the title from something, but couldn’t remember what. 

“Haha even better!” the lead hydra head cooed gleefully, “It’s a book about boys kissing!” The trio burst into howling laughter. “What’re you gonna do, Benny? Stick your dick in a peach?” Their bitter tones reminded him of Dad when he was angry at one of his TV teams. Sam realized he recognized the name because Lydia had raved about the movie adaptation the year before. Naturally, Sam hadn’t been old enough to watch it with her, feeding into her ‘lame baby brother’ argument he realized now with a jolt. 

“That’s enough, gentlemen. Rehearsal is about to begin,” Ms. Simpson said in a clipped tone, sheet music now in hand. Sam couldn’t lie, she was kind of hot. And he was pretty sure it was her first year teaching, so not too far out of his league (think about Anakin and Padme’s age gap!). That was probably why the jocks actually went to their seats, but not before the first one kicked the corner of Bennett’s chair and whispered “You’re sooo gay,” just quiet enough that the students around him could hear.  

The boy’s ears turned bright red as he sank into his chair like he wanted to fuse himself with it. Sam let out a small chuckle under his breath as the mean boys took their seats, only a few chairs over from Sam. He’d never heard ‘gay’ used that way before, but he would add it to his vocabulary if it meant he wasn’t a target of their taunts. He had enough to worry about already at home with Lydia and now Algebra. He just hoped he didn’t completely mess up the playing test or he’d have to add it to the list of things he’d done wrong lately.  

# 

The second Sam kicked off his sneakers and his backpack hit the ground, his stomach did eight cartwheels. He’d decided on the bus home that he would just pretend everything was normal with Lydia. He threw on an excited face and scampered up the stairs to his sister’s room.  

With her room at the end of the hall, he could see her sprawled on her bed, probably reading one of her ‘snowflake articles,’ as Dad called them. Sam flew through the doorway and jumped onto her mattress giggling. “Got’cha!” he cried with a laugh. She curled up in defense with a yelp as his weight momentarily crushed her, her phone flying out of her hand. 

“Sam, get off!” she cried, nothing playful in her tone. 

Sam swallowed quickly and scrambled off the bed. “But…I want to hang out with you,” he said, fighting to keep a tremor out of his voice. 

 “We can’t, didn’t I tell you that yesterday?” she huffed. So her words yesterday weren’t just a fluke.  “I’m having…” she paused while straightening the pillows on her bed, “a friend over soon.  

“Oh.” Sam stood awkwardly by her dresser, “I know you said no yesterday, but…I thought if we didn’t go for a long drive we could watch a movie or something. Or if not that we could go for a short drive! Just around the block…?” he said brightly.  

Lydia turned back to Sam, her gaze softening slightly. “I’m sorry, but no, Sam. Mom and Dad stopped paying for my gas, so I don’t have the money to go driving just anywhere right now.” She assumed her previous position on her bed: lying on her stomach with her legs up like two antennas transmitting messages Sam wasn’t old enough to interpret.  

“Why would they do that?”  

“I don’t know, something about me being an adult now and taking care of myself, so you wouldn’t get it,” she said dismissively, going back on her phone. “Maybe, maybe, tomorrow, okay?” Her tone was non-committal.  

Sam’s face grew hot. Lydia had never treated him like this before. The smallest trickle of hope still inside him perished with a dying yelp. He made the mistake of audibly sniffling, earning a surprised look from Lydia that he was still there. She eyed the doorway imperatively, raising her eyebrows in a non-verbal challenge. 

Sam did as she asked. He remembered Lydia used to be waiting for him excitedly in her car when he got home from school, a wide grin on her face. She would laugh from the passenger seat as she screamed Gin Blossoms’ “Follow You Down” in too high a key, the windows down and the wind bursting into his ears. He wished he could replace this Lydia with that one. 

The Lydia in front of him now was a stranger. Gone were her sundresses and jean jackets he saw her grow up in, now replaced by baggy jeans, turtlenecks, and beanies. The girl clad in black laying in the middle of a soft pink room looked like she was a character plucked out of her own and into the wrong story. Sam could barely remember what the top of her head looked like. 

The doorbell rang, and Lydia bolted off her bed. “She’s here!” the smallest hint of her old smile on her face as she ran down the stairs, knocking into Sam’s shoulder on the way, causing him to stumble against the wall.  

Sam’s mood worsened. He felt the prick of tears behind his eyes. He moved to the top of the stairs to scope out his competition for Lydia’s attention. 

His sister’s friend beamed from the doorway. She couldn’t have looked more different from Lydia with hot pink hair, a white sweater, and a blush pink skirt that reached her ankles, the fabric crinkled softly like a rose. 

“Hi, Avery!” His sister covered Princess Bubblegum with a hug. ‘Avery’ had a very pretty smile that pissed Sam off even more. 

 “Are your parents home? Can I say hi?” Avery fidgeted with the hem of her sweater sleeves, her smile slightly faltering.  

“No, they both don’t get home from work till about six,” Lydia said flippantly and grabbed Avery’s hand to direct her upstairs. Sam hurried to his room so he could pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping when they passed his doorway. 

“What are you guys gonna do? Can I join? Do you want to play a Wii game??” Sam asked, keeping his tone casual, as far from lame as possible. Maybe if he kept quiet and played whatever they wanted to, Lydia would let him be with them.  

Lydia’s face turned serious as she grabbed her bedroom’s inner door knob. “None of your business, Sammy.”  

His heart dropped. Her pet name for him, that he used to love, now made him feel like he was five years old. Lydia’s New Best Friend threw him an awkward, apologetic look as his sister slammed the door on his face.  

Sam had never felt so confused in his life, not even when he found out people learned music by looking at random dots and lines on a page. The failed quiz and his sister’s lack of affection weighed on him. Could today get any worse?  

Ignoring the lump caught in his throat, Sam retreated to get Prisoner out of his bookbag. There was another algebra quiz happening Friday, but Sam knew he would start crying if he even cracked open his textbook. He sank to the floor in the hallway, diving into the world of Harry Potter to keep the dam of tears from running down his face like the baby everyone seemed to think he was. He stayed there for hours it seemed, reading at least a hundred pages before Mom came home and yelled up for him to set the table. Lydia quickly whisked Avery away before she could even introduce herself, and the family sat down together. 

The Miller Meal of the Day started, as usual, with everyone’s Daily Report. Sam was actually excited to tell his family he was placed third chair for cello (despite having not practiced), though once they realized there were only seven cello players, both Mom and Dad told him he should practice more for next time.  

“Remember, Sam, getting good placements now will help you make Symphony Orchestra in the future, and you need to keep your grades up now because college applications will be here sooner than you know,” Mom said, scooping peas onto her plate. “And colleges want well-rounded students—excelling in music is a great way to bolster your academics.” 

Sam paused mid-bite, eyes wide. This was the first time his parents had used the c-word addressing him. They’d been mentioning college to Lydia for years but he had always tuned them out.  

“Your mother’s right, Sam. Colleges will start looking at your middle school transcripts, and you need to stay focused. We don’t want you to end up like Uncle John,” Dad echoed as Sam resumed slowly chewing. Uncle John was Mom’s brother that flunked out of college and became a construction worker, even though Mamaw and Papaw offered to pay his whole way. They stopped giving Sam’s uncle money after that. He'd been injured three times on the job and had awful hours. He was always working during holidays, so Sam never even saw him.  

The failed quiz hung over Sam’s head like a bucket of blood, hideously red as Dad continued, “You can’t be failing or flunking anything; that’s not the life we want for you. We Millers are better than that. We’re fighters.” Dad’s family, on the other hand, didn’t really have any money. Sam’s Auntie Emma, Dad’s sister, was given up for adoption when she and Dad were kids because Grandma couldn’t pay to support both of them on her own. Dad got through college because he had worked at least one job since he was fifteen. Dad always made sure Lydia and Sam were grateful for the life they were born into. 

Luckily, their parents’ attention shifted to Lydia, who unenthusiastically mentioned her psych class, giving Sam the opportunity to slow his breathing. Mom reported she had a cat at the vet that pooped out a race car toy, which Sam thought was very funny (but only because the cat was okay). 

Dad decided it was his turn to share and chose to talk Mom’s ear off about how he had to go through some “bullshit DEI” training at work. Something about how people still believed in “white male privilege” even though according to him, a woman had been promoted before him for a position he was qualified for. Dad made it sound like the woman had been promoted because she was a woman, not because she deserved the position more than him. Sam knew Dad liked when people agreed with him, and Sam desperately wanted him and Mom to forget about how poorly they thought he did on his placement test in orchestra.  

“Wait, that’s so gay,” Sam said, the words not quite fitting in his mouth.  

Lydia’s fork clattered on her plate. Mom raised her eyebrows. Dad chuckled approvingly. 

“You shouldn’t say that, Sam. You don’t know what it means.” Lydia’s jaw was clenched so hard Sam thought he heard her teeth grind. 

“Uh, yeah I do,” Sam scoffed defensively. He was tired of her treating him like he knew nothing. Mom and Dad were already talking to him about college, so maybe he was more grown up than she thought. “It’s about boys that like to kiss each other. And…peaches. It’s stupid,” Lydia furrowed her brows, looking like Dad. Dad’s laugh subsided as a tempest stormed through Lydia’s face.  

“God, ease up, Lyd.” Dad said, taking an angry bite of lasagna. “Stop trying to police vocabulary in a house that isn’t yours.” 

Lydia was silent, her eyes burning.. Sam never imagined a time where he would be happy to upset his sister. “You just shouldn’t use it as an insult, Sam. It’s insensitive,” she excused herself from the table and retreated upstairs. Sam put his fork down, no longer hungry. He regretted saying anything at all. 

# 

Three more days passed with radio silence from Lydia. She hermitted in her room, only coming out to join for dinner, refusing to talk, cleaning her plate and returning to her tower. Mom and Dad threatened to ground her, and she let them. Sam knocked on her room everyday after school to no response, even when he apologized for dinner the other night to her door. 

Now it was Friday and Sam was screwed. He’d been so busy trying to get Lydia to talk that he still hadn’t studied for Algebra, and now the quiz was next period. He wished, not for the first time, that he only had to show up to school, read his book, eat lunch, play cello, and go home.  

Ms. Simpson reminded them all to take their instruments home over the weekend to practice. They each got assigned a gated locker on the perimeter of the room to keep their instruments and cases in during the week, the biggest ones on the end by the door for the cello players.   

When the bell rang, Sam took his time putting his sheet music away, doing his best to delay the inevitable, gingerly placing everything in his book bag neatly, even grabbing the forgotten quiz and smoothing it out into a proper folder. 

The jabberjockies, as Sam had grown accustomed to calling them, were the last ones out of the room besides him and the viola player, Bennett. They didn’t even bother taking their two basses and one viola home for the illusion of practicing. The head jockie (whose name he thought was Cameron) walked backwards out the double doors as the other two opened them for him, drawing an air heart with an uncapped black Sharpie and making kissy faces at Sam and Bennett. 

The doors closed behind them as Sam realized what they were implying. No. No. Sam glanced at Bennett, whose red-face mirrored his own and sped up his packing process. This definitely counted as something else going wrong. Sam had enough to worry about already with his low grade in Algebra and his only friend being his sister (he hadn’t realized how embarrassing that actually was) who wasn’t even speaking to him. He did not need to be worried about being called gay or thought to be dating the only gay guy in school. Sam hadn’t even considered trying to date a girl yet, but besides Ms. Simpson, he had a few age-appropriate ones he thought were cute and knew they wouldn’t think he was cute if they thought he wanted to kiss another guy. He shivered at the thought. 

Sam finished slacking his bow and carefully placed his cello, neck first, into his cushioned case, zipping it up. He knew he couldn’t carry his cello around the rest of the day; he would have to come back for it, so he placed it upright in his locker and clicked the lock.  

He glanced up further down the line, expecting Bennett to be packing up hurriedly as well. Instead, the small boy was staring into his locker, a look of absolute horror on his face. 

Sam didn’t know what to do. There was no Miller protocol for when the only gay guy in your class is clearly distressed while you simultaneously need to take an Algebra quiz you most certainly will fail. He doubted Mom and Dad ever chose family traditions based around gay people. He probably only had three more minutes before Mr. Wylie handed out the quiz and started the timer. No make-ups. No late starts.  

Sam could hear his dad’s voice booming from dinner in his head: Millers never fail. So, if Sam never took the quiz, it wasn’t failing. Right? Plus, whatever Bennett was going through looked more important than another sixteen-point quiz, Miller protocols be damned. “Hey, uh…” Sam slowly approached the other boy, “you okay?” 

Bennett didn’t say anything, just set his things on the ground and started opening the door. Some parents, if they could afford it, purchased hard-shell cases rather than the zipper ones issued by the school. The violin prodigy (Samantha?) had a small, pearl-white case with lots of cool looking stickers all over it. Bennett had a shiny, bright turquoise one in pristine condition: no scratches or scuffs.  

Except now, where the word “FAG” had been written in black Sharpie, diagonally across the middle.  

“Oooooh. Oh no,” Sam wasn’t sure about the dictionary definition of the word, but he knew it was even worse than calling someone ‘gay.’ The look on Bennett’s face confirmed as much. Lydia always got mad when Dad yelled it during ball games. 

Bennett took the case out of the locker, rubbing his finger along the “G,” the innermost curve smearing slightly, but the rest too dry to change. It was permanent.  

Bennett sniffled and gingerly began packing his viola away. Sam could see his tears falling onto his copy of The Fellowship of the Ring where it now lay on the floor. He didn’t know Bennett liked Tolkien, though, he’d never really asked. Sam loved Tolkien.  

“Yeah, it’s…” Bennett fixed the latches to close the case with another shaky breath, “it’s fine. I’m used to it.”  

“I’m sorry, dude,” Sam said, “Don’t listen to them. They’re just real jerks. They’re honestly gay for treating you this way.” He cringed as he said it the second time. Maybe he should just avoid it when he could. The one-minute passing period warning music started to play.  

“Yeah, sure. Uhh, thanks,” Bennett looked at Sam at eye-level when he stood up. Sam thought he was bigger than the other boy, but really they were just about the same size, both with slightly lean frames and heads a little too big for their bodies. 

Sam decided it was past the point he could’ve made it to Algebra anyway. He took the case from Bennett’s hands to inspect the damage—Bennett didn’t even try to resist. “Man, the most embarrassing thing is how bad this handwriting is—though mine’s worse to be honest.” Bennett smiled pitifully. “Here, let’s go to the computer lab. I think it’s free period in there right now, so we can look up how to get rid of this if you want.” He handed the case back to Bennett in his right hand, so the words might be covered by his leg while they walked.  

“Don’t you have class to go to?” Bennett asked, the bell finally ringing.  

Sam thought quickly, “Sure, but it’s…a work day. I’m sure it’ll be okay if I come in a little late.” 

Bennett seemed uncertain but followed him to the lab anyway. Sam found himself grateful that class had started already so no one would be in the hallway to see them walking together, shame hovering over his heart. 

They reached the lab in complete silence, the CompLab teacher too busy to notice them taking two empty seats nearest the door. Sam quickly logged in and found Google results that yielded a microfiber towel and rubbing alcohol as the solution. 

“There’s nowhere I could get those things to fix this before going home, is there,” Bennett said, more like a statement than a question. 

Sam bit the inside of his mouth with his teeth. “Mm, probably not. Not unless your name is Kaz Brekker and you want to break into the janitors’ closet.”  

Despite the circumstances, a knowing smile bloomed on Bennett’s face. “Wait, you know Six of Crows?” 

Sam’s heart surged; he had never talked to anyone else that had read it. He’d been trying to get Lydia to read it before the sequel came out, but she said she wouldn’t until he read Twilight, which he so wouldn’t do. “Yes! I love Six of Crows,” Sam grinned, doing his best to keep his voice down, “Kaz and Inej are the coolest.” 

“Totally,” Bennett said with a laugh, “though I have to say, I’m partial to Wesper.” 

Sam had forgotten that Jesper and Wylan were a gay couple at the heart of the series. Until he found out about them being gay, Sam’s favorite character had been Jesper, the gun-slinging, witty, suave badass. Sam felt guilty now realizing Jesper’s  relationship with Wylan had changed how much he liked Jesper as a character. He turned from Bennett and started logging out of the computer, glancing at the time. It had been almost twenty minutes since Algebra started. The quizzes were only ten minutes long, so it had to be done by now. Maybe Sam could make it up if he said he got sick?  

Sam cleared his throat, “Yeah, yeah, they’re good too.”  

Bennett still seemed more than excited, saying brightly, “Hey, I’ve actually been really wanting to reread that series—would you want to read it with me? Like our own personal book club? We could…have it during lunch!” 

Sam thought about this for a moment. Honestly, having someone else to talk to besides Lydia (someone he could maybe talk to about Lydia) would be really nice. But this was Bennett. And Bennett was being bullied at school. Sam already had enough of his own problems to worry about, let alone being made fun of for 1) being friends with a gay guy or 2) being called gay himself.  

“I’m actually—” Sam looked at Bennett and could see the disappointment enter his face, like when Mom saw him with his elbows on the table. “I’m pretty busy right now with school and cello and…other stuff. Maybe another time.” His tone sounded like Lydia, empty words with zero intention to see something through. Sam knew how much it hurt to be on the receiving end of these words, and he hated twisting the knife in further, but he did it anyway. “But, uh, but thanks for asking!” 

Bennett looked like he was going to say something else when the disembodied intercom voice announced: “Sam Miller and Bennett Hayworth please report to the Principal’s Office immediately. Sam Miller and Bennett Hayworth. Principal’s Office. Now.” 

Fantastic.  

# 

“Sam. Sam. Stop.” 

He released his hands where they’d been cupped like useless dams against his waterfall of tears.  
“Please.” Lydia held his shoulders and pulled him into her chest. “Hey, hey.” Her hand warmed his back. “Sammy? Sammy, what’s going on? You can tell me.”  

Bennett and Sam had both received detentions for skipping class, to be served after the weekend. The dreadful Pink Slip (the Jesse to the color red’s James) weighed like a death sentence on Sam’s heart. He sat miserably through his last classes, came home and locked himself in the bathroom to cry. He went undisturbed until Lydia pounded on the door for him to let her in so she could shower, freaking out when he reluctantly unlocked the door and she found him puffy faced with snot dripping onto his favorite Pokemon shirt. She ushered him into her room to sit on her bed. 

The shoulder she curled him into smelled like dreaming, sunshine and Christmas, with a whiff of secrets. All the feelings he had clenched in his hands fell through like water. His head pounded from not getting enough oxygen between sobs. “Sam. Sam, you’re scaring me. What is it? Talk to me,” Lydia’s voice rose and she pulled away to look at his face.  

“I just—” He wiped the collection of snot under his nose onto the back of his wrist. “Lydia, I got a detention today.”  

“Oh, Sam,” she sounded sorry for him, though Sam knew she had never gotten a detention in her life. “What for? You didn’t do anything wrong, did you?” 

He took a long moment to blow snot into a Kleenex. “No, I just..sk..p..d..kl…ss,” he mumbled. 

“You what?” 

“Iskeppdcliss,” he mumbled again, embarrassment seeping into every syllable. “I skipped class!” he whined, causing the “p” and “k” sounds to send snotty spit flying dangerously close to his sister’s face. He didn’t like that the only way he got her to talk to him now was when he was acting like a baby. “I skipped class because I failed my last algebra quiz and I was gonna fail the one today too because you weren’t talking to me and I don’t have any friends and I didn’t know how to tell Mom and Dad and this boy in my class was getting bullied for being gay and so I was trying to be nice to him and then I got called to the principal’s office and they gave me a detention and I didn’t want to do something wrong again,” he blubbered, unable to contain himself anymore. 

“Sam…Sam, it’s okay,” she handed him a fresh, pre-bogey tissue, “Mom and Dad put a lot of pressure on you. On us. I promise, it’s okay. I get it.” 

Sam squinted at her through swollen eyes. “But, you’ve never even done bad on a test! Everything is always so easy for you. Making friends and being smart and whatever else. It’s not fair!” 

She laughed, running her hand through mousy brown hair that matched his own, “That is the funniest thing you’ve ever said to me, Sammy.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, I mess up. I failed a chemistry exam two weeks ago. And, no, I didn’t tell Mom or Dad.” She stared at her floor. “In fact, I really haven’t been telling them much of anything. I think they’re…pretty mad at me,” she admitted, moving her eyes to the pile of discarded tissues Sam had wadded up. Their parents had been pretty understanding of Lydia’s recent silence, chalking it up to her ‘being a teenager’ when she wasn’t around, but recently Dad said he would even take her car if she didn’t start communicating with them again like a normal human being. Lydia, you can’t shut us out forever, we’re your family. Millers don’t keep secrets. Please talk to us. Dad had gently said when she was silent at dinner again the night before. Her eyes went glassy and she immediately left the table, food untouched. Like a switch had flipped, Dad followed her upstairs and knocked aggressively on her door. Your mom didn’t make this food for you to let it go to waste, Lydia. We didn’t pay for this house for you to live in one room. Come finish your dinner or you can’t use your car and I will take your door off. She emerged quickly and finished her plate in silence. Sam was sure it was because she couldn’t stand to look at her embarrassing little brother longer than she had to.  

Sam couldn’t keep it in anymore. He had her attention now and he planned to keep it. “I just wish you still talked to me.” He hated how high-pitched his voice sounded, but didn’t have the ability to stop. “I thought Millers weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other. I feel like I’ve lost my best friend and my sister.” He took a deep breath to steady himself, and looked at her worried face. “And you’ll be leaving for college soon enough and I’ll never see you again, so then it’ll just be me and Mom and Dad in the house and it’ll be no fun so you cannot keep leaving me for dead right now!” 

Lydia huffed a half-suppressed laugh; Sam could see himself reflected in her eyes. Even her pupils dwarfed him. “Sam, Mom and Dad love you now and they will love you no matter what,” she held his gaze meaningfully, “and I love you now and forever no matter what.” Sam could feel his hands shaking with an anxious chill that ran from his toes to his head, “Okay?” she rubbed his hand, “can you tell me you understand that?” 

He curled into her, her arms instinctively wrapping around him. “I do, but—” he could barely get it out, “why don’t you hang out with me anymore? Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you talk to Mom and Dad?” 

With an anguished sigh, she loosened her arms from around him and laid down on her back, her feet dangling off the side of the bed. His arms were cold from where her touch had been. “Sam,” her comforter blushed where tears began to fall silently down her face. “I can barely talk to myself about it,” she whispered, her voice slightly cracking. He didn’t quite know what to say to that. His brows knit and he sat up on his knees beside her. 

He wanted to shake his sister. What did she mean? “Lyd! You have to try!” Her eyes closed and her mouth fought to keep its corners from reaching down her quivering chin. “Whatever it is,” he shifted his weight onto his side and silently nestled himself into the crook of her collarbone, one arm across her stomach, just like when he used to get nightmares. “You can tell me. I can take it.” His head slowly bobbed up and down with her breathing. 

Sam remembered when Mom had dropped them off at the movie theater, the nice one with the big recliners, for them to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1. Lydia had spent all week convincing Mom he was old enough to see it. When Dobby lay in Harry’s arms on the beach, Sam turned away from Lydia so she wouldn’t see him cry, worried it might prove he wasn’t old enough for the movie. But his sister knew him too well. She scooted across the seats till she was right next to him and put her arms around him so they could silently cry for the little house elf together. It was the first time Sam had really thought about death and how scary it was. Maybe Dobby was right, and it really might not be so bad if he had the person he loved most with him there until the end. He held onto Lydia even tighter, hoping that day wouldn’t come anytime soon. 

“I feel,” hitched breaths carved through her shaky words. “I feel,” she swallowed, “like a murderer, Sam.” 

Sam immediately stopped stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.“Uh, what?” He looked at her like she had two heads. Was she serious? “Wait, Lyd, you don’t want to…” his eyes widened, “like actually kill people, right.” 

The laugh she gave here had more stability and organized rhythm, like they were back to talking about nothing. A tempo as Ms. Simpson might say. It felt like the real Lydia.  

“No, Sam,” she breathed, “I feel like, in order to be…myself…” Her face scrunched up like a splotchy dishrag, searching for the right words, “I have to kill the version of myself that Mom and Dad, and even you, love, if that makes sense.” 

“What do you mean? We love you, Lydia. That’s not going to change. You can be yourself. You don’t have to hide.” He looked at her fiercely, like she could see the love in his eyes if he stared hard enough. “You’re part of this family.” 

“No, Sam. You don’t get it.” They both sat up as she pulled herself off her bed impatiently like a gardener had violently ripped her from the soil. The rushing pulse of his heartbeat slowed with the soft thump of her feet as he watched her pace the small room. Wiping her face, she said, “Do you remember when I dated Jacob two years ago? Dad acted like he was the second Christ just because Jacob liked watching football with him more than hanging out with me.” Sam nodded, picturing a tall boy with braces. “Well, Dad got angry when I broke up with Jacob, saying he was ‘exactly’ who he pictured me with,” she punctuated with air quotes. 

Sam hadn’t known all that. He just remembered Jacob playing SmashBros with him while Lydia watched. “But I thought you did like him at some point, right? You wouldn’t have dated him if you didn’t.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I did at one point, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was because Mom and Dad would like him…and it was more important at the time for them to approve of him than for me to actually care about who he was. Sometimes it's hard to tell what’s really me and what’s really their idea of me. They met me when I was born and decided who I was to them and the kind of life I would lead and the kind of person I would love and that’s not going to change and there’s nothing I can do to stop it and I just feel so trapped.” 

Sam didn’t know if this was true. Mom and Dad were hard on them, but only because they wanted them to have a good life. “You don’t know that until you talk to them.” 

She padded back across to her bed and sat down next to him. “I can’t even imagine it.” She picked at a chipping dark green nail. “Imagine telling Mom that—” she sniffled again, her voice shaking, “...that I have a crush on a girl. Imagine what she would say.” 

“You—” Sam’s eyes widened and his jaw slacked, “Oh.” His stomach flooded with acid. This couldn’t be happening. It was bad enough with Bennett at school but now? Knowing Lydia was gay? His own sister? Sam watched her twiddle her feet against one another and imagined his sister kissing another girl. Ew, no, okay enough with that. He had not been expecting this. This was a very big deal. Like Dad may never talk to her again type of deal. He had thought maybe she had a secret goth boyfriend or was going vegetarian. His mind couldn’t help but wander to the viola case Bennett was probably scrubbing right now that would have dark smudges on it forever.  

He could tell Lydia was holding her breath in anticipation of his response, pain clear in her eyes. She had kinda just…what was it called? Come out to him? His sister liked girls. His sister who he’d grown up teasing about wanting to kiss Harry Styles and Edward from Twilight. Sam couldn’t wrap his head around this right now. What did she expect him to say? But she was still his sister. She was still a Miller. And he would hate himself even more if he abandoned her now just for this. He could never do that to her, not when she needed him most. 

 “She would say she loves you no matter what. Because…that’s what Millers do. You…” all the tiny Sams ran around in his head screaming, searching for what to say, “uh...liking girls isn’t even that big of a deal,” he lied. She kept crying. He scrambled for something that would make her feel better. “Now, if you were actually a murderer, it would be a much bigger deal.” He won a slight upward tug of her lips; the tiny Sams cheered.  

“Maybe,” she replied with a sniffle. “You know, sometimes, I wish I wasn’t a Miller.” Sam felt a knife twist in his chest. “Sometimes I wish I could just be Lydia. Whoever that is.” 

“But if you weren’t a Miller, then…” Sam felt his eyes well up again, “then I wouldn’t be your brother.” 

She gasped, realizing what she had said, “No, Sam, please! I promise, that’s not what I meant.” She quickly used her thumbs to brush away tears dripping from his eyes. “You are my favorite part about being in this family. I love Mom and Dad so much, but I am so grateful for you.” He smiled at her. “I just,” she looked away, dropping her hands from his face, “I wish I knew Mom and Dad would take it better. Especially Dad.” 

Just the thought of telling Dad made Sam want to puke and Lydia was the one who would have to do it.  Sam realized just how distant Lydia had become to their whole family in the past weeks. She hardly talked to them at dinner at all, she was never in a room alone with Dad, and she only ever spent time with Mom when she made her go grocery shopping. Lydia had been hurting all this time with this part of herself, and Sam had selfishly thought it had something to do with him all along. 

“Lydia, I’m sorry I said gay the other night at dinner.” He wished he had a healing mushroom he could give her that could fix all the pain he’d caused. “Is that why you stopped talking to me?”  

“No, Sam, I’m sorry for calling you lame and embarrassing earlier. I’ve just…been dealing with knowing this about myself for a while and it was easier to ignore before there was actually someone I liked. I wasn’t sure how you would take it either, so I thought distancing myself from you might make it easier,” she sighed. “Though you really shouldn’t use it as an insult. Being gay isn’t a bad thing. It’s just how a person was born,” she added with a look of defeat. 

He nodded vigorously. “I know that now. I promise I won’t do it again.” His mind instinctively pictured Bennett, sitting alone and being picked on. He realized just how brave Bennett was for being out and proud. Sam hoped Bennett might ask him about the book club again so this time he could say yes. Bennett needed protecting and so did his sister. He looked at her triumphantly, striking his superhero pose, “I’m adding the proper cone-atation to my vocabulary, and I’ll beat up anyone who uses it wrong.” 

She smiled at him and shook her head, squeezing his considerably muscle-less arm, “It’s pronounced ‘kaa-nuh-tay-shn,’ but you and what army, big guy?” The humor faded from her eyes. “I just don’t understand why I really have to tell Mom and Dad at all. Why is it a big deal if I’m dating a girl? What does it really change?”  

Sam couldn’t believe he had forgotten this most important part of the news he was learning: “Wait, wait, who is it?”For some reason, he couldn’t help picturing Ellen Degeneres, though, to be fair, she was the only gay chick he could think of.  

“It’s Avery.” 

Oh. Oh. Sam thought about how girly Avery had dressed when he met her. Truly nothing like Ellen Degeneres. “But she seemed so norm—” the look on Lydia’s face cut him short, shame filling him that he hadn’t been able to stop himself. If he wanted Lydia back, he would have to get better at this. He needed to figure out the proper lingo. “So…are you like…a thespian?” 

A brief ray of sunshine cracked through Lydia’s face. “You mean lesbian? Oh, Sammy,” she giggled, “Thespian is someone that does theater stuff like acting.” She ruffled his hair with a smile, her face still a blotchy tie-dyed t-shirt. “I don’t…think I’m a lesbian. But, I really don’t know what I am. I just know that I like Avery. And that I don’t like labels.” She returned to picking her nails. 

“Oh okay,” Sam said lamely. Come on, Sam, be supportive. “That’s okay!” his voice squeaked, “That’s exciting! Avery seems...really cool.” 

“Thanks, Sammy. I think she is too.” The pair fell into a comfortable silence. He still couldn’t believe how long Lydia kept this secret from him. From Mom and Dad, too. How long had they been dating?  

“Hey, Lydia?” 

“Yes, Sam?” 

“Do you…like…love her?” 

She looked contemplative. “We’ve only been dating since a few weeks before school started but...I think I do.” 

“If you love her, why would you want to keep her from us?” 

Lydia quieted again. “I don’t think I could bear it if my family didn’t love the first person I really fell in love with. And I think letting you know who she is to me makes it a lot more real. A lot harder to run from.” She put the backs of her hands against her eyes. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m still working through accepting this part of myself. Growing up, I always thought I’d meet some guy and have a family and that would be it. Now I have to learn to deal with all this…internalized homophobia that I got from how our parents raised us. It’s just not easy to accept a lifetime of facing discrimination when gay marriage was just legalized and now I have to make sure everyone I meet doesn’t hate me for who I love, you know?” 

Sam felt a little better knowing Lydia struggled to accept gay people too, until he realized it meant she struggled to accept herself. That must be why she had stopped talking to him. How did she expect them to accept her when she couldn’t face herself yet?  “I’m not sure I really understand that, but I’m glad you told me. I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.” 

Once again she pulled him into her arms but this time he felt strong enough to squeeze her back. “I love you. So much, Sam.” She pulled back a little to see him, “Hey, grab your shoes. We’re going for a drive.”  

Sam could barely contain the grin on his face.  

# 

Lydia and Sam decided not to tell their parents yet: about the detention or the Lydia-liking-girls thing. It was their little secret. They hatched a plan for Lydia to pick him up from detention, since she could get there early enough for them to beat Mom and Dad home. Sam also had to keep reminding himself that being gay wasn’t bad—the term nor the act were inherently evil. Unlike the color red.  

But, to be honest, Sam couldn’t tell what was harder: being at home or being at school. He felt guilty keeping things from Mom and Dad, but at least he had Lydia as an ally; at school he really didn’t have anyone. Bennett hadn’t tried to talk to him since he turned him down last week—Sam hoped they might get a chance to talk before detention later today.  

It didn’t help that Sam had just gotten his hot lunch (a nice greasy rectangle of pepperoni pizza) and still didn’t have anywhere to sit or any friends. It was the third week of school. He even saw the now familiar slightly hunched shoulders of Bennett, who he’d grown accustomed to staring at the back of in Orchestra, with three other people at his usually empty table, ruining Sam’s chances of going up to him now. 

Sam looked closer to see who Bennett’s new friends were—except, wait—those were the Jocks. And they were dripping hot pizza grease all over Bennett’s book bag. Alert rang through Sam’s head, terrifying red flashing behind his eyes. 

Bennett just sat there, his small hands covering his ears. Sam could picture his eyes shut tight, blocking out the world. Sam knew whatever books were in Bennett’s bag were going to be ruined. Sam’s heart went out to him, but he stayed frozen where he was. What if trying to help only made this worse for Bennett and for Sam? 

But he couldn’t not do anything. If he didn’t, and no one else did, then Bennett would just keep on getting hurt. And if people at the high school treated Lydia and Avery like this, Sam hoped there was someone there to help them. 

Sam stormed the table like there was a hot fire under his butt, pulse racing. As he drew near, he could hear Cameron and his dweebs squawking at Bennett—something about him saving the pizza grease to use as lube, whatever that meant. He slammed the blue lunch tray onto Bennett’s table with a decisive smack. 

“Leave him alone.” Sam said with a voice he hoped sounded like Batman just a couple keys higher.. 

The smallest of the three, presumably Lackey Number Two said, “Awwww! Look, Benny, your boyfriend’s come to save you!” Sam’s face reddened as he looked to see if anyone heard. The cafeteria was slowly getting quieter as more kids turned their heads to look at the confrontation. 

Cameron laughed and sneered at Sam, “And what are you gonna do about it if we don’t leave Benny boy here alone?”  

Sam definitely did not think this through. The other boys had at least two inches on him and twice his muscle mass. He should’ve said yes when Mom suggested signing him up for karate, so he could’ve done a clean K.O.  

“I’ll…I’ll—” Sam stuttered, losing his bravado entirely. He couldn’t fight these boys, but maybe he could make them fight a different battle they wouldn’t win. “I’ll tell Ms. Simpson about the drawing you made of her in Orchestra.” 

Cameron’s face turned stone cold. By some miracle, he was placed 7th out of 11 violas—putting him close enough that Sam had a clear view of Cameron’s shared music stand. The day before, while Ms. Simpson was working with the violins, Cameron had taken a Molly Malone page of sheet music and drawn a stick Ms. Simpson on all fours, a viola bow sticking parallel out from under her pencil skirt. Sam hated thinking about it, but he knew it would get Cameron in serious trouble. Cameron knew it too. Other students started getting up from their tables to get a better look at what was going on. From the corner of his eye, Sam could see Bennett inspecting the damage on his worn copy of Six of Crows. The grease would undoubtedly stain.  

A soft “Fight!” chant at the back of the cafeteria started to echo in Sam’s mind. He rubbed his sweaty palms onto his shorts, realizing there  wasn’t any other way out of this. Cameron inched closer and Sam could’ve sworn he saw steam rising off his forehead. He really wished he had a working wand right about now.  

But this was the real world. And Sam couldn’t run from his problems by hiding away in his books.  

“Sam, don’t!” some voice faraway seemed to cry—it must have been Bennett. Sam couldn’t really hear much of anything, his ears ringing and gaze narrowing in on Cameron’s violently white clenched fists. Sam had read more than his fair share of fight scenes but was unable to remember how to pack an effective punch. Should he feign and go left? Go for the ankle? Use his fingers to jab out Cameron’s eyes? 

“Don’t worry, Miller,” Cameron laughed, so close now Sam could see small dark sweat stains under his white shirtsleeves, like worn paper. “I’ll make sure you still look pretty enough that Benny boy can kiss you goodnight,” 

Sam pointlessly put his fists by his face like he’d seen in movies. The last thing he remembered seeing was a small papercut scar above Cameron’s middle knuckle before everything went black.  

# 

The blinding white thrum of the office lights gave Sam a headache. Okay so maybe now his life couldn’t get any worse. 

The fight had trumped his need for detention according to Principal Whitten, who had immediately called his mom once the supervising teachers noticed what was happening. Instead, he was suspended.  

Sam sat in one of the cushy, ugly, burgundy waiting room chairs. His face throbbed with a pulsing headache and what was soon to be a black-eye. Not even reading was able to calm him, he’d had to put Harry Potter back in his backpack twice already from trying. 

A small shaking noise came from the hallway where Bennett emerged, holding a small ice-pack that he handed to Sam.  

“Thanks,” Sam said, placing it over his left-eye. The cold stung where it touched his face. 

Bennett nodded, looking unsure, and sat down in the chair next to him. “Hey, thank you for, um, what you did back there. You really didn’t have to, but it meant a lot to me.” He crossed his legs, then said tentatively, “Why did you do it?” 

Sam swallowed, “I guess…I just didn’t want them to get away with hurting people—” Like you, like Lydia, “—anymore.” He switched to his other hand for  holding the ice, his left hand red at the tips from the temperature difference.  

“Well, I thought it was pretty awesome,” Bennett said, “even if, you know, you got beat up in front of the whole school,” he added sheepishly. 

Sam’s cheeks rose in a smile, making his eye flinch with pain. He ignored it, giving Bennett a playful hit on the arm, “Dude! Not cool!” The office lights shone off Bennett’s glasses as the boys laughed.  

“Honestly, I’m not surprised it didn’t really help at all.” Sam said, now flipping the ice pack to the cold side. “It seems like everything I do recently only ends in disaster.” 

Bennett sat up straighter. “What do you mean? What else has been going on?”  

He wasn’t sure why, but Sam felt like he could trust Bennett. Maybe they really could be friends. “For one, the detention we both got wasn’t great and now my suspension is even better.” Sam could barely breathe thinking about how upset Mom and Dad were going to be. “I’m not supposed to act out in school. Or do bad in class and I’m basically failing math right now. Millers, uh, my family, don’t do that.”  

“Geez,” Bennett replied, shifting away from Sam, “that sounds like a lot of pressure, Sam. I’m sorry,” but Sam barely heard it, his brain spiraling. 

“Yeah, and for a while my sister hadn’t been talking to me and now she is which is good but there’s this big secret we’re keeping from Mom and Dad and I want to keep it for her but I also think she should tell them but she won’t talk to them and it makes me feel like I’m betraying them by helping her but she’s not telling them anyways so it feels like it’s all for nothing.” Sam didn’t know he really felt that way until the words poured out of his mouth.  

“Hey, it’s not all for nothing. Cameron got suspended for being in the fight too. Even though the school probably won’t attack him for being homophobic towards me, you still did a good thing by standing up to him. Heroic even.”  

Sam’s heart fluttered at the thought of being a hero, but his black-eye certainly didn’t make him feel like one. 

“And I’m sure whatever your sister is going through that she’ll tell your mom and dad in her own time. All you can do is support her.” The door to the office chimed from outside, and two nice looking adults walked in. “Oh, it’s my parents!” Bennett said, clearly relieved and excited to see them. 

He shot up and gave each of his parents a hug. They told him they were so happy he was safe and in one piece. He introduced them to Sam briefly before they ducked into the office with the other adults. Sam tried to imagine Mom and Dad treating Lydia that way once they knew. His brain that could picture elves and wizards and magical wishes couldn’t quite do it. But even Bennett must have had to start somewhere, right? He shifted his shoulders towards the other boy. “How did it go when you came out to your parents?” 

Bennett’s eyebrows slightly raised, surprised at Sam’s directness. He straightened his glasses. “It happened only last year, actually.” Sam was surprised too, though knowing how it happened with Lydia, he didn’t know why he assumed Bennett knew he was gay all along.  “I think for a long time, I was just afraid to admit it to myself or anyone else.” He reddened. “Actually my parents found out because I was reading Harry and Draco fanfiction on the family computer and this one time forgot to close my tab.”  

Sam burst into a fit of chuckles, his injuries forgotten. 

“Shut up, shut up!” Bennett said, smacking Sam, but he was laughing too. “I know, it’s embarrassing. After that though, my parents sat me down and we talked about it. I told them it was something I’d been wanting to tell them for a while. They weren’t…” Bennett’s voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat, “...thrilled about it. At first. But they just said they wanted what was best for me, and told me that being out wouldn’t be easy, but that they love me no matter what and want me to be myself.” He crossed his arms. “We don’t really talk about it that much, but I know I can talk to them about it more if I need to. I don’t know if you saw, but they both wear little rainbow flag pins on their clothes everyday, even to work.” The voices in the office next to them rose slightly, the muffle the only other noise besides the hum of the lights. “I know that’s not that big of a thing, but…it meant the world to me. To have their silent support like that.” 

Hearing Bennett talk about how his parents’ reacted made Sam feel guilty for his initial reaction to Lydia. He knew in his heart too that his parents would not react the same way. He was thinking about how to respond when the office door flew open and Mom barrelled out, her phone clutched in one hand. She grabbed Sam by the shirt with the other and nearly dragged him out of the office before he could grab his backpack. He snatched it off the ground and murmured a quick goodbye to Bennett, water from the ice pack dripping on his arm. 

He swatted at his mother’s hand once they were outside, “Mom, Mom! What’s going on?” He stopped in his tracks at the look of fear on her face. Fear and anger and confusion. Her face looked tired from trying to express so many emotions at once. When she spoke, her voice sounded smaller than he’d ever heard it.  

“Lydia is gone.” 

# 

Sam had spoken too soon when he thought things couldn’t get worse. Mom explained angrily in the car on the way home that Dad’s office had flooded that morning, so he had worked from home today. When Lydia got home from school around three, Dad had heard multiple voices. He went to see who she invited over and found her and Avery kissing in Lydia’s bedroom. Dad left angrily in his car, Sam bet he kept his windows up so he could drive even faster. Mom got home before him to an empty house:  Lydia  nowhere to be found and the family’s biggest suitcase missing. 

Sam sent her about a million texts from Mom’s phone, with no response. Only the next morning did they hear from her, in one text: I’m safe. Don’t worry. Dad hadn’t tried to reach her as much as Sam and Mom had. According to the high school, she was still attending class, but it had now been almost eight days since Sam had seen her and he was miserable. His two-day suspension was agony and he couldn’t believe he actually would’ve preferred being at school. The house was so quiet and Mom and Dad kept acting like everything was normal, like Lydia had never existed. It was tearing Sam apart. He couldn’t focus on anything, not Algebra, reading, or even playing cello. The only thing he looked forward to was eating lunch with Bennett in the school counselor’s office, where no one bugged them and they could just talk about books. 

Sam was actively stewing now, while Bennett was trying to continue their little book club.. “Wait so you haven’t read Percy Jackson?” Bennett asked with a bite of his turkey sandwich. 

“Nope. I just never got around to it.” Sam rolled up the bottom of his go-gurt to get all of it out. 

“Sam, you would love it! You need to read it as soon as you can.”  

Sam set aside the go-gurt wrapper and began opening his bag of Cheez-its. “I’m too busy right now. Lydia still hasn’t come home, and I need to figure out how to get her back to the family. Not to mention the orchestra concert coming up Friday that I barely know my part for.” Sam had filled Bennett in on everything after the fight the week before. Now it was Monday again and Sam couldn’t believe Lydia hadn’t come home over the weekend. He’d sat by the door, waiting and reading. He’d finished Prisoner and was already pretty far into Goblet.  

“Wait, wait, that’s it!” Bennett dropped his sandwich so quickly on the table, part of the mayo came out. A wave of confusion hit Sam. “You get your sister and your parents to come to the Orchestra concert and make them talk!” 

Sam’s eyebrows knit together; he blinked at Bennett. “That’s actually so brilliant.” 

Bennett grinned. “It’ll be just like the Parent Trap. The movie ends and your family gets back together.” 

Mom always said often the simplest solution was the best one. Sam felt in his bones the plan would work. Bennett let Sam use his phone to call Lydia right away and the plan was a go. A small part of Sam wished he’d had his own phone so he could’ve been calling her himself this whole time. 

She picked up on the third ring. Sam was so grateful his parents made him memorize all the family phone numbers, including when Lydia got a cellphone two years ago. Millers were always prepared for emergencies, and sister-that-happens- to-be-gay-fleeing-the-house definitely counted as an emergency. 

        “Hello?” she said. Sam could’ve taken flight, he missed hearing her voice so much. He completely forgot why he’d called and just basked in getting to talk to her again. 

“Lydia? It’s me!” He glanced up at Bennett with a relieved smile, the cold air in the empty counselor’s office made his clammy hands on Bennett’s phone impossibly sweatier. “Are you busy?” 

        “Sammy,” she breathed, her relief flooding the phone. He could hear her start to get emotional, “No, I’m just in study hall. Let me run to the hallway, just a second.” He heard shuffling on the other side of the phone and muffled speaking. Lydia picked back up, “I’ve missed you so much, Sam. How are you?” 

        Bennett gave him a worried look from across the table. “Honestly, Lydia, things have been really hard with you gone.  I’m definitely actually failing Algebra now, Ms. Simpson called me out yesterday in class in front of everyone for not knowing my music, I got suspended because I got in a fight at school, and Mom and Dad are disappointed with me about all of it.” He let all his frustrations from the past few weeks channel into his voice as he spoke to his only sister. “But I can’t fix any of the things at school because Mom and Dad are always fighting at home and I can’t focus. I’ve been so lonely without you there.” 

        The other end of the line was silent, but Sam could still hear the faint sound of his sister’s breathing softly rumbling through the call. There was an unignorable ache in his chest that these were the circumstances he had to talk to his sister. He missed how easy life had been before all of this happened. He felt a surge of anger rise up from his stomach into his throat— 

        “So, I’m just wondering when you’re coming home so things can go back to normal.” 

        There was another pause on the other end of the line before Lydia retorted flippantly, “What do you mean by ‘normal,’ Sam? ‘Normal’ as in me lying to you and our parents about who I am? Listening obediently to all of Dad’s offhanded homophobic, sexist, and racist comments while we all just sit there and don’t disagree and act like that’s okay because apparently, Millers are bigots?” Lydia was really scary when she was mad, using really big words,  her chin jutting out slightly like Waluigi. Sam wasn’t sure what ‘bigot’ meant but it sounded bad. 

Sam guessed Bennett could hear what she said, since Lydia’s raised voice had left a slight ringing in his ear. “You even asking me to come home really hurts my feelings, Sam. I thought you understood enough of what I’m going through to not to expect that of me. It’s really, really selfish.” 

        “No, no, that’s not what I mean,” though that had been almost exactly what Sam had meant. She had just phrased it differently so now he realized she was right. He wanted life to go back to the way it was because it was so much easier. For him. It was so much easier for him. He felt guilty for asking it of her, but really Sam just wanted Lydia to be back where she belonged, or just back to where she had once belonged. His life wasn’t the same without her in it, but he also knew he couldn’t ask her to keep putting herself through pain for him. He wanted to be a better brother than that. Bennett shot him a concerned look that Sam pointedly avoided by keeping his gaze on the table. Maybe he should’ve called Lydia on his own, he didn’t want Bennett to think he was a bad person. Voice breaking, he continued, “I just…I really need to see you, Lydia. I need you.” 

        Her voice softened, “Sammy, I’m sorry. But I don’t feel like I can come home right now. Unless Dad and Mom stop being homophobic, I don’t…think that can be my house anymore.” He felt Bennett’s gaze burn into him as Sam fought the urge to cry. “I wish I could’ve taken you with me,” she said. 

        “This isn’t fair!” the baby really came out in Sam when he was upset, but he knew/hoped it would work on Lydia. At least a little bit. Plus, he really wasn’t faking it. It seemed like he could cry on command at almost any moment these days.  

        “You’re right, Sam. It’s not fair. None of this is fair,” she said incredulously, then softer, “but that doesn’t change the reality of it. Dad saw me and Avery together and left the house like we were contagious,” Sam knew this already, but hearing the hurt in Lydia’s voice made it even worse. “I’m essentially disowned,” her short sarcastic laugh dripped through the phone, “Seventeen years old and already disowned. Must be some record,” she mumbled. “I mean, I’m shocked they haven’t taken me off the phone plan yet, but I’m sure Dad already called and they’re working on it.” Her voice turned from bitter to curious, “Speaking of, whose phone are you calling me on anyway?” 

        “Oh, um, my…” Sam considered what word was appropriate to describe his and Bennett’s relationship. Bennett now had his dogeared The Hobbit out to pretend like he wasn’t listening. “My…friend’s. Bennett. From Orchestra.” Bennett subtly smiled down at his open book. Sam realized suddenly that he would be very lucky to have Bennett as a friend, and he hoped the other boy considered him one. 

        “That’s great, Sammy. I’m really happy to hear you’ve made some friends. I know middle school can be really tough.” Sam could tell his sister was being sincere. 

        Sam finally remembered why he called, he made a mental note to thank Bennett for not rushing his call with her. “Oh, but that reminds me—my orchestra concert is Friday at six. I…don’t know if you knew, but it would really mean a lot to me if you were there.” Sam felt like he should apologize for how he attacked her at the start of their call, but he didn’t want to delay her answer. His Marauder’s Map t-shirt clung to his back and armpits with sweat. What if she said she didn’t want to go? What if Lydia didn’t love him anymore because of how he’d treated her? What if in choosing to leave their family’s house, she was truly choosing to not be related to him ever again? What if he really permanently forever and ever just lost his sister? 

        The thoughts swarmed before she said, “Of course, Sam. I’ve had it marked on my calendar for weeks. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Sam let out a hefty sigh of relief. “Though,” Lydia’s voice turned from warm  to anxious, “will Mom and Dad be there? If I have to see them, I just…want to make sure I’m ready.” 

        “I think they will be there…” The Millers weren’t the type to miss a performance, even if Mom was the only one who really paid attention. “But, I thought, maybe…you guys could talk.”  

        “I don’t know if that’s the best idea…but I’ll still be there. For you, Sam.”  

        “Thank you, Lydia,” he smiled softly. “Honestly, I’m most looking forward to seeing you,” and as much as Sam loved Orchestra, which was a whole lot, he really just wanted an excuse to see her. “I miss you so much, Lyd.” 

 He could tell she was fighting the urge to cry on the other end from the croak in her voice. “I miss you so much, Sammy. I love you.” He could hear a bell ring through the phone, meaning her study hall must be over. “Please be sure to say ‘thank you’ a bunch of times to your friend for letting you borrow his phone.” 

        “I will.” 

        “I know you will. Okay, I love you and I’ll see you soon.” 

        “I love you!” he said, and with a small beep, the call was over. 

Bennett smiled back at him with reassurance as a smug look overtook Sam’s boyish face. This plan would work. Lydia and their parents would show up to his concert and Sam would make them all see just how much they needed their love in each other’s lives. Somehow without burning down the entire Bridgewater Middle School in the process. 

# 

The only red Sam truly loved was the deep red-brown gleam of his cello. Though he knew it wasn’t true, he liked to think his cello came from the big red maple trees surrounding the neighborhood park Mom and Dad used to take Lydia and him to climb when it was warm. He liked the trees right in the middle of summer, at their greenest. When the leaves started turning red, it meant it was time for school again.  

Ms. Simpson smiled at them with what Sam thought of as her Maestro face, determined and confident. She signaled them to finish tuning. Instinctively, Sam’s hands brushed his finger tape, forming the melody again: G, B flat, A natural, D. He felt a wave of calm run through his bubbling veins. He glanced at the back of Bennett’s head a few rows in front of him and a small smile touched his face. Ms. Simpson raised her arms and the orchestra took a collective breath as Fire Dance began.  

 The violins and violas began to squeal slightly out of tune, and his fingers found what he hoped was the right place for his first notes. His part began with quarter notes, the cellos and the basses keeping the time as the violins and violas started taking off. The whole orchestra squeaking in something similar to the melody, Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sound coming from his instrument. It was mostly in tune, and he thought with some more practice, he might be really good. He wanted to prove to his family that he coulddo something right. He wasn’t the best at cello right now, but he would do his best to get better. He wanted to show Mom and Dad and Lydia that he was growing up and smart and part of the family. 

Sam’s favorite part of the piece came, where he got to switch between playing with the bow and playing pizzicato. His fingers fumbled to pluck his melody in time before painting a picture in the air with his bow once more. He loved this piece out of the two for the concert the most because it sounded like one of the Super Smash Bros final arenas. Basically the sound was super epic, exactly how his family reunion was about to be.  

# 

Riding high, Sam exited the orchestra room when they had finished putting away the rows of chairs, zipping up his cello excitedly. Heading for the doors, he saw Bennett walk in with his parents, and this time he saw the tiny little rainbows pinned on their tops. Bennett was smiling as they praised his playing and got in line to talk to Ms. Simpson.  

Bennett locked eyes with Sam; the two boys smiled and threw up a quick wave to each other. Sam hoped in his heart that one day his parents would look at Lydia with the kind of pride Bennett’s were looking at him with. He hoped they would look at him that way one day too. Like they were so proud of the man he was growing up to be. 

Feeling elated, he floated into the lobby of the school, between the auditorium and the cafeteria, where voices echoed off the top of the ceiling. He quickly spotted Avery’s bright hair standing with Lydia, Mom, and Dad across from the large treasure-hunt mural on the brick wall. Sam didn’t know how long it’d been there but he loved it. It had Bridgewater laid out in a cartoon map, big words at the top reading: “Wherever your heart is, your true treasure lies.” He let his eyes linger on it the way he thought a character in one of his books would and hurried to rejoin his family. 

The closer he got the more his good feelings went away. Lydia’s face was red with anger, Avery looked uncomfortable, Mom was distraught and Dad looked impassive with a set jaw, like the whole ordeal was taking up too much of his time. 

“…she’s our daughter and we want her to come home, Mike. Tell her we want her to come home.” Mom said in urgent hushed tones, trying not to attract attention. 

Dad barely even registered that Mom was talking to him, staring at the treasure map like he might be quizzed on it. Avery was rubbing Lydia’s hand, whispering in her ear, when they  noticed Sam walking up, wiping his clammy hands on his nice dress pants. 

Mom slapped a smile on her face as he approached. “Sam, my love! You played wonderfully,” and she enveloped him in a hug like he might not notice he just walked in on a final battle.  

When Lydia played Super Mario with him, she was always Luigi and he was always Mario. He knew this was the part of the battle where she was down to her last life and Sam needed to find the weakness of their opponent, get a few punches in to save her. Sam felt picturing Dad as Bowser wasn’t very fair, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He turned toward him and steeled himself for retaliation,  “Can Lydia finally come home now?” 

Dad’s attention snapped to Sam like lightning, and he felt himself shrink under his father’s gaze like he accidentally ate a Mini Mushroom. “Sam, this decision doesn’t have anything to do with you.” 

 “—with me? To do with me?” Sam cut him off. He was playing with fire, electricity running through him. Dad was silent. In Sam’s head, Bowser Dad popped into his spiky turtle shell and hurtled towards Sam and his sister. “Of course it does. Lydia is my sister and I want her back in our home because she is a part of this family.  We can’t keep pretending like we just decided she wasn’t anymore.”  

Sam heard Lydia murmur to Avery, handing her car keys and gently pushing her towards the exit. The rest of the lobby had started to clear out—only they and a few other families lingered.  Sam wondered if Bennett and his family were back in their home yet. Maybe they were getting Dairy Queen like Sam’s used to after their concerts and ball games.  

Lydia cleared her throat gently and calmly, as if she were about to begin her Daily Report. “I don’t want to come home if it means having to hide who I am.”  

This was not how Sam planned it, with easy laughs and quick hugs and understanding. Any inkling of the Happy Miller Family Reunion flew out the window and splattered like a sticky ball on the side of the road.  

Dad fixed his gaze back on the mural, but Sam could see the strain in his face. “I don’t understand why you would choose this when you could live a normal, easy life, after all your mom and I have given you. The daughter I had was normal.” 

Lydia’s eyes leaked tears, small black trails like tiny funeral processions running down her face. “Do you think I chose this? That I would willingly decide to be discriminated against for the rest of my life and live in fear that the people I love won’t accept me? That the people that raised me don’t believe in me or who I love?” 

Dad’s eyes cracked to Lydia’s. “Oh please, you don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re just repeating everything your libtard phone tells you.” 

“Mike,” Mom said in warning, eyebrows raised, but Dad wasn’t done.  

“Human anatomy wasn’t made for women to be with women or men to be with men. You don’t have to pretend to be gay to make one of your big statements, Lydia. I won’t allow it.” He pulled out his phone, Sam guessed, so he didn’t have to face his daughter. Like other boys, Sam had always looked up to his father, but in looking at the man standing in front of him, all Sam saw was the opposite of what he wanted to be. 

Lydia was aghast. “I am not pretending. I might even loveAvery and I want her to be in my life and I want you guys to know her because she’s important to me.” Pride and sadness gripped Sam’s heart as he watched her.  “But please—” her voice broke, “—please don’t make me choose. Don’t make me lose her to keep you.”  

Everyone knew Dad had a stubborn streak. He looked at his daughter silently, working his jaw. Sam had never been good at reading people. He had no idea what Dad was going to do. If Sam could have composed a symphonic piece for how they looked right now he would’ve called it ‘The Miserable Millers.’ 

Mom spoke up with a voice like walking on eggshells. It was the same voice she used around Dad when a game didn’t go how he wanted. “Just because we don’t totally understand this about you yet, Lydia, doesn’t mean we don’t love you. Right, Mike?”  

The rest of his family looked at him expectantly, but Mike Miller remained silent. Sam wasn’t sure he knew him that well anymore. It seemed Dad was only ever giving his family half his attention. Sam didn’t know what he would do now that Lydia had forced him to see her. 

Dad sighed, pulling out his car keys. “I’m not doing this tonight,” he said, and began to walk toward the doors. Sam watched him go in disbelief. If Dad stopped loving Lydia for this, what would he stop loving Sam for? 

Mom moved to hold Lydia, who was quickly falling apart. “Hey, hey, Lydia baby, look at me.” Mom wiped the tears from her eyes and Sam went to put his arms around his sister. The door to his school shut with a soft thud as Dad left the building. “We love you. You are our daughter. Of course we love you.” His sister’s flow of tears still didn’t slow down. “Dad just…needs some time, okay? He’ll come around. We’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”  

Sam’s arms shook from Lydia’s trembling. “I’m really proud of you, Lydia. We love you. Dad loves you.” She held him back tighter. Sam felt a surge of that pride run from the top of his head and the bottom of his feet through his chest, like he was Iron Man and could shine a light of love onto her directly from his heart.  

The bright overheads above them started flickering, probably the custodians telling them politely to beat it. Lydia pulled away and laughed at herself, drying her tears. The flickering lights moved her face in stop motion. “I’m sorry guys. I just…hoped that would’ve gone better.” Her eyes were pink-red, and Sam added another tally against the color, since it meant his sister was sad. He took her left hand and Mom took the other as they guided her towards the doors Dad had gone out of. “I didn’t mean to make a spectacle…and I’m sorry for ruining your concert night, Sam. You did such a great job.” 

“Don’t worry, Lyd.” Sam squeezed her hand, thoughts of leading a wounded soldier out from battle flooded his mind. But Lydia was a survivor. “Our family is more important. I’m sorry talking with Dad didn’t go so well. I’d hoped it would go better, but I just want to be here for you. Whatever you need.” This time Mom looked at him with pride in her eyes. Lydia let go of his hand to squeeze him.  

“It’s okay, Sammy. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” The return of his nickname felt more like coming home than anything. Even though he wasn’t taking it well now, Sam knew in his heart that Dad would come around. He was difficult sometimes, but Sam loved him anyway. No, that was wrong, Sam loved him for all that he was, flaws and all. He realized it was impossible to love someone perfectly, he just loved them because they deserved it. Because how and why would he ever stop?  

Lydia wiped more of her tears, “When did you get to be so wise, little brother?” 

“I guess I learned from you,” he said to his sister with a smile. She returned it, but it was still just a hint of the smile he used to look at from the passenger seat. He really hoped she would be okay. He wasn’t sure how many more times she’d have to talk to Dad or Mom or anyone else before they all came to accept her and she came to accept herself. Though she didn’t say it, he knew she would always be there for him too, the same as Mom. Even when he struggled or failed or fell down. The Millers never really failed because they knew to help each other back up. He knew he could face anything if his sister was by his side. Even bullies and middle school. He wasn’t sure what the future would hold, but as long as he had her and everyone else he loved, it didn’t seem so scary.  

Walking to Lydia’s car, the last in the lot, Mom asked her to come back home again. Mom said she thought Dad would come around sooner if Lydia was at home, so the family was together again. Lydia didn’t seem sure, but eventually agreed: music to Sam’s ears. Lydia had been staying with Avery but said she’d probably outstayed her welcome, she said.  

“We especially need you to come home to help take care of this big troublemaker,” Mom was saying playfully, indicating Sam. His face grew hot, remembering his poor grades and suspension. With relief, he thought now that Lydia would be back, maybe he could focus easier on his work and get his grades back up. He’d really like to spend more time practicing cello too, and maybe he could even work up to first chair. 

Lydia opened her car door. “Oh, I’ve missed this troublemaker like crazy,” Lydia said, ruffling Sam’s hair. “Haven’t I, Avery?” 

Surprised, his sister’s girlfriend slightly jumped from where she was sitting in the passenger seat. “Oh, she never stops talking about you, Sam.” She smiled at him and stuck her hand over the driver’s side to shake his and Mom’s hands. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you!” He shook hers vigorously while Mom’s shake was a bit hesitant before they piled into the backseat. Sam had never seen Mom in the backseat before—it made him think about how she used to be a kid just like him once, too. 

Avery seemed a little disappointed and a little relieved that Lydia would be returning home. They made a quick stop at Avery’s house to drop her off, Lydia to pick up her things and Mom to profusely thank her family for taking care of her baby. Sam tried to reclaim the passenger seat before they pulled away, but Mom took it.  

Lydia told them there was just one more stop to make before they could go home. As soon as they could see the Dairy Queen sign, Sam started dancing in his seat to the Taylor Swift Lydia was playing that he liked even if he wouldn’t admit it. “Let’s goooooooooo!” he said excitedly, Mom and Lydia laughing in the front as the car pulled into the drive-thru lane. He couldn’t wait to bring home his M&M’s brownie blizzard home where Dad might even let him eat it in the basement, since his concert was a special occasion.  

“Welcome, what would you like to order today?” the voice of the drive-thru worker tinnied through the speaker. 

Lydia hesitated before responding, turning to Mom and Sam. “We should get something for Dad, too. He’ll be upset if we come back without anything for him.” 

Mom touched Lydia’s hand that was on the steering wheel. Sam leaned forward from the middle seat in the back between them. “Good idea, Lydia!” he said, giving her a gentle smile. 

They made their normal orders and watched the workers flip their cups before handing them over. Sam had to take property taxes from his own and Dad’s blizzards on the ride home to keep them from spilling. He hoped Dad wouldn’t mind if the top layer of his Pecan Turtle Brownie was missing.  

Lydia drove up to the house slowly, and Sam gazed at it with fresh eyes. The blue shutters and the worn red-brown brick. The basketball goal in the driveway, weighed down by sandbags. Two oak trees Sam and Lydia used to climb on and pretend to be pirates. They parked in the driveway and moved to step into the house. Mom took Lydia’s two bags, one on each shoulder and went inside ahead of them, leaving Lydia and Sam in the driveway. Lydia looked up hesitantly at the house.  

“Lydia, are you okay?” Sam asked, the blizzards in his hands turning soupier by the second. She blinked and turned to look down at him, as if forgetting he was there. 

“Yeah, Sam.” She thought for a moment. “I just don’t know how things are going to change now.” 

The buzzing of cicadas filled the silence as Sam considered, “Isn’t it better if they change?” he asked. “Even if it’s hard for a while, I think it will be for the better. You won’t have to hide who you are now. And maybe Dad will stop making those mean comments, especially knowing how it affects you.” 

“He shouldn’t need it to be personal to appreciate other people’s rights and autonomy,” she said, her words whistling over Sam’s head, “but, I see what you’re saying. Maybe you’re right.” 

Sam put on his best old, wise Wizard face, lowering his voice, “Ah, yes, you see, foolish sister, I am always right as the Almighty, Great, Powerful, and Wise Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!” 

Their twin smiles broke onto their faces, a spark of light back in Lydia’s eyes. “HA! You forgot Percival. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” She took a deep breath, walking towards the door. “Turns out you could still learn a thing or two.” 

The tightness that had lived in his chest for so long slowly loosened. Lydia was back. His sister was home. His best friend was here. He followed on her heels until they got to the door and she paused. In silent understanding, he stepped in front of her while she took her free hand to turn the knob and push. The door swung open before them, warm light shining on Sam and his sister as they walked into the house, together. 

Across a Chestnut River 

In Diana, no water to be seen, 

Six heads lay along a chestnut stream: 

Two of the fair, and four of the brute, 

All goblins and griffins hoarding their loot. 

One of many houses, sharing the land, 

Inside a piano, played by twelve hands, 

This full house is a balancing act: 

How will we know when the foundations have cracked? 

Tell me we are building the same picture, 

Though only some puzzle pieces are dipped in scripture; 

Resolutions placed in the fridge, forgotten, 

Instant shelf-lives, immediately rotten. 

Father spends a lifetime longing for a teammate, 

His kids want their mother, he begs for rebate, 

A daughter who’s queer, three sons yet no athlete, 

Who taught him Fatherhood was something you could cheat? 

Cronus’ tears of joy, a consumption manual, 

Incompetence a genetic disposition; familial, 

The ‘girly’ chores below their paygrade, 

Guests in their own hotel, Mom and Sister play maid. 

How we two long for that lost Eden 

Lanyer painted in her Cookeham description, 

Our backs and floorboards groan with deadweight, 

A futile tradition of Oedipodes realized too late. 

Two decades of board games and bills, 

All these corners we learned to fill, 

A four-sided Hell we made our own, 

The debt we paid to earn a loan. 

Master of the House keeps the books, 

Scorns the mistress for selling her looks: 

Not uncommon for upper middle class, 

Houses for sale, not homes built to last. 

Gradually, we birds learn to leave the nest, 

Maize of a heart, flying south, flying west, 

Away from the streets where the houses don’t change, 

Women slaves to motherhood, personhood estranged, 

Yet next door, a woman builds her life with her dogs: 

She and one big house, never ending monologues, 

Down the street, the roles further reversed: 

Three girls, one father, birds-and-bees well-rehearsed. 

Red brick, rising in the west, 

Which version holds them best? 

Stairs to the left, rooms to the right, 

Or rooms to the left, the other a flight. 

What difference it makes, 

A sun asleep or awake? 

Food served on dirty plastic or fine china, 

The same trees and streets behind you. 

One by one, branches cut down, 

Suffocating pipes, headed to town, 

Growing the wrong way, crooked, broken, 

Used for kindling or a cheap token. 

A small pond for many big fish, 

Only way out is to cross the Chestnut Ditch, 

Assembly-line houses for grand production, 

Equipped as weapons of mass destruction. 

Circumstance stands us in the same circle, 

This small square of grass, our suburban cubicle. 

A Village of Neighbors, bursting with people, 

So, similar neighborhood status must make us equal. 

A sacrifice of individuality, cookie-cutter plots of land, 

Yet rooms inside painted different colors, by different hands, 

The heart inside the same from the start, growing with time, 

We change these rooms to fit the current “I’m.” 

The oaks and maples and sycamores sing, 

A ballad to sweet youth and yellow spring, 

Harmonic with the chimes of the house on the corner, 

A love note on the wind to warm her. 

Though these lines double back and stray, 

Six flowers still bloomed day to day, 

Growing their tree together in kind, 

A new history for each house and bloodline. 

And yes, these snow covered hills were our ships, 

Though the mind of what exactly, slips. 

New games dreamed up, new quests; 

The backyard at us kids’ behest… 

But shadows crawl and bark and howl. 

Is this house yours? Whose is it now? 

One for the people, and merry they be, 

Perhaps for my brother, certainly not me. 

The walls shake powerless with anxiety, 

A remiss and recall for piety. 

Soon unfamiliar voices may bounce off the walls, 

Or not, if the second eldest’s card rightly falls. 

How can this home be mine and yours? 

They’ll tear down the house before we’re outdoors: 

This place I first learned to tie my shoes, 

A place I forgot what I’ve gained to lose. 

A less-than-noble place for less-than-honest living, 

But still a home, a parents’ gift which keeps on giving, 

Where a childhood passed and I learned to miss it, 

Golden-edged memories I long to revisit, 

Before the tales were folly and St. Nick was a myth, 

The ends of my imagination had no width. 

Now the colors leak out of the frame, 

And often I pray to leave as soon as I came. 

How I wish to return to that swing of the dawn, 

Even with the lines of today and tomorrow gone, 

Hold my mother tighter and tighter, 

The love in her heart all I require. 

No loss or fear or grieving to concern, 

Crippling dread of all we will learn. 

Just drive on back and shrink back down, 

The head you once wore never fit like a crown. 

Though as Helios’ chariot begins to fall, 

Our house on the corner still stands tall: 

The lights shine brightly within, warm and true, 

The kin still able to start brand new. 

A family home that served its purpose, 

Twenty years (and counting) in dignified service. 

A thankless job, devoted in protection, 

Through these lines, far too measly an affection.