Okay, so I’ve had to leave my little cocoon and turn the heat up some more. I’m sure Mom and Dad are going to give me grief about it later, but I am just too cold to care right now.  

Walking back into Frank’s room, I once again feel an inexplicable ease when I cross the threshold. It’s almost like entering a sanctuary. The Frank Sanctuary, that’s pretty funny actually.…  

Sighing in relief, I shut the door and go back over to his bed. Oh geesh, look what I’ve gone and done. I’ve messed his bed up!  

Damn, everything in Frank’s room is immaculate, it always is…well except for his bed now.  And one of Frank’s pet peeves with me is I always mess up his bed….He’s funny like that.  

Oh well, what’s done is done and all I can do is try and repair the damage. Besides, I really don’t want him to know how upset this whole thing has made me.  He’s already going to be kicking himself for not being there.  

But there really was nothing he could have done and in all honesty, it might have made things worse if there had been two of us.  This guy really wanted to hurt someone.   

I touch my neck and swallow painfully.  

Yeah, it’s better this way. Rossi would have just killed one of us and used the other as the hostage.  Thinking that, I’m really glad that Frank wasn’t there….  

Besides, in the end it was Sam’s true aim that saved me.  

Rossi had had enough and moved the knife to finish the job but Sam saw the movement and didn’t hesitate for a moment – he fired.  

The knife fell away from my throat as the guy dropped, dead. And then Dad was grabbing me as my legs gave out.  I’ve been used as a hostage before but this is the first time that I had been held in death’s grip for a full hour!  

I was exhausted emotionally and physically and I broke down and bawled like a baby.  And I’m embarrassed as all hell about that because I never wanted Dad to see just how terrified I was.  

Frank is the only one I cry in front of…well, until that one moment.  

Damn, I’m shaking again.  

To his credit, Dad was great about it and held me until I finally got a hold of myself. And I felt bad because I really just wanted Frank to be there….I still do.  

Dad offered to call Frank but I told him “No,” it could wait. I didn’t want to ruin his date with Callie…especially since I was okay anyway.  

But now as I’m staring down at this pathetic attempt to make Frank’s bed, I wish I had just kept my trap shut.   My hands are shaking too badly to actually do anything, and the bed now looks worse than it did before!  I really do wish Frank was here.  

When I was nine years old I used to spend a lot of time in this room.  It was after my dog, Hero, ran away, and I was terrified that Frank was going to leave me too….It was a fear I couldn’t and still can’t explain.   

There was just a heaviness pressing down on me and when I was in this room with my brother, it was the only time I didn’t feel like I was about to suffocate.  I wonder if it’s possible to be swallowed up by darkness.  

Maybe not physically but…  

I’m getting a headache. I always do when I think about that day.  I don’t know what happened really, I just remember someone telling Frank that our dog ran away.  But I never helped my brother look for him.  

I couldn’t.  

Another thing I can’t explain…and as usual, whenever I think about losing Hero. I can’t.  

I need to think about something else now.  

I want my brother.  

My head is hurting; the cut on my throat is throbbing – I thought the pain meds would last longer; and now I feel like I’m going to be sick.  

I’d better go to the bathroom for a while just in case.  I’ll sit on the rim of the tub or something.  But I don’t want to get sick in Frank’s room.  Yuck…actually I don’t want to get sick at all….  

So I sit on the rim of the tub and lean my head against the side of the cool shower surround. It’s not very comfortable but right now I don’t care. I’m too busy trying to swallow back the saliva in my mouth and beg my stomach to settle down.  

Please, I hate being sick.  And I had tacos for supper….Oh man, I really don’t want to go through that again.  

I can feel the air from the furnace ducts on my feet but I still feel so cold.  

I don’t want to die yet, I think miserably as I try to blink back the tears. I know it’s over and I’m safe at home, but as I press my shaking fingers against the bandage on my throat – it was too close and it is still terrifying me.  

I’m young. There’s so much left that I want to do and….And …and I almost died tonight.

JOSEPH PAUL HARDY – RIP

AGE 17

Please, I don’t want to be dead yet.  I don’t want to be left in some cold grave where people come to lay flowers or talk to me. I want to be alive…breathing…warm….  

I guess that’s what Iola wanted too.  

Damn, it’s cold in here.  

I don’t know why this is bothering me so much this time. I’ve almost died before.…

The only thing I can figure is because this time I felt so alone.  

Two years ago, three guys broke into our house looking for Dad.  It was bad.  

Mom, I and Frank were home, and it was just a couple of days before Christmas, because Mom and I were in the kitchen baking.  Frank was upstairs.  

As part of our family traditions, I help Mom with the baking. It’s cool, and I really do enjoy doing it. I know it might sound strange, but hey, that’s me.  

Anyway, I was just getting the sprinkles out of the cupboard and Mom was lifting the last of the gingerbread out of the oven when I heard someone at the front door. 

“I’ll get it,” I told Mom, wondering who it might be. Our friends usually used the kitchen door.

I started to open the door, but before I could get it all the way open, the biggest man I think I’ve ever seen shoved it open.  I was knocked flat on my butt, and before I could even say anything, Manzilla grabbed me by the front of my shirt, pulled me to my feet, and stuck a gun in my face as two other guys came barreling past us.  

“Mom—”  I tried to warn her as one of the guys took off towards the kitchen, and got backhanded for my effort. I really hate getting slapped in the face. Body hits are one thing, but for me, the face is personal. It leaves a mark for all the world to see.  

Anyway I heard Mom scream as the third guy took the stairs, two at a time. Struggling got me clipped across the back of the head this time, and I saw stars.  

The second guy hustled my Mom out of the kitchen and I heard a brief scuffle upstairs before Frank came downstairs, followed by the third guy.  

Seeing my brother made my blood boil – the other guy had obviously hit him, and I could see that he was going to have a black eye.  Now a split lip was one thing – a backhand to the face; but a black eye – that was a closed fist to the face.  

Once again I struggled, and this time when the guy hit me, it was hard, and the last thing I remember before passing out was hearing Frank yelling at him to leave me alone.  

Hmmm, maybe he hit me more then once that time…I don’t know.  

I did get a concussion for my trouble though.  

Oh man, I think I’m going to be sick now….

* * *

Okay so I’m back in Frank’s room again. I couldn’t go back to mine right now. My room feels so empty and alone. Probably because it is my room and that is how I’m feeling right now.  

I always think of a room as an extension of the person who lives in it. And so as an extension, it projects either how the owner is feeling or how you feel about the owner.  

Take my parents’ room for example. I love and respect my Mom and Dad dearly, and while their room isn’t exactly an unfriendly place to be, it isn’t one I go in very often. Even as a kid, I would go to Frank’s room first.  

I respect it and love it as their space, but it’s not my brother’s room.  

And the guest room downstairs…that my Aunt Gertrude uses when she’s here?  I don’t think I have actually ever been in that room.  Now, while Auntie G has never done anything to me that I’m aware of, I just get the feeling sometimes that she doesn’t like me very much. Oh yes, she loves me…I know that. But like? I just don’t know….  

So we have an unspoken understanding and kind of stay out of each other’s way when she’s here. And I think that works out best.   

She does get along very well with Frank though, and he helps her out when she needs something – and that’s perfectly fine with me. I think that my restlessness unnerves her…I just don’t know why.  

My restlessness has gotten me into trouble more then I’d care to admit, too. Like my big mouth, it could use a staple or two from time to time….

I think I was born with ants in my pants, or at least by the end of my first day in kindergarten I was so convinced of it by my teacher, that I hid in the boys’ bathroom at recess the next day.  

Frank found me crying in one of the stalls, and I have to say it was not one of my prouder moments as a kid.  The teacher and her assistant had made so many comments about me having ants in my pants; I was convinced it was true. And after using the bathroom, I was too afraid to put my pants back on.  

Hmmm, wonder if that has anything to do with my dislike of insects…Maybe…  

Anyway, Frank had a lot of patience with me, even then. He carefully inspected my pants, extremely thoroughly if I do say so myself, and then pronounced them “ant free.”  

Of course I still wasn’t buying it. I mean, teachers are adults, right? So surely they knew a lot more about these kinds of things than my six year old brother?  

Finally Frank just shrugged and took off his own pants and gave them to me. You know I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it….He just said, “Take mine. I guarantee they are ant-free.”  

Hmmm, you know I don’t think I ever thanked him for that…and now that I’m thinking about it, he must have been quite uncomfortable for the rest of the day because I do have to admit, I was always kind of a scrawny kid.   

I think that’s why I started to bulk up….Definitely not puny anymore.   

But no matter how big I get…even as big as Biff, Frank will always be my big brother.  

And I’ll always need him… I hope he realizes that…