Robbie rolls off his mattress on the floor and crouches beside his younger brother’s bed. “Lucas…Mom’s gone.”
The boys, five and seven years old, creep to their bedroom window and peek through the dusty blinds. Sure enough, their mother pulls away from the parking lot and into the cold November night.
The boys don’t think much about her leaving because it’s all they know. Things happen, life changes—and then it goes on.
One night in September, after the school year began, she had called them into their small kitchen. “I’ve got to pick up another job. Robbie, you’ll be in charge of your brother five nights a week when I’m gone. I’ll be working at the gas station until twelve…till close. You need me, you call my number.”
She left her cellphone number on the fridge in case he forgot it and taught him how to dial from their landline.
The new norm became routine within a few weeks, and the boys took solace in the fact their mother woke them for school every morning. She looked more exhausted—the bags under her eyes a shade darker—but the 6:30 AM wake-up was as tried and true as the bowl of store-brand Honey O’s she set before them for breakfast.
“Come on,” Robbie whispers to Lucas, almost afraid she can hear them sneaking about the shadowy apartment.
Lucas trails after his older brother. The two scoot down the hallway and into the kitchen, eyeing the cabinet above the refrigerator. The room is dark, but the full moon and nearby lamppost allow enough light to spill in through the small window above the sink.
The boys work as one. Their actions have been well practiced and rehearsed for a week and a half: slide the stool to the counter, have Robbie climb up, and, after a brief struggle, open the hard-to-reach cabinet.
Robbie lowers himself back to the floor with their plunder: two dwindling bags of Halloween candy.
The boys paw through it, pulling out Jolly Ranchers, various hard candies, and a few Tootsie Rolls. Most of their favorites—Snickers, Milky Way, Starburst—are long gone.
The brothers both settle for a couple of Jolly Ranchers. Lucas pops a blue one in his mouth while Robbie settles on the green.
“We’re gonna have to figure out what to do with all the wrappers under the bed,” Robbie says as he climbs onto the counter again and stashes the bags in their appropriate places. “Mom’s gonna find ‘em sooner or later, you know?”
But his brother doesn’t respond.
Instead, Lucas rushes to him, eyes bulging wide—face turning a deep shade of red. He clutches his throat.
Robbie drops his candies and leaps down. “You okay?” he asks, a quiver in his voice. “Lucas?”
When Lucas doesn’t respond, Robbie remembers his mother’s words: You need me, you call my number.
Robbie rushes to the phone on the wall, squints to see the number on the fridge, and dials.
It rings…and rings. Lucas turns purple, more frantic.
“Hi, you’ve reached Linda Johnstone—”
“Answer, Mom!” Robbie screams, slamming the phone back into the receiver.
Without knowing what else to do, he spins his brother around and smacks him square in the center of his back, causing him to lurch forward. He does it over and over again to no avail.
“Lucas!” he yells. “Come on!”
Robbie grabs him around the stomach and tries lifting him quickly from behind. When this doesn’t work, he slings him back in wild fashion, knocking over chairs. The two boys fall to the floor. Robbie hoists him back up and sets to palming his back again, full force.
Then he sees it and has an idea: the stool. He rushes his brother to it, leans him over, and slams into his back with everything he’s got.
The boys fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, and the blue candy dislodges itself from Lucas’s throat. Lucas lets out a devastating gasp before he takes in shuddering breaths of air. Moments later, he gets sick, choking and gagging on what had been his dinner. He’s in hysterics.
Robbie rubs his back while trying to shake off his own tears.
When Lucas stills—most likely out of pure exhaustion— all is calm and quiet, once more.
“You okay?” Robbie asks.
“I think so.”
“Come on.”
Robbie helps Lucas to his feet and walks him to the bathroom to clean him up. From there, he guides him back to bed.
“What are we gonna tell Mom?” Lucas asks.
“We’re not gonna tell her about it…not yet, at least.” Robbie pauses. “I don’t want her worrying.”
“Okay,” Lucas says. He pulls his blanket up to his chin and takes in a deep breath.
“I’ll be back—gotta clean up.”
Lucas’s eyelids have already grown heavy, somehow, and he nods.
Robbie returns to the kitchen and puts the chairs and the stool back in proper order. As he begins soaking a sponge to clean his brother’s mess, the phone rings.
His stomach drops. He walks to the phone and answers it.
“Hey, honey,” his mother says. “Everything okay?”
Robbie freezes for a second or two. “Umm, yeah,” he replies. He glances at the vomit on the floor. Notices a mark on one of the chairs from where it fell.
“Robbie?”
“Everything’s fine,” is what he says, but what he wants to say is how sorry he is for how stupid they’d been—not just tonight, but for all the nights they broke her rules— and how unbelievably scared he is that Lucas almost choked to death in their crummy little kitchen. He wants to hug her and hold her and cry in her arms for a while because he messed up big-time, but she’s at work and he’s here at home, and she’s their mother and should be here with them. It isn’t fair. Not at all.
“Robbie?”
She knows. Whether he wants to spit it out now or in the morning, she knows. He forms a fist and bites into his index finger to keep from crying. Then, in a low voice that crackles like static, he says, “We just wanted to tell you we love you.”
Silence.
“Well, I love you too. Both of you. Now go on back to bed…it’ll be time for school before you know it.”
He knows it.
“Night, Mom.”
“Good night, honey.”
Robbie gently sets the phone on the receiver and retrieves the sponge from the sink. The boy kneels on the floor and begins to scrub. His breathing calms despite the smell.
Down the hall, ever so faintly, he can hear his brother’s soft snoring.
Thank you so much for reading “Everything’s Fine” today. If you enjoyed it, please consider clicking the heart icon and sharing it with a fellow fiction reader. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
I’m not one for numbers (unless we’re talking about fifty-word stories), but I realized the other day that I’ve been sharing this newsletter for over four years. Wow! That’s quite a long time. Whether you’ve been here reading my stories from day one or since yesterday, know that I am eternally grateful for every single one of you.
And to all of my readers in the United States, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving!
- Justin
This Friday, November 29th, I’ll be hosting our next Fifties by the Fire meetup. As usual, the prompt will go live at 3:00 PM EST.
Prompt: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, CNF, or poetry) about gratitude.
"We just wanted to tell you we love you." Oh, wow. That sweet little boy is becoming a man very early in his life.
And we just want to tell you, Justin, that we love YOU.
That paragraph … “everything’s fine” - outstanding writing, Justin.