Hey, Jude

(All places stated in this story are real and the author does not claim any hold over them)

     

                                        Hey, Jude





The desk was cluttered with many things; gum wrappers, pencils and pens, paper. All of it was so meaningless and yet Asher found it absolutely meaningful. This had been his little brother’s room, there was his closet, and his TV, and that had been his desk, his window, his posters and pictures, his music, and he didn’t even want to think about that bed of his. So many memories he never had about his little brother. So many memories his brother will never have.



         Asher picked up a picture. He liked this one even if it didn’t have him in it. None of them had him in it anyways. But this particular one showed the true essence of what had once been his brother, of what had once been Jude.



         The picture was of Jude under the willow tree just past the park and down the hill from what used to be John Davidson Elementary School in Vallejo, California. It was taken in black and white. Black and white always did seem to be Jude’s favorite for taking pictures.



         Jude was crouched low in the grass, his partly baggy, torn jeans nearly falling off of his narrow hips, his black band shirt contrasting brilliantly with his snow white skin. His hands that a pianist would kill to have were clutching his natural midnight dark black hair, his face contorted in such a way that it made him seem as he were being tortured. Jude’s mouth was open wide so that his tongue slipped from his mouth, showing off his tongue ring and barely hiding his lip ring. And though his eyes were scrunched from the force of the yell, Asher could still see his brother’s eyes perfectly, and even though the picture was in black and white he could still tell that his eyes were that of a clear afternoon, winter’s day. They looked… happy.



         Asher’s lips twitched as he set the picture back down. Jude always had liked being dramatic.



         Opening a desk drawer, the blonde let the silence suffocate him. It seemed as if even the birds knew that it was a day that they shouldn’t sing on. But sadly the weather seemed to enjoy mocking him for his loss.



         Picking up a torn piece of paper, Asher frowned. He remembered taking this picture, it was two years ago, when Jude had just turned fourteen; it was his birthday. But it was torn in half and now only showed Jude sitting on a bench in a bowling alley, clearly disgruntled. The only sign that another person had been in the picture was the person’s arm that was thrown over his brother’s shoulder. This had been the only picture Asher ever remembered taking with Jude.



         The dark haired teen hadn’t wanted to go to a bowling alley for his birthday, he had wanted to go out with his friends, but bowling had been Asher’s idea and their parents always had favored what he wanted, even when it was Jude’s birthday. He now felt bad about that.



         Asher can still remember the sound of his brother’s voice echoing in the bathroom of the bowling alley.



         “Why must you ruin everything for me?! All I wanted to do was to be with my friends for my birthday but no! You had to say that going to a stupid little part at my age (which is completely hypocritical—if you even know what that means—by the way seeing as you had gone to a party when you turned fifteen and had gotten drunk and high all in the same night. I’ve never even drank before) was bad for my health. You are momma’s little boy Asher and you can’t help being the center of attention! But—for once—could you please just stay out of my life you no-good half-brother of mine?!”



         The way Jude had said “half-brother” had nearly torn his hear in two. Nearly.



         To be completely honest Asher hadn’t really cared at the moment, or, at least, he hadn’t thought he had cared. But he did care. He cared all too much.



         He learned that the hard way.



         Asher stuffed the picture in his pocket, vowing silently to himself never to lose that picture.



         Walking over to Jude’s bed he stopped at the foot of it. His nose scrunched up. Yeah, that was not a pleasant smell. He over to his closet instead.



         He looked himself in the mirror of the sliding doors. Asher had never seen himself look anymore pathetic than he had now. His left eye completely black and blue, his left arm in a cast and sling, a scar running from the bottom of his right ear and down the side of his throat. There was also a limp in his left leg and his right eye almost constantly twitched. His blonde hair was cut too short for his liking too, he hated it.



         Asher winced as he remembered that night two weeks ago.



         Against all the clichés the night had been absolutely clear. The stars were shining brightly in the sky and the traffic was down so that it was nearly unbelievable. Asher as his nineteen year old self was sitting in the driver’s as Jude sat in the passenger’s seat sulking and pouting childishly.



         “What was mom thinking?” Asher knew that Jude had murmured this to himself but he couldn’t help but answer.



         “She was thinking that maybe we could get along for a little while.”



         Jude’s head shot to the side to glare at him. He scoffed and looked back out his window at the racing night. “Yeah, well, it was an idiotic thought.”



         Asher glanced at him and took a left. He was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess she was.” Jude nodded his agreement. “I mean,” Asher continued. “To think that I would ever enjoy talking to a little spoiled brat like you—“



         “What’s that supposed to mean!” Jude thundered. Asher looked at him and chuckled.



         “Let it mean what you like little bro.”



         Jude scowled. “Don’t call me that.”



         “What?” he asked. “Little bro? Why not? You are, aren’t you?”



         Jude didn’t answer. Asher sighed impatiently and stopped as he hit a stop light. “Damn it Jude. I didn’t mean it, okay?”



         “Whatever,” he heard him mutter.



         Huffing, Asher said. “What do you want from me Jude? I’ve not done anything to you. You act like a little brat all the time and for no reason at all!”



         Jude turned back to his half-brother. “No reason?” He asked in slight disbelief. “You seriously believe I hate you for no reason? You gave me plenty of reason Asher. You stole my mom away from me. She’s not your birth mom but all she seems to care about is you. I’ve tried so damn hard to get her and dad to notice me, sometimes dad does, but not really. All they ever think about is you Asher. ‘Asher this’ and ‘Asher that’ and ‘oh, you won’t believe what college Asher has just got into!’. All anyone ever hears about me is this, ‘Jude Corbyn; isn’t that the kid who does drugs and gets Ds in school and doesn’t care if he gets STDs and passes them on?’ ‘Why yes it is that kid. Personally I won’t let my child go anywhere near that bad influence! His brother Asher on the other hand…’ and mom and dad just don’t seem to care whether people speak badly about me as long as they don’t about you.” Jude hadn’t once raised his voice and to Asher it almost made it all the more unbearable.



         The blonde sighed but stayed silent; there was no need to force himself not to speak, he really didn’t want to.



         Asher didn’t understand that reasoning. He didn’t steal their parents away; they just chose to pay more attention to him than to Jude. It wasn’t his fault. But then… he never did do anything to stop that. Maybe he was a bad brother.



         The nineteen year old hadn’t seen the car coming. Maybe if he had seen it Jude would still be alive and well, more than likely hurt some, but still, he would be alive.



         Jude had looked up as they came to another stop sign, the roar of police sirens drowning the both of them. He barely had enough time to open his mouth to scream before the truck had collided with theirs. Asher didn’t remember what happened after that.



         Asher woke up in the cold and unbearably white hospital room, his mother crying at his side and his father staring out into the early morning.



         He groaned, wanting to bring up his hand to his head but it wouldn’t move.



         His mother looked up at him at the same time as his father spun around as they heard the sound of his voice desperately trying to call to them. “Oh, Asher, sweetie, you’re alright, you’re all right!” The blonde’s mother had her arms wrapped tightly around her step-son as his father came and stepped up to his bedside.



         Asher’s father tried to smile and failed. “You alright son?”



         “Yeah,” he stated weakly, not being able to say anymore than that.



         “Good,” his eyes were watery and Asher wondered why that was. Why were his parents so sad? Why was he in a hospital? Hadn’t he last been in the car with… with Jude? If so, where was Jude?



         “Jude?” the nineteen year old questioned desperately.



         His mother looked up at him before breaking out in tears once more. It looked as if his dad was hardly breathing at all. “He…” he stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. “He didn’t make it, Asher?”



         Asher blinked. What did that mean? He couldn’t comprehend what his father was talking about. What did he mean, “He didn’t make it”. “He didn’t make it” what? “H—huh?”



         His father took in a deep breath. “There… there was an accident Asher…” as his dad continued retelling what had happened earlier that night everything seemed to come back but Asher didn’t want to believe that. No, it wasn’t true. For some reason his dad was lying. Why would they say Jude was dead?!



         He shook his head. “No,” he told them, his voice coming in stronger than should be possible. “No, you’re lying because—because Jude isn’t dead. He couldn’t have died. He’s… he’s only sixteen and—and…” his voice cracked and trailed off.



         His dad frowned and shook his head sadly. “He’s dead Asher.” He told his son firmly.



                                            -------------------



         Turning away from the mirror, Asher determinedly shook his head to rid of such thoughts. He didn’t want to think of the night his brother died, and yet, he had to. It was the only way he would finally be able to come to terms that his younger brother was truly dead.



         It was just too difficult to think of him as dead. Jude had always been so much stronger than he was. Many people—and probably Jude himself—would have said, “No, Asher is stronger,” but Asher knew himself that that wasn’t the case. Jude was stronger, much stronger.



         The fifteen year old had to deal with a lot when he was younger. His first best friend—Blaise—had been murdered in a school shooting within the first month after his family had moved to Los Angeles, he had been hospitalized at the age of fourteen for drug overdose, stabbed in the shoulder at age of thirteen during school at Vallejo Middle School. Why their parents had sent him to such a bad school was beyond him but it was one of the worst experienced Asher ever had to deal with.



         Asher had to deal with… maybe Jude was right about Asher. Maybe he was just a selfish, overbearing, jerk.



         He could see where Jude had been coming from.



         As the door to Jude’s room—former room—opened Asher hurriedly wiped the tears he had carelessly let fall from his eyes. His mother peeped her sad, red-haired head. “Are you ready?” Her voice wavered and was hoarse, more than likely from all the crying she had done. He saw his dad standing behind her, slightly red eyed. He knew his father would rather think that he hadn’t cried once during all of this, but his dad couldn’t fool him; Asher had heard him crying every night since the accident.



         He nodded. “I’m ready,” to say goodbye, he added silently.



         His mom smiled and ushered his father downstairs. Turning to look at the room once more, he took in a deep breath. The room felt… empty.



         “Hey, Jude,” he stated quietly, backing out of the room. “I’ll see you another time.” He closed the room and walked away, never to look back.