So Long, No See

Pale streaks of moonlight peek through dusty curtains into a dark and silent room. The only other source of illumination is the radiated light from two obnoxiously bright computer monitors. Seated in front of said monitors, headphones over ears and thoroughly engrossed in his video game, is Brian.

The stillness is suddenly broken as the room’s door swings open, letting in a soft, warm light from the hallway outside.

“What the hell, mum?!” Brian asks, pulling his headphones down and giving the woman standing in the doorway an irritated look.

“Ah, Brian. I was just bringing a letter up for you. No need to be rude.” The woman says disapprovingly, gingerly stepping into the room. The floor is littered with empty energy drink cans, chip packets, and scrunched-up pieces of paper.

Navigating the piles of rubbish, Brian’s mother places an envelope beside her son, who’s already gone back to playing his game.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” She asks her son expectantly.

“I already know what it is.” The young man replies petulantly, still staring at his screen. His mother sighs.

“You still have two weeks to think about it, but Brian, don’t you think you’ve been cooped up in here too long? Even if it’s part time, you’ll get to see your friends again at college.” She says. No response. The woman silently shakes her head to herself.

“You’re 20 years old, Brian. I just wish you’d stop shutting yourself off from the world. You’ve got so much to offer to society, yet you choose to sit here in the dark all day playing your video games.”

“I don’t care, mum. I don’t want to go to college, I don’t want to see my stupid friends, and I don’t want to contribute to this useless community. Just leave me alone!” Brian says, raising his voice. Picking up the letter, he shoves it into his pocket, glaring at his mother. Brian’s mother is no stranger to her son’s temper, and even if she doesn’t understand it, she knows better than to provoke him when he’s in a bad mood. Relenting, she slowly retreats from the room, shutting the door with a gentle click.

A few hours later, Brian’s phone rings. He ignores it, like he ignores everything nowadays.

The second ring comes almost immediately after the first, which makes him begrudgingly look at the device to check who it is.

2 missed calls from his mother. He puts the phone back down and goes back to his game. His mother never calls about anything important. Besides, he reasons, she’s probably just at the shops. Anything she has to say can probably wait.

Not long after, he notices a strange, burning smell. It’s faint, and there’s nothing in his room that could be burning, so he shrugs it off again. Hearing soft footsteps on the stairs, he assumes his mother is home, probably on her way to tell him whatever she wanted to say on the phone.

The door slams open, hitting the wall with a sound that makes Brian look up.

“Brian! Why didn’t you answer my call?!” The furious voice of his mother is something the young man hasn’t heard in a long time.

“Just tell me whatever you wanted to say now, mum. Don’t call me.” He grumbles, leaning back in his chair. His response seems to anger the woman even more.

“I called you to turn the stove off, Brian! I left the fire on when I went shopping, and when I got back, all the water in the pot already boiled away! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” She rants at her son, who still doesn’t seem to be taking the situation seriously.

“Well, that’s your problem. Not mine.” He replies irritably, already going back to his computer screen. Something seems to snap in his mother, who strides across the room and pulls the computer’s power plug out, disconnecting the device. Brian lets out an indignant shout, finally turning to face his mother.

“That could have started a fire, young man! Your selfishness could have gotten our house burnt down! Don’t you care about yourself? Don’t you care about anyone in this family?” She asks angrily, throwing the computer cable down.

“Just leave me alone, mum. I’m sorry I didn’t get your stupid call, okay? It wasn’t my fault you left the fire on.” Brian rolls his eyes, picking up the cable and plugging his computer back in.

After a minute of stony silence, Brian’s mother walks back to the doorway.

“I’ll expect your apology when you stop being an immature, selfish brat, Brian.” She snaps, leaving the room and slamming the door shut behind her.

One of the things Brian has noticed since he’s been spending most of his day in his bedroom is how hard it is to keep track of time. In the darkness and silence, an hour can seem like either minutes or days. So when he wakes up to see slivers of sunlight from the gaps in his curtains, he can’t tell if it’s morning or afternoon

Not bothering to change out of the crumpled shirt he slept in, Brian trudges through the mess on the floor towards his computer. Sitting down in his chair, he starts the device, puts on his headphones, and opens Chrome. No internet.

Confused, he clicks on his Wi-Fi, only to see the familiarly annoying ‘connected, no internet’ status. Sighing, he tries disconnecting and reconnecting to no avail. Frustrated, he takes his headphones off and walks across the room to the door. Opening it, he winces at the brightness of the hall outside and stumbles slightly on the way to the stairs.

“Mum?! The internet is down!” He calls over the banister. There’s no answer. Now thoroughly annoyed, he storms down the stairs.

When he gets down to the kitchen, he realises the house is empty. Wandering over to the table, he finds a handwritten note stuck on it. Skimming it through, he reads his mother’s message informing him she’s visiting a friend interstate and will be gone for a week.

Crumpling up the paper in vexation, he lobs it at the trashcan. He misses.

As it turns out, living alone is much harder than Brian initially thought. Later that same day, he discovers to his unpleasant surprise that his mother has changed the Wi-Fi password, and not bothered to tell him. The fridge and pantry are also empty, courtesy of his mother leaving before the weekly grocery trip.

Finally, on the second day after his mother’s unannounced departure, Brian concedes defeat to boredom and hunger. Pulling on the only clean coat he can find, he ventures towards the front door, preparing to leave the house for the first time in over a year. He’ll just walk down to the little shop at the end of the road, buy some food and a portable Wi-Fi module, and leave, he says to himself.

Upon opening the door and stepping outside, the first thing he notices is the sun. More specifically, how bright and warm it was. How long had it been since he’d felt the sun? Brian barely remembers. It’s also far too hot to be winter, and he realises with a start that it’s already spring. Keeping track of seasons was difficult when you never leave your room.

Walking down the driveway, his eyes slowly adjust to the brightness of the outdoors. Looking around, he spots his mother’s little front yard garden. Since the last time he saw it, she’s planted new wildflowers that are starting to bloom.

Even his neighbourhood seems to have changed since he last saw it. The house across the road has a new swing set installed in the front yard; Brian remembers his mother sending them a congratulations card for their new baby just two years ago. Strolling slowly down the street, he can’t help but wonder exactly how much has happened while he was away.

The footpath is still the same old, cracked one though, and Brian takes some strange comfort in noticing that fact. Though it does pique memories he’d unknowingly buried, like the times he ran around the neighbourhood like a lunatic with his friends or walking down to the local corner shop on the weekend.

Suddenly, he sees a shuttlecock flying towards him out of the corner of his eye. Some long-forgotten instinct seems to awaken in him, and he kicks the feathered shuttle, catching it in his hand.

“Woah, mister, that was so cool!” He looks up to see the speaker, a young boy who looks primary school-aged, leaning outside the fence of the house he’s passing.

“Yeah, throw it back, mister!” Another child, similarlyaged, shouts, running up behind the first boy.

Brian throws the shuttle back, feeling a small smile grace his lips at the excitement of the kids. How long had it been since he’d been like them? Full of life, joy, and the ability to be unreasonably happy over the smallest things.