Jacob’s Room

fiCTion

JaCob’s room

by TaTum sTanley

I lugged myself up the stairs and past Jacob’s room. I didn’t even stop to acknowledge its gloomy presence. I didn’t need to add to the unfortunate mood I was already in. As I entered the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My dark brown hair was loosely held back in a ponytail, and my pale skin was glistening from sweat. Even though I didn’t play in the game today, nothing was stopping the sun from draining every ounce of energy I had left in me. I never really minded seeing my own reflection until recently, but I think that is just because the person I see now is not the person I knew I was. A lot has changed in the past few weeks. The showerhead whistled as I twisted the hot-water knob all the way to the left. I wasn’t really in the mood to wait for the water to heat up, so I climbed in. The cold water pierced my skin as I watched my feet and legs turn purple. I could feel the hairs stand up on my forearms as I slowly regained my breath. I guess that’s what I get for being impatient, but I come by it honestly. “Alexis, get out of the shower!” my mother yelled up the stairs. “Alexis, dinner has been on the table for ten minutes now.” “I just got in,” I called back. “Alexis!” Like I said, I come by it honestly. I quickly shampooed and conditioned my hair. I scrubbed down my body, and by this point, the water had started to warm up a little. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to the frigid temperature. “Alexis!” my mom made one final call up the stairs. I didn’t even respond this time. I simply turned off the shower and retreated to my bedroom. When I “finally” got downstairs, she and my father were already seated around the

dining room table. My mother tapped the toe of her black pumps on the hardwood floor. She’s a businesswoman who wears gray pencil skirts, crisply ironed shirts, and her hair in a tightly wound bun.

The tapping continued as I took my seat at the table. My plate was piled with a hearty portion of Kung Pao Chicken, steamed rice, and two spring rolls. Neither of my parents had ever really been into cooking family meals. Late nights at the office called for take-out five nights a week and leftovers the other two. The room-temperature chicken wasn’t really pleasing, but I choked it down anyway. For what seemed like an eternity we—my mother, my father, and I—sat in silence around the table. The only sound came from forks hitting plates, my father’s aggressive typing on his laptop (which was never far away), and my mother’s black pumps tapping the hardwood. I wasn’t going to be the first to break the silence, and to be completely honest, I didn’t really know how. Even normal conversation seemed impossible to foster since Jacob died.

Finally, my father spoke. “How was the game today, Alexis?” He asked in a way that made it seem like he was somehow less interested in my life than he was before. This was the last thing that I wanted to talk about. I mean, if he really wanted to know how the game went, then maybe he should have shown up. However, I decided to suppress my anger for a later argument. “I didn’t play,” I replied. That got him to look up from his laptop. This was the first time we had made eye contact since I had sat down at the table. “You didn’t? Why would Coach Moore bench you?” he asked, slightly more interested. “Coach said I just wasn’t in the right mindset today. With everything that has happened lately….” My voice started to trail off. “He thought I could use a break.” “A break?” my father replied, his voice gaining aggression with each word. “If you are serious about playing soccer in college, then you don’t take breaks.” With that, my father slammed his laptop shut and left the dinner table. Times like this are when I miss Jacob the most. He was the tension breaker—always quick to crack a joke even in the times he was struggling with his health the most. “I don’t know why you insist on making him so upset all the time,” my mother snapped. She grabbed my plate and dumped the cold chicken and half-eaten spring roll in the trash. This was a typical dinner for my family now that Jacob was gone. A lot of silence, never-ending tension, and grief were the recipe for all of our arguments. I walked upstairs to my bedroom. I didn’t really see the point in staying downstairs when there was no one to talk to. Jacob and I used to sit on the couch and catch up on the latest reality television show we had recorded. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a fan of reality TV, but I was a fan of making fun of the people on reality TV. I hadn’t even thought about watching television until this point. Here’s the thing about watching someone die of cancer—I knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. To watch someone fight with every ounce they have left and then not win, to put it plainly, sucks. Jacob was the strongest person I had ever met. My family really struggled when

we were faced with Jacob’s diagnosis. The emotions then were the exact same, but one thing was different—Jacob was still here. How could it be that the person battling cancer was having to comfort everyone else around him? I paused in the doorway of my room, Jacob’s door directly across from mine. I proceeded into my room and shut the door behind me. I couldn’t bring myself to look toward his room. Pretty much everything in this house reminded me of him, but I had to see his door every time I walked out of mine. The door had been shut so long that I was sure if I cracked it even slightly the air that would rush out would smell just like him. Yet again, I could hear my parents arguing downstairs. This was also part of their nightly routine. I’m not going to pretend like their marriage was perfect before my brother’s death, but it definitely hasn’t gotten better since then. I mean, I don’t really know how my parents could understand what each other was going through emotionally because they never took a second to look up from their devices to talk about it. “Ron, I am tired of having this same fight!” my mother yelled. “I’m doing all I can, Julie. This isn’t exactly easy for me either.” “We’re all grieving, but you’re the only person who is taking their anger out on everyone else.” “I’m the only one?” my father said in disgust. “You started this fight!” There was a slight pause in the yelling, and I used this as an opportunity to consciously take a deep breath. However, my breath was cut short by the sound of the back door slamming shut. Shortly after, I heard the roar of my father’s truck engine start in the driveway. Typical. It’s not really worth my time to go check on my mom. She wouldn’t want to talk to me anyway. I grabbed my favorite book off my nightstand—1984 by George Orwell—and slipped in between my sheets. This was my third time reading Orwell’s novel, but I really never get tired of it. Something new catches my attention each read. This time, however, it was like reading any other book. About ten minutes in, my eyes started to glaze over, and I realized I was not really paying attention to the words on the page anymore. Instead, my mind kept traveling back to Jacob’s room, the way it must smell like him, and all of his things that are inside it just the way he’d left them. Part of me wanted to travel across the hall and spend time just sitting in his room, but the other part of me knew better and wanted to avoid the confrontation that would come from one of my parents discovering me inside. There’s a reason his door hadn’t been opened since he last left. I think my mom feels like if she leaves it the way it is, Jacob’s white ’99 Camry will come pulling in the driveway and he’ll trot in through the back door. Boxing up his room would be like actually accepting the fact that he’s gone, and I don’t think any of us were quite there yet. I put my copy of 1984 back in its spot on my nightstand and slowly walked toward my bedroom door. The door squeaked as I carefully pulled it open so as to not alert my mother downstairs. However, I noticed Jacob’s door was slightly ajar, and there was a beam of light streaming out into the hallway. I walked closer with caution. When I reached the threshold, I saw my mother hunched over and sitting in Jacob’s desk chair. “Mom?” My voice cracked as I spoke. I must have startled her, because she whipped around in the chair, wiping tears from her

“Lex…” Her throat sounded raw, probably from all the yelling. My mother has never been one for nicknames, and I’m not sure why she chose this moment to start. Before I said anything, I took a moment to think about the last time I heard someone call me that. Lex was Jacob’s nickname for me. The last time he had chemotherapy, I went and sat with him in his hospital room. He never really wanted to talk about his cancer, but I knew he wasn’t getting any better. Instead of lingering on his obvious deterioration, I just took his hand. “Love ya, Lex,” he muttered, still drowsy from the treatment.

I suddenly became aware that neither my mom nor I had spoken for a minute. We just stared at each other. “I… I was just coming in here to….” My voice trailed off as I searched for an explanation as to why I was in my brother’s bedroom. “It’s fine, Lex.” Again with the nickname. “Your father and I were fighting again.” She told me this like I couldn’t hear every word of the argument. “I thought that being in his bedroom would help speed up my grieving process, like I would gain some closure or some bullshit like that. When I came in though, I saw this note on your brother’s desk, and it all just became so real.”

I picked up the note. It read: Lunch with Lex. Thursday at noon. The feeling that came right after that is something I’ve only experienced on the soccer field, like having the wind knocked out of my lungs. I had forgotten about our lunch plans. He’d passed away a day before we would have gotten together. My mother placed her hand on my forearm, tears still streaming down her face. The thing I did next was so unexpected I don’t even think I knew I was going to do it until after it was already happening. I fell on my knees next to my mom and sobbed. She quickly wrapped her arms around me and stroked my hair. “I just miss him so much,” I cried. “I know. We all do,” my mother replied. “This just isn’t fair. He fought so hard, and for what?” I asked in anger. My mom just continued rubbing my back. I took that as a sign that she didn’t understand anything about this situation either, and in a way, it was comforting to know I wasn’t alone. I slowly released my grip and sat back to look at her. “What now?” I asked. “What do you mean?” “It’s obvious that our family functions differently now without Jacob. Do you think it will ever go back to the way it used to be?” My mom paused like she really needed time to think about the question I had just asked. “I don’t think it can ever be exactly like it was before,” she pondered. “We’ll find our new normal, eventually.” “Mom?” “Yes?” “I love you,” I said hesitantly, but truthfully. “I love you too, Alexis, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting recently, even

before Jacob passed away. I know I’ve been dismissive and distant. It’s not that I don’t care about you. It’s just that sometimes I don’t think I’m cut out for this mother thing. You’re so smart and so talented. I never really thought you needed me, and then this happened…” “It’s okay, Mom. I haven’t really tried being a supportive daughter recently either.” With that, we hugged again. This time it felt more normal. “Do you have a lot of homework to finish tonight?” she asked, breaking off the hug. “No, I was just in my room reading.” Her next sentence was interrupted by footsteps coming up the stairs. My father halted as he got to the doorway of Jacob’s room. His eyes were red and raw. I could only assume he had been out driving all this time. I looked at my mother’s face. She seemed surprised at my father’s timely return. “Um,” my father muttered. “I thought maybe you all would be up here. Something told me I should be too.” “I couldn’t get his room off my mind,” I said quietly. “Me either,” my mother agreed. My father took a few more steps into Jacob’s room and sat down on his bed. He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry for getting so mad at you earlier, Alexis. I haven’t really allowed myself to process everything with Jacob. I’ve been taking it out on you and your mother. Sometimes I just don’t get involved at all because I think it’s easier that way.” “I think we’ve all been doing that,” I answered. Several minutes passed before anyone spoke again. We just sat in Jacob’s room looking around, wishing he was there with us. My mom was the one to finally break the silence. “Do we want to go get some ice cream?” she asked hesitantly. This was very unexpected. I wasn’t quite sure who this question was directed at, but I hadn’t been out for ice cream with my parents since Jacob and I were kids. “Uh, sure,” I said back, still not quite convinced that spending this much time with my mother and father was a good idea. “Can ice cream be a part of our new normal?” I asked sarcastically. My mother just laughed. And with that, we got up and left Jacob’s room. This time, I decided that the door should stay open.