April 10th, 1967

Daisies. His favorite flowers had always been daises. I had picked up a fresh bouquet from our special spot just for him.

It's been a year since my younger brother died.

Every other Saturday I go to his grave to check up on its condition, and to clean up the area. I'd spend hours on end sitting beside the stone, simply talking as if Jesse Reynolds was still alive and breathing; I felt somewhat relieved yet at the same time discombobulated when I did this, it just wasn't right that he wasn't around. He didn't deserve to die at such a young age, he had just turned twelve when he died. And it was all thanks to cancer.

I reckon it was my fault as well, for I couldn't afford the best treatments to help him. Yet I did what I could, I worked as much as I possibly could and did extra shifts, and I went to high school full time and did my best to get good grades. My mother left us when I was ten years old, and my father was always too high, drunk, or hungover to do much of anything except sit on the couch or party. It was my responsibility to take care of him and to tend to the house, bills, school and my father. So when Jesse was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of ten, I knew for an obvious fact I had failed; and I knew my mother was disappointed. My father was as well I bet, yet his state of mind is so blank he's oblivious to the world, so I'm not really sure if he knew what was happening all around him. I realized he knew about Jesse's death. He cried that day.

As I looked around the somber looking graveyard, I realized nothing changed, and I felt relief. My grip on the stems of the bouquet tightened, my palms clammy with perspiration and my knuckles turning pasty white. No matter how many times I visit his grave, I always feel this way. The knot in the back of my throat grew bigger, and my heart began to race. I hated this feeling so much. It wasn't seeming to get easier. I took a deep, quivering breath. No. I wouldn't repeat a few months ago. I still can't really be left alone.

My eyes were clouded over, and I nodded reluctantly as I began to step into the graveyard, towards my free brother's resting place. I couldn't stand to see his name engraved on a somber looking stone, it just wasn't settling with me. My eyes wandered as I made my way to the now familiar grave. There was a map in the back of my head, so I now knew where exactly to go.

I was purposely slowing my steps as I began to near one of the places I dread the most. The wind began to pick up and the early spring breeze felt cool against my ivory skin. My hair was flowing all over the place, and repeatedly fell into my eyes. Yet even through my hair, I could see his grave a little ways ahead of me. I swallowed the knot in the back of my throat as I tucked some strands of my hair behind my ear, and I had abruptly stopped walking.

My heartbeat began to accelerate as I found myself right in front of the grave. 'It's been one year...three hundred sixty-five days since he left this world...' I took a deep breath. I had to be strong, and I couldn't break down. My hands began to shake as the wind stung my bare skin; I sighed softly and nodded to myself, stepping closer to the grave.

"Hey, kiddo..." My voice was soft and meek as usual, and fortunately I managed to not shed any tears yet. "How's heaven? Are they treating you good up there...?" Silence. I didn't mind though for I knew nobody would answer me. "It's been a year...I miss you...I miss you a lot, Jes..." I knelt down directly in front of the grave and gingerly placed the bouquet down onto the soil. "I got these for you, from the same place as before; remember? The field hasn't changed a bit, you know..."

I smiled grimly down at the engraving of his name. 'Jesse Reynolds - April 2nd, 1954 - April 10th, 1966 ' I couldn't afford to have something else carved into the stone, yet if I was able to- I'd just have 'Fly free' on it, for his intruiging fascination of birds.

I held my breath for a few moments, my jaw tightly clenched and my fists slowly clenching and unclenching. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. He was all I had, I can't accept the fact that he's gone, it's just impossible. I yearned to see his youthful face again. I wanted to hold him close and repeatedly say to him over and over that it will be ok. That I will protect him, no matter the circumstances. I wanted to be his sister again.

But he's gone now. And it's too late.

I willed the tears away, yet my throat had a large knot in it and my eyes were burning. I had to control my urge to collapse and sob on the ground. I couldn't be weak. Why were these thoughts coming back to me? Why?

Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
Failire.
Failure.

It was my fault. I should've dropped out of school and got another job. I should've tried harder. I should've been able to afford the best doctors and the best medications and treatments there were. But, I couldn't.
And it's one of the reasons I wake up every single day hating myself.

I remained there for a few more minutes, time seemed to go by ominously slow, and I was wondering why it was so quiet. It was never this quiet when Jesse was still breathing. He wasn't the most intelligent kid, yet he was just fascinated with everyone and everything. He asked questions not even the brightest people could answer. He was spontaneous, sociable, and stood up for what he believed in. He also loved sports. Soccer to be exact. He wanted to be a soccer coach he used to always say. It was a mixture of two things he adored: athletics and helping others.

I missed him. A lot.

I bowed my head down when I felt a drop of rain hit my face, and soon enough it went from sprinkling to down pouring. My body didn't react to it for I felt absolutely nothing.

Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.

Tears welled up in my eyes. That same exact word in my head. Repeating itself. Over and over again like a mantra. It wouldn't stop for anything, and the chanting grew even louder in my head. I wanted him back. Yet I knew he was in a better place now. Why was I so selfish?

I knew that running away would be cowardly, yet I knew just staying here would be worse. I couldn't do anything because I was nothing.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently turning me around. In front of me was Sodapop Curtis, standing in the rain by my side. He looked at me, his eyes holding empathy and sorrow; he knew the day as well. I didn't know why he showed up, yet I was too flustered and distracted to even ask or respond to him being in front of me. "Willow..." he didn't have to say anything else.

I wrapped my arms around myself, bowing my head down and closing my eyes, allowing tears to finally shed after so long. Fears that he'd look down on me or leave flooded through my brain, yet the complete opposite happened. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, holding me as I quietly cried; trying my hardest to grow up.

I deserved all this pain. I deserved to suffer. Why am I crying? Why do I even care?

"Hey, I'm here...I'm not leaving you, and you're not leaving me..." I managed to nod, although I wouldn't keep that promise. I'd just wreck him like I do everyone and everything else. "I mean it, Willow." "I know..." my voice was softer than usual as I buried my head in his chest, my body racking with sobs.

And the entire time, he was there.

And I couldn't be anymore grateful for Sodapop Curtis.