Henry

I was six years old when my mother stopped smiling.

At six I was just old enough to notice the absence of her laughter in the walls of our house. But too young to understand why she would always be wiping her eyes whenever I came into the room.

Old enough to tell that dad had stopped smiling as well. That his smiles were almost angry now. That I'd somehow learned to hide myself and my baby brother whenever he came home too late at night, stinking really badly. But too young to understand exactly what went on outside the closed doors of my room where I'd sit, holding little Nico to my chest, making sure that he would stay quiet, because mum had asked me to.

Old enough to tell that there were monsters in our house. Scary monsters. Loud and angry, which often left things broken in their wake. Left mum sadder as well. But too young to realise that the real monster was never the one hiding under the bed.

So, when I see Irisa in the car, her eyes haunted and her gaze lost, as if she were buried so deep inside the memories in her head that she couldn't even fathom how to begin to claw her way out to the light, I understand. I recognise the look in her eyes.

Because I'm not six years old anymore. I know what one looks like when they're fighting monsters that used to be real, but now only exist inside their own head.

Now, I stand with my phone clutched in my hand. I rewrite the text to Irisa a dozen times before I finally decide on just saying that I'm sorry, hoping that she understands what I mean. Hoping that it's enough. That it's a start.

I hit send and then quietly open the door to my mother's bedroom.

Mum has always been a silent sleeper, her snores ever so soft. With a mess of sheets crumpled over her legs, she lies curled on her side, one arm dangling from the edge of the bed. I smile and walk over to her. Pull the sheets up to her chin and carefully tuck her hand by her side. Then leaning down, I press my lips to her forehead and wish her goodnight in a whisper.

She hums in her sleep, her head burrowing deeper into the pillow. A small smile spreads across her lips, making the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and in the middle of her forehead almost invisible in the dim light.

And because I'm no longer six years old now, I know that people can also learn to smile again.

_____

On Wednesday morning, I come back home a little later than usual. When I climb in through my room's window and carefully lock the shutter behind me, I hear footsteps just outside of the room. Eyes wide, I leave my bag beside the wall and throw myself into bed, wrapping the sheets all the way up to my face. I've just closed my eyes when the door opens and I hear soft footsteps shuffling inside.

A hand caresses my face. "No use in sleeping now, love. It's time to wake up."

My breath catches in my throat, sending me into a coughing fit as I sit up abruptly.

"What-oh hi mum! When did you come in?"

My mother smiles at me in the way that only mothers know how to smile in, especially when they're staring at their children with that knowing look in their eyes. You don't fool me, that look says.

It is equal parts endearing as it is terrifying.

I cough a few times more.

"Get ready for school. I'll go wake up your brother."

When mum has walked out of the room, I sigh heavily and shake my head at the closed door. For a few moments I sit there to catch my breath, and then I walk over to my desk and boot up the computer. Taking out my camera from the rucksack, I connect it with the computer and then flip through tonight's pictures, looking for that one specific shot of the sunrise that showcases two distinct rays of sunshine shooting out of a tiny yellow spot on the horizon, spreading across an otherwise purple and red sky. Once I find the picture, I load it to full screen view and just stare at it for a few moments.

By now I must have taken over hundreds of pictures of hundreds of sunrises. And yet, each click is different than the previous one. Each sunrise is unique, each moment of the rising sun offering a new scenery, painting a completely new canvas.

After staring at the picture for a few more stolen moments, I press the command for the print of three copies. Just then my phone pings, notifying me of a new message.

Two new WhatsApp messages: Mates in Straits.

Lawaiza: morning fam! It's such a beautiful day today!

Irisa: Good morning 😊

I consider the new text for a heartbeat, and then take a picture of the computer's screen with the shot of the sunrise, and send it on the group.

Then I increase the number of copies to four and press print, and get up to get ready for school.

After breakfast, I help mum clear the table, then go to my room to get my bag. When I come back out again, I find Nico standing in the entrance to the open lounge, trying to tie his shoes. But he's wearing such a big scarf, haphazardly wrapped all the way around his neck and covering half his face, he keeps messing up the laces on his trackers.

Chuckling lightly, I walk over to him and put my bag on the ground. Then I kneel down and take the shoelaces from Nico's hands. He looks at me, startled, wavy black hair falling into bright green eyes, and I smile at him and shake my head.

"Here, let me, you goof."

"Thanks," he mumbles and gives me a small crooked smile that I barely manage to see from under the absolute mess of his scarf.

"That is not how you wear it," I tell him, hands reaching out to undo the knot on his muffler. "Besides, for God's sake, Nico, it's not even that cold yet. You were even wearing this thing around the house yesterday—"

"No, don't," Nico says, but he doesn't need to, because I've already seen his face.

He hurriedly wraps the scarf around his neck again, specifically around his chin, where there is a big, purple bruise.

I shoot a quick glance at mum, to find that she is busy scrubbing the dishes, and then I take a hold of Nico's arm and drag him to my room.

He groans and tells me that he'll run late to school but I firmly close the door behind me and turn around to look at him. He shuts up at once.

A few moments pass in tense silence and then he says, "It's nothing. I fell while playing football."

"Did you now?" I take a step forward and fold my arms across my chest, nodding toward him. "And I suppose you fell face first but only managed to bang your chin. Not scrape it, mind you, just bang the hell out of it."

When Nico doesn't respond, only hangs his head further, I walk over to him and shake him by his shoulders. "Look at me, Nico! What happened?"

He mumbles something unintelligible.

"What?"

"I said it's Nicholas," he says, finally raising his head to look at me, green eyes flashing. "Not Nico. And no, I didn't fall, okay?" He shoves me away so that my hands fall from his shoulders. "I got in a fight."

"You got—" I shout, then stop and turn around to make sure that the door is closed. Then I say again in a heated whisper, "You got in a fight?"

"It wasn't my fault! The other kid started it!"

"It doesn't matter who started it! You're 13 years old, you shouldn't be fighting with anyone like this, no matter whose fault it is!" I gesture toward the door with my hand. "What the hell do you think mum will feel like when she sees this?"

He scoffs. "I think she's pretty used to seeing scars and bruises."

His words hit me like a sack of bricks, leaving me speechless and dumbfounded, my hands rolled into tight fists at my side.

He shakes his head, then walks past me and toward the door.

"Nico, stop," I say in a quiet but firm tone.

I turn around to find him with his hand on the doorknob. Taking in a few deep breaths, I walk over to him, grab him by the shoulders and turn him around to face me.

"I'm sorry," I say before he can start talking.

Nico freezes, his mouth hanging open in an O-shape. His eyes become guarded for a second, before his body relaxes and he hangs his head a little, breathing out deeply.

I realise that he wasn't expecting me to apologise, and the realisation hurts almost as much as the thought that I haven't been able to protect my little brother. Not from the monsters back then when we were little, and not even now.

"I'm sorry too," he says after a short while.

I grip his shoulders a tad bit firmer so that he looks at me. "What happened?" I ask again, in a calmer tone this time. Not accusatory, but understanding.

Instantly Nico frowns at me, his face sad. "I swear it wasn't my fault, Ry. This kid was making fun of me and my friend, and I didn't know what to do so I started to walk away. But then he hit me, and-and I hit him back and then it turned into a fight..." His voice fades off at the end of his sentence and he hangs his head once again, averting his gaze from mine.

"Nicholas, look at me," I say. When he does, I lean down to level my eyes with his. "In this family we don't use violence. And you know very well why that is." An array of images, of broken bottles and cruel smiles and angry remarks flood through my mind, but I push them back and focus on the sad and bruised teenager standing in front of me. "But that doesn't mean that we let other people walk over us. We just use words and actions over our fists. So next time that punk, or any other sod for that matter, messes with you," I shoot him a smile, "You go to a teacher. Or any adult. Or you tell that kid off yourself, if you can safely. Or you come to me and I'll take care of it."

"Okay," Nico says quietly.

"Okay? You sure? I need some conviction here."

He snorts and shoves me away, swatting at my arm. "Yeah, alright. I got it. Words over fists. Will remember it now."

"Good lad," I say. "And that really isn't how you tie a scarf, man, please. It's embarrassing that my only brother doesn't even know how to tie a scarf properly."

"Hey!" Nico protests, but lets me knot his scarf the right way around. When I'm done, he thanks me, then hits my arms because I've probably made him late for his bus and now the bus driver will tell him off. As he opens the door and starts to run, I grab the back of his collar and yank him back, flicking the backside of his head.

"I'll talk to your bus driver," I say as he rubs his head and scowls at me.

In the lounge, as Nico shouts I love you to mum before running out the door, I walk over to her and hug her goodbye. When she turns around, going back to scrubbing the countertop and humming to herself, I slip out a copy of the sunrise from my back pocket and slide it under the pineapple shaped magnet on the fridge.

Stepping outside of our house, I zip up my jumper and walk over to Nico waiting beside his bus with my hands stuffed in my pockets.

Ironic or not, it actually has gotten a little chilly.

"Hey," I wave to the middle-aged man sitting behind the wheel. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and squints at me. I offer him my sincerest smile. "Sorry for the hold-up. I needed him for my school project."

"Yeah, yeah," the man says, waving his hand at me in a dismissive manner. "Just don't be late again."

"Absolutely never," I agree. When Nico grins at me before climbing into the bus, I wink at him, then tap my chin and give him a stern look. In return he gives me a thumbs up just as the bus's hydraulic doors close shut with a whoosh.

Later that day in school, we all sit down for lunch outside in the school garden, because Irisa likes the greenery and Aiza loves the cold, and John and I are smart enough to keep our mouths shut and go along with whatever the girls say.

"Did you guys see the sunrise this morning?" Aiza asks all of a sudden, head tilted up to look at the overcast sky. "It was legit red."

"I think we should head inside..." John says, casting a worried glance at the quickly thickening clouds.

"Shush," Lawaiza tells him, then taps Irisa on the arm to show her a specific cloud she thinks looks exactly like a smiling emoticon. When Irisa says that yeah, she sees it too, I can't tell if she's serious or not, but the soft smile on her face seems real.

My lips tug up at the corners to mirror hers.

"Oh," I say, suddenly remembering. I pull out the printed pictures of the sunrise and hand everyone a copy. "I took these today."

"Ry, this is so beautiful!" Aiza exclaims. "See, the sky was red."

John snorts, looks at the picture and then looks at me. "Man, I truly treasure these pictures you give us, I do, but just know that whenever I get married or have some ceremony or shit, you'll be covering the event for me. And I won't pay you."

"Ah, that's okay. I'll just steal the cake," I say.

Then, at last, I give the final copy to Irisa. At first her eyes go wide, her lips parting in surprise. Her hand doesn't move to take the picture until I tell her that it's for her, and then she flushes, fingers quickly reaching out to grab the picture which she then turns around and stares at for a good, long minute.

Her blue eyes drink in the colours of the sunrise, and somehow, I can tell that the thing she loves the most is the beam of sunshine, discreetly bright against the darkly coloured sky.

She looks up at me and smiles. "Thank you."

Just then the skies open up and rain pours down.

John lets out a yelp and jumps up, but Aiza grabs a hold of his bag, refusing to let him leave. She laughs and yanks his bag away, hugging it to her chest as she starts spinning around.

Irisa stands up, hands held out, fingers spread apart, eyes tracing the raindrops dancing on her skin. When Lawaiza drops John's bag and holds out her hand to Irisa, she takes it and then both the girls start spinning wildly, their laughter loud and infectious.

Soon I'm on my feet as well. Together we all jostle John until he gives in, his scowl melting into his usual grin. Then we're all laughing, rain water pattering over our faces, drenching our clothes, grass squelching beneath our feet. It is dirty and loud and wet. But it's fun, and it's the hardest I've laughed in a while. And it's the only time so far that I've seen Irisa laugh.

When a teacher comes, stopping just behind the shade of the building, and shouts at us to come back inside at once, we pack up our things amidst a slew of giggles and snorts. Standing dripping wet in the school hallway, as we receive a scolding, we shoot each other surreptitious glances filled with mirth.

Then Irisa and I catch each other's eyes, and we smile. Our guards down, for the first time.

And I revel in the confirmation that yes, everyone can indeed learn how to smile again.