The Rock

“Over here! Come look at it!” Alex called.

“I’m coming! Slow down!” My short legs tried to keep up with Alex’s, but he was too fast. He ran along the cliff’s edge, the wind whipping his blonde hair up and out of his face. Alex is my brother. He’s faster than me, stronger than me, but I have something that he doesn’t. I’m clever. My nose and cheeks were red from the cold, but that didn’t stop me. Winters here in Ireland are mild, but today there was something belligerent in the air. The grass tried to scratch my legs through my pants, every patch of mud striving to make me trip. I know this cliff well. My mother would take Alex and me to play in the summers, we would sit on her picnic blanket and eat the bread and meat that she had bought from the farmer’s market that morning. Alex and I would tousle around in the tall grass, every so often one of us would pop out victorious, that person was usually Alex, and wave at mom. She would smile, look up from her book, and wave back.

“Wow,” I breathed. The seagulls circled overhead, cawing and diving, the splashing sound of their wings on the waves was eerily tumultuous.

“Pretty spectacular right?”

Past the cliff, sitting on the beach, was a rock. Not just any rock though. It was purple, and shiny, and looked a bit warped, like something from another world.

“Where did it come from?” I asked. There was a pull deep inside of me. A wanting to be close to that rock. I didn’t like it one bit.

“I dunno. Me and a few of the boys found it yesterday. I wanted to come back and show you. Seems like the type of thing you would be into. Studying rocks.”

I grimaced. The thought was nice I guess, but still I didn’t want to be thought of as “the boy who likes rocks”. I’d rather be thought of as the smartest boy in the town, or something cooler.

“Let’s go down and check it out. You aren’t scared are you?” Alex teased.

I knew what he was doing. He always does this. Whenever I seem hesitant about something, he calls me chicken, even though staying away might’ve been the smarter thing to do.

“I’m not scared. Here. I’ll go down first.” I regretted saying that the moment the words flew out of my mouth.

There weren’t any stairs or a nice hill to go down to get onto the beach, but there was a creaky wooden ladder that the neighborhood boys had made last year. Ireland is just about as wet of a country as it gets, so wooden things never last long here. That fact made me nervous. I looked down the ladder into what seemed like impending doom. I turned around and put my feet on the first rung. It was slippery, and the wood step creaked under my weight. I took in a shaky breath. I slowly lowered my right foot onto the next rung, and the next. A strong gust of wind blew past me, the force nearly blowing me off the ladder entirely. My heart was beating faster and faster with each step down. I thought to myself:

“Don’t look down. You’ll freeze if you look down. Just keep going.”

Suddenly, after all 34 steps were taken, I could feel the rocky beach under my feet. I sighed with relief, my shakiness transferring from my body into the earth below me.

“Oliver move!”

While I was having this astral projection, watching myself calm down from the anxiety-inducing experience I just had, Alex had climbed down too, and was about to be on top of me. I scooched out of the way just in time, Alex’s big feet slammed on the ground where I had just been.

My brother was the lanky sort, with bright green eyes, blonde hair that was always a bit too long–our mom liked it that way. Said it made him look like a handsome surfer. He was pretty good looking, the girls at school would follow him around like moths drawn to the bright light that he was. And then there was me. A short, average kid, with close cropped blonde hair, (I liked mine neat), blue eyes, like my dad’s, and cheeks with just a bit too much baby fat in them for my liking. We looked so similar, but so different. Our mom would often call us the other’s name. Me Alex and Alex Oliver. She found it easier to just yell “Boys!” instead.

As we walked along the beach closer to the peculiar rock, Alex trudged ahead. It had started to rain lightly, and the droplets fell off of Alex’s face ever so elegantly. I ran a hand through my hair and felt that it was starting to dampen. I jogged a bit to keep up with Alex, I had fallen a bit behind, again the curse of my short legs.

We got to the rock, and that pulling that I had felt deep inside me was back, but it was stronger than before. I gulped loudly and looked over at Alex. Normally, he would’ve made fun of me for being scared. But he didn’t. He was looking at the rock with such greed and hunger in his eyes that it scared me. He smiled, but it wasn’t his smile. His smile was slightly lopsided and had a certain warmth to it when he did. This smile was the smile of a gambler when they finally beat the house. It was the smile of a drug smuggler when they saw the stacks of cash they were given for their goods. It wasn’t a good look on his face.

“Alex?” I asked, my voice trembling.

No response.

“Alex?” I asked a bit louder this time, tugging on his sleeve to try to get his attention.

Again, no response. The rock made another pull at me, and I turned to look at it. It was mesmerizing. It was iridescent and had so many shades of purple, from a light lavender to a rich royal plumb. It was a little blurry around the edges, and when I got closer to it to try to see it clearly, the blurriness was still there. I brought a hand up to my face, and it grazed my mouth on its way to rub my eyes. I felt that a smile had come over me, presumably because of the rock. It felt so unnatural, and I got the feeling I had to throw up. I tore my eyes away from the hypnotic rock, and ran to a tide pool where I could see my reflection. I looked old and tired, and my eyes burned. I dry heaved twice and then looked up. I felt a wash of confusion come over me, the sky had grown much darker in the time Alex and I had been looking at the rock. I checked my little digital watch that I had gotten for my 12th birthday last year. The little glow in the dark hands read 5:00 PM. It seemed as though minutes ago it had been noon. I tore my eyes away from my watch, looking back into the tidal pool. It was quite large, but the strange thing was that all of the little creatures in the pool had crawled to one wall. An urchin had even climbed out of its habitat onto the lip of the pool. It had dried out from the sun, and pieces broke off when I tapped it carefully. I looked to where the creatures had been trying to go, and it was a direct line straight to where the rock lay. Or layed. The rock was no longer on the beach, it was in Alex’s arms.

“Let’s take it home.” Alex rasped, his eyes still fixated on the rock.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Let’s just leave it where we found it.” I replied, stepping slowly towards Alex, my hands outstretched in his direction.

“No. We’re taking it home. Don’t argue.”

To my surprise, Alex looked up from the rock. He winced, as if it was hurting him not to look at it. His eyes were bloodshot, and they stared into mine with such ferocity that I had to look away. It was like he was a wolf, holding something that it had caught, and was prepared to kill me if I tried to take it. His eyes were slightly narrowed, his mouth was a thin line, and it looked like every muscle in his body was alert. If I had moved even an inch toward that rock, he would’ve tackled me. I was scared, I’ll admit. The way he was looking at me and how much he had changed from his loose, lanky self to being as tense and as tightly wound as a spring was terrifying. Alex was being consumed by this rock, and I didn’t know what to do. What do I care? I thought to myself. Alex can be obsessed with this rock and deal with it on his own. He can stare at it all he wants. A wave of nausea came over me once again, Alex had stepped closer with the rock in hand.

“Just leave it at the beach. Why do you want to take it home anyways?” I was nervous, but standing up to Alex was better than having to take that rock home with us. Alex’s face grew darker and angrier. He put down the rock gingerly and turned to me. I backed up slowly, scared at what he might do.

“We’re taking it home. If you get in my way, I’ll get in yours.” He hissed.

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

His eyes returned to the stone, and there they lay, fixated.

. . .

We walked along the paved road to our house, passing the dreary front yards of our neighbors. The houses were much prettier in the spring, with poppies and easter lilies in the window boxes below the open shutters, and Robins and Blackbirds flitting about in the trees. In the winter, it looked like a dark shadow had been cast over the town. The houses looked gray and grimy, the front gates swung about, creaking as the wind pushed them one way or another. The pathways to the front doors were lined by yellowed and soggy grass, and the trees that lined the street reached out with bare and brittle branches. A dog barked in the distance. It was probably Buster, the dog of the old man named Charles who was always reading in the coffee shop off of Grand Canal Way.

It was the coffee shop where my father had last been. He left us 7 years ago, when I was 5 and Alex was 8. We didn’t know where he had gone. His things were packed, he left 4,000 euros cash on the table in the dining room, but no note. My mother had been in such distress that day that Alex and I had to stay with our neighbor, Mrs. Paisley. She’s 57 and has a little yappy terrier that she worships. No husband, no kids. We came back to the house to find a pot on the stove with water boiling over, our mom’s room torn apart, and all of the pictures of our father taken down, most of which, I later learned, had been thrown in the fireplace.

This is what I thought about as I walked down the middle of the street, counting the houses until we reached 146 Barrack Street, ours. We pushed the dark oak door open and walked into the sound of Louis Armstrong on the sound system in the living room and the sound of banging pots and pans in the kitchen.

“Boys? Are you there? I was thinking chicken for dinner. Anyone terribly opposed to that idea?” I walked into the kitchen, the tiles cold even through my wool socks.

“Chicken sounds great,” I replied, watching my mother get out the cast iron skillet from the stove. My mother is a wonderful person. She has her own bookshop in town, fitting, because she’s always got her nose in one of the many texts she owns. Pride and Prejudice. To Kill a Mockingbird. Wuthering Heights. She has mouse brown hair, brilliant green eyes, just like Alex’s, and a smile that is so bright I swear she could blind someone with it. She’s young for a mom; she had Alex when she was 22, so that makes her 37 this year. She always tells us how she knew she wanted to be a mom ever since she was a teenager. She said that we were the best thing that ever happened to her.

“Oh! Oliver! Can you grab the salt off of the counter over there for me, my love?” She said, in her honey sweet voice.

“Sure,” I replied, thinking about what I was going to tell her about the rock–that Alex couldn’t take his eyes off of it. That’s when Alex came in. He looked around, grabbed potato chips from the pantry, pounded his feet all the way back to his room, and slammed the door.

“So what did you boys do today? Get into any mischief I should know about?” My mom asked, wiggling her thin eyebrows at me.

“Alex found a rock.” I said hoarsely, looking absently out the window over the kitchen sink.

“What? A rock?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you did? You were out for hours.”

“Well, we ran around and explored the cliff a bit,” I lied, shifting back and forth on my feet.

“Ah. Well, you must be hungry then. Grab those potato chips from your brother for me please. I don’t want him to not be hungry for dinner.”

“Okay.” I walked towards Alex’s room, ready to do battle. He always ate all of the snacks in the house, and it was a constant struggle to take them away from him. I put my left hand on the door, my right hand on the metal knob, and pushed the door open. There Alex was, sitting on his bed, eating potato chips, and staring at the rock. It had an eerie glow to it, painting purple shadows on Alex’s ceiling.

“Alex?” I asked, gulping loudly.

“What? I’m doing something. Can’t you see?”

“Mom wants you to give me the chips. She doesn’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

Alex took another handful from the bag and then shoved it in my face.

“Here. Take it.” I was in shock. Normally, Alex would’ve protested, and we would’ve ended up having World War III over that bag. He just handed it to me. Alex shifted positions, he was lying on his stomach now. In my mind, all that I saw was my brother, diving deeper and deeper into this thing, getting consumed totally and completely. I wanted to shake him out of it. I wanted to force him to look at me! My heart pounded in my ears, my breathing was ragged and shallow. Alex yawned and cocked his head. He pulled it closer to him, close enough that his nose was less than an inch away from it. He inspected it closely, and smiled. It was that smile again. He looked as though the only thing he needed in the world was that rock, and because he was the only person in the world that had it, he wanted to keep it forever. He looked at that thing with his bloodshot eyes, and the hunger that showed in his face made me want to smack him.

You’re being stupid! I thought loudly towards Alex. Can’t you see how obsessed you are? It’s pathetic! It’s just like with dad. He used to obsess over his research just the same as you’re obsessing over this rock!

I was fuming. Alex side-eyed me from his bed, looking at me like I was doing something strange. I was just standing there, my hands balled into fists, one almost crushing the bag of chips that Alex had handed me, my face was red and hot, and my chest was rising and falling intensely. So maybe I was doing something strange in his eyes. I unclenched my fists, turned on my heel, and walked out of Alex’s room. Just to annoy him, I didn’t close the door, and I heard him grumble curses under his breath as he slammed the door behind me.

. . .

That night, I lay in my bed on top of the sheets, staring hard at the ceiling. It had little green glow-in-the-dark stars on it that my mom got me for my 7th birthday. I always wanted a skylight in my room, so I could see those little twinkling lights before I fell asleep, but I settled for these instead. The glowing stickers went in and out of focus. In, out. In, out. I looked out of my open door across the way to Alex’s. The purple glow permeated from the sliver under his door, and almost looked like it was trying to reach mine. I sighed and got up out of my bed, padded across the rug, and closed it quietly.

. . .

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of my mom’s dark blue Nissan Qashqai pulling out of the gravel driveway adjacent to our house. I popped up and looked out the window over my desk. All I could see was her license plate fading in the distance. I yawned and stretched a bit. It wasn’t uncommon for my mom to leave without saying goodbye. My wristwatch read 7:45 AM; her bookshop opened at 8:00. She always likes to get there 10 minutes before opening, and since the center of town is a five minute drive, she leaves the house 15 minutes before. I walked into the kitchen and saw a note on the kitchen table. It read:

Boys,

I’m going to the bookshop. I will be there until 5:30 tonight, we have a book signing starting at 4:30 that goes for an hour. I made sandwiches for you in the fridge, you can have them at lunch. Don’t forget to feed the cat please, her food is in the cabinet next to the stove. Oliver, make sure your brother cleans his room, it’s a total mess. See you this evening!

Love Mom

I put down the note and looked around. I grabbed our cat’s bowl from the drying rack and reached in the cabinet to grab her food. I put two scoops in the bowl and put it next to her water dish. After that, I braved Alex’s room. The walk down the hallway seemed to take eons, or maybe I was just hoping it would take that long, Alex would’ve gotten rid of the rock in that time. I didn’t hear my cat’s little bell on her collar like I normally do, and I thought that was strange. Campbell was always hungry, and normally she would come running as soon as her kibble hit the bowl. I breathed in and out slowly. It was inevitable, I had to open his door.

There he was, sitting on his bed, still in his clothes from yesterday, staring at it. Campbell meowed at the rock, and rubbed her face against it. Not you too! I wanted to say. I held my tongue. Alex waved a hand at me, as if he was trying to shoo me out. I knew this hand motion all too well, it was my father’s favorite. After Dad would come back from his office, he would keep working on his computer after dinner, sometimes through it. Whenever I wanted to get his attention, or Alex and I wanted to play, we would be staring back at that hand, dismissing us so carelessly. This time, I wasn’t going to be ignored. I smacked Alex’s hand. Hard.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” he exclaimed.

“Mom said you need to clean your room.”

“You didn’t have to smack my hand to tell me that! God you can be annoying sometimes.”

I flinched at that.

“Just do it.” I said quietly, and left the room. I sat at the head of the dining room table with a bowl of cereal in front of me. After I finished it and put my bowl in the sink, I sat back down at the head of the dining table. What am I going to do? I thought. I have to get rid of it. How though? I tapped my fingers on the table lightly. I have to distract Alex, and then somehow get rid of it. Doesn’t matter how I get rid of it, but it has to go away permanently. I can’t let it lead Alex to leave us. His obsession has to stop.

I sat there, conjuring up a plan for most of the day. In between my plan-making, I flipped through channels on the tv, ate my sandwich, stared at Alex’s closed door angrily, and sat on my front doorstep, throwing rocks at squirrels that crossed my path. Throwing. Rocks. That’s it! I thought. I can throw the rock somewhere. Maybe it’ll smash into a million pieces, or even just break in half. I just have to get it away from Alex long enough to hide it. I had to do this tonight, while everyone else was sleeping. I had to get rid of it as soon as possible, and that was how I was going to do it.

. . .

My watch read 11:37 PM. I had my hat, my boots, and my coat by the door, all ready and laid out for me. I was wearing jeans, a sweater, and my wool socks. I crept out of my room, avoiding the creaky boards on the floor. I reached Alex’s door and pushed it open. He was sleeping on his side, next to the rock, one hand draped over the top of it. I tiptoed close, reached out a hand, and slowly shimmied the rock out from under his grasp. My lips became a straight line on my face. I stared at Alex for just a moment longer, crept backward out of his room, and shut the door. Yes! Now I just have to get somewhere where I can break it. I thought loudly. I put the rock down on the bench in the foyer of our house, put on my hat, coat and boots, and slipped out the door.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. I walked around the house to where my navy and red bike was kept, and entered the combination for the lock. Two, five, three. The lock clicked and my bike was free. I placed the rock carefully in the basket and started pedaling. I could barely see where I was going, and the fog that was hanging densely above me wasn’t helping. Still, I kept going. My throat hurt and my lungs burned from the cold air, but I managed to pedal as fast as I could to the start of the cliff. I ditched my bike, not even bothering to lock it up, and took the rock to the end. There were some gray stones at the edge, so I picked one up. I smashed it against the rock. Hard. Even though I looked small, I played soccer and had quite a bit of strength from the mandatory conditioning practices. A little piece chipped off. The corner of my mouth lifted, not a smile, but a small sense of accomplishment. I hit it again. Two small pieces broke off and disappeared into the grass below me. I heard something in the distance, it sounded like a bell on a bike. I turned around, but saw nothing. Just dense fog. I hit the rock again and again, and with each blow to the rock, a crack through the middle became larger and larger. I smiled. I was close. I just had to hit it one more time. Then it would be done. Alex would return back to normal, he would play with me again, we would go bike riding all through town, we would do all the normal things that came before this rock. I lifted my hand to hit it one last time, but as I brought my hand down, something caught it. I turned around. Alex.

“What are you doing?!” he yelled, throwing my hand down roughly. The stone in my hand bounced down the cliff and fell to the sea below. I had my back pressed against the cold ground, and Alex grabbed my arm again to keep me pinned.

“What am I doing? I’m saving you from this thing!” I yelled back, pointing at it. Alex glared at me intensely, deciding what to do.

“You don’t understand. That thing is mine. I found it, and I plan to keep it. Nothing will distract me from it. Not you or your pathetic little attempts to get it away from me.”

“You’re just like dad! You don’t see it, but everyone around you does. You are being consumed by it. You practically forgot you had a brother until I took it away from you!” Alex released his grip on my arm, and I scrambled back onto my feet. The rock still sat there, seemingly staring at us. We both turned to look; it was precariously placed on the edge of the cliff. I looked back at Alex, who was looking at it without the hunger he normally did. He shook his head and looked at the rock with disbelief, as if he was beginning to see it for what it really was–just a rock. His body was stock-still and rigid. His mouth was open, his eyes wide.

I studied him closely for just a moment, and decided that this was my chance. I pushed Alex away from the cliff, kicked the rock as hard as I could, and fell back on the ground, scrambling away from the edge. I heard a crack after a few seconds, evidence that it was gone. A sigh of relief escaped me, and I turned and looked at Alex. His face was blank, with a tinge of sadness. He looked at me, and in his eyes, he seemed lost. His mouth was slightly agape, and a tension that he had in his body had been released. His lips drew themselves into a line, he looked at me, he looked at the cliff’s edge, and stood up. He walked to the cliff's edge, the wind blowing back the hair from his cheeks, and he looked down to where it fell. All that was left was a single piece, sitting on the beach, in the exact spot where we had found the rock just a day earlier.

Silently, Alex climbed down the ladder and onto the beach. I watched him closely from above, squinting from the fog and the sea spray entering my eyes. I watched as he picked up the glowing shard, looked at it in his hand, and hurled it as hard as he could. It made a tiny plink! And I knew that it was all gone. He looked out to the sea, climbed the ladder, and got on his bike. Without another word, he pedaled toward home.