Shallow Creek

After a few miles on the state highway, the procession of vehicles started to break up, with teenagers making their turns to head to homes on different sides of town.  Brendan followed along until his left turn appeared suddenly in the dark.  Adhering to procedure, he flicked his blinker on and made a hard left into the gap in the wide median.

The next sequence of events always got a bit blurry for Brendan.

Grant punched him in the shoulder, hard.  That much he remembered for sure.  Brendan had turned to admonish his drunken idiot of a brother, and in doing so had failed to yield to the oncoming truck darting towards them on the opposite side of the highway.

The impact was so damn loud.  That was what Brendan recalled the most.  Grant’s pickup spun wildly and settled in the middle of the grassy median, engine dead and silent.  He didn’t find out until later, but none of the other kids flying by on the highway stopped to help, or even to check on them.  They’d all been terrified of parents or cops finding them drunk.

The only help came from the driver of the other truck, who’d managed to slam on the brakes just enough to not end up dead himself.  He wasn’t from Shallow Creek.  He was passing through on a late call to a land-based oil rig.  Brendan couldn’t remember what he did, couldn’t even remember his name.

But he remembered his face.

His vision was blurred and he had that hopeless feeling of being lost, despite knowing exactly where he was.  His brain quickly tried to churn through the options of what to do next, but all of them ended with a fourteen-year-old kid facing a world of trouble, and soon.

But the man hadn’t been pissed.  He’d carefully helped Brendan from the battered pickup, and he’d set him on the grass before checking on Grant.  The man had then immediately run back to his truck to call the fire department.

The next couple of days zipped by, but that didn’t mean they were easy.  Grant suffered a shattered leg and a cracked pelvis in the wreck, landing him in traction.  Brendan’s impotent claims that he’d been the one who’d forced Grant to put his damn seatbelt on satisfied no one, especially his own father.  Yes, Brendan could admit even to this day that he’d screwed up that night, but he also took responsibility for saving his dumbass brother’s life.

At the end of a tough week, doctors ruled conclusively that Grant wouldn’t just miss his senior season, but he’d never play ball again.  All eyes had turned to a lowly young teenager huddled in the corner of the room; a teenager who’d tested positive for alcohol in his system after a car crash.  That whole thing was bullshit; he’d had one damn beer, but of course, that’s not the piece of information anyone cared to remember.  As the story burned across town, his blood alcohol content doubled and tripled and more.  The residents of Shallow Creek liked a good story, and they created one.

Brendan hadn’t cried at the announcement of his brother’s fate, but after the first day of school, with hundreds of disappointing kids relentlessly tormenting him, Brendan had broken down in his room, sobbing his heart out.

Surprisingly, his father had shown up.  Brendan had braced himself for a beating, assuming that was the reason for his dad’s visit.  Instead, Darryl Rhodes had instructed his son to man-up and accept the consequences of his stupidity.  He saw no reason to discipline Brendan any further, since he knew how cruel his high school years would be, but by the same token he would not move the family to a different school just for his son’s stupid mistake.

Brendan and his dad enjoyed a strained relationship throughout high school, but it was nothing compared to the vindictiveness endured at the hands of his brother.  Grant never really spoke to Brendan again, and definitely never defended him against the various forms of assault brought upon him at school.  It all came to a head when Brendan started his own senior year.

The varsity football coach had made it perfectly clear Brendan would never play for him, so Brendan had given up on his passion early in high school.  He saw no point in pursuing it if the ultimate goal was unachievable.  Plus, the other players hated him, even the ones who’d never even met Grant.  They all knew that Brendan had blown everything.

So Brendan had been confused when Grant showed up drunk one night, bitching him out about his senior season.  As far as Brendan was concerned, he’d suffered enough for Grant’s ill-fated decision to let his fourteen-year-old brother drive all those years ago, but Grant was juiced up for a fight.

Grant beat Brendan mercilessly, leaving blood splattered on the kitchen floor.  Brendan was a late bloomer and nowhere near strong enough to defend himself against the furious onslaught built up over three years.  He’d curled up on the floor as his brother waylaid him for what seemed like forever before his dad rushed in and threw Grant across the room.