MATT IS UP EARLY. THERE IS PLENTY OF TIME TO GET READY for school, but he doesn’t know if he will go. Unlike most other mornings, most of his life, he has an urge today to go to school. He wants to be there. He wants things to be as usual. If he could go back and start over, he thinks, he would do it right this time. He would be good in school, and happy, and Eric would not be missing but would be here this morning, also getting ready for school.
The bathroom is quiet. Matt has walked in and walked over to stand at the window without turning on the light. Barefoot, he stands on the cool floor, beyond the new blue rug. His mother is in her room, asleep he imagines. There is no pushing or jockeying for toothpaste or for the sink or toilet this morning, even if it is early. It’s so quiet. It’s hard to believe that he would prefer the pushing and grabbing and their quick tempers to this stillness and aloneness.
The lower half of the window is bubbled. He stands where he can look through the upper half, beside the old manila-colored window shade. He sees chilled air, first light coming into the gray sky.
He looks back to the sink, thinking to see Eric’s toothbrush gone. Eric’s toothbrush is not gone, though. It’s there next to his own, in Eric’s chosen color of blue. It means that Eric is gone against his wishes, and that he is hurt and cold out there somewhere. Matt stands next to the window and realizes that he just doesn’t know what to do. He is never up early like this. He has no idea what to do. None. In the only such appeal of his life, he thinks, says to himself, God, if you exist please let Eric come home. He feels no hope as he stands there, though. He feels little more than guilt, and this new desperation which will not leave him alone.