Ghosting my Way in to the Afterlife by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

It comes back to me.
In that vividly liquid way the past 
spills over the present.

Something forgotten,
shoved away in some compartment.
Now experienced again.
In dream this time, but so real
the fear returns.

My mother is sitting on that blue couch
along Meadowland Avenue 
with my little brother.

She makes an unreasonable demand
and my brother says something vaguely sassy in retort.

My father leaps across the room 
and slaps my little brother twice across the face
in anger.

He has got my mother by mistake in his rage.
She is touching a mark on her cheek
while my little brother wails.

I am his older brother, his protector.
But I am also 12 years old, my father’s son.

Standing shirtless in the hallway by the front door,  
I start pacing with confusion.

My shoulders hunch up and my arms tighten.
Pacing like some territorial baboon.
Making myself look bigger on instinct.

My mother watching me the entire time.
I can see in her eyes that she expects me to attack my father.
My brother is swollen red and in tears.
I don’t know what to do so I walk through the wrap around kitchen
and back into the living room from the other side.

Perhaps I just don’t want my mother looking at me anymore.
It allows me more room to pace in confusion.
My father says nothing, his back turned.
He is standing menacingly over my brother.

I am backlit by the window behind.
I can feel the sun searing the back of my neck.
It must be late in the afternoon.
The sun always set in the backyard on Meadowland.

I jump towards the couch and grab my brother away.
What the hell?, I hear myself saying.
Nobody says anything.
I lead my brother up to safety.
Close the door to my room behind us.

He has stopped crying now.  
I give him a tissue for the snot
and wet a cloth to hold to his face.
Cold water might sting, so I make the water tepid.
It can’t be hot, I know that much.

He is laying stretched out on the bed.
Cloth to face.
I feel as though I have failed him in some horrible way.
That I am his protector.
Even though I think I have done the right thing.

My little brother says nothing.
His face is red and snot keeps rolling
down his face.

I failed you, I mutter.
If you want me to get them back, I will.

My brother takes the cloth off his face.
Sits up as though he is thinking about it.

I’m supposed to be your protector,
I will get them back if you want me to.

My brother says nothing.
They will put us in foster homes.
Probably not together.
They may even put me in jail.

I am trying to think things out loud.

My brother sobs lightly.
Says he doesn’t want that. 
I admit that I don’t want that either.

My father knocks at the door.
He apologises, says it won’t happen again.
I stand silent beside the bed.
Unable to look at him.

Then he leaves.
I wake up 30 years later.
Slick with sweat.
That heavy feeling of failure all around me.
Still ashamed.
Uncertain of what I should 
have done.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly,The Rye Whiskey Review, Outlaw Poetry Network, Under The Bleachers, The Dope Fiend Daily and In Between Hangovers.