A Bright Road Ahead

When it came time to fill out our college applications, my family focused all their attention on my brother, who suffered from severe claustrophobia. My mother pored over the dorm room sizes at several universities in our city. "Let's just stay local," she said. "It's closer to home, and it'll be easier to take care of Cyrus." Maya Simmons, my girlfriend of three years, even changed her first choice, giving up a university where she had planned to study political science and law in favor of a local teachers college. "Don't worry, Mrs. Lockwood," she said. "I'll stay here and keep him company. I'll look after Cyrus for you throughout all four years of college." My father looked at her, visibly moved, and praised her again and again for being so loyal and devoted. Only after everyone had finished filling out their applications did they finally turn to me, still sitting off to the side. My mother spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Jasper, just apply to the special education program at the local community college." My father nodded in agreement. "Right. You're already used to playing nanny for him anyway. Study special education, and you can spend the rest of your life taking care of your brother." I stared down at the application in front of me as the cold feeling in my chest deepened. Chapter 1 For as long as I could remember, whenever danger struck, my parents' first instinct was always to shield my brother, Cyrus Lockwood. Maya was always the first to calm him down, too. Meanwhile, I was the "adult" who was simply expected to look after him. They always said the same thing: I was the older brother, so I had to give in to him. But this time, I didn't want to give in anymore. I clenched my fist and put down Noveria Engineering University, the school I had always dreamed of attending. The day after I turned in my college applications, my mother hired a car to take us to a church on the edge of the city to pray for blessings. To make sure Cyrus could breathe easily, she had specifically chosen the roomiest seven-seat van available. Cyrus had his own captain's chair in the middle row, with Maya beside him. Every so often, she checked his heart rate with a small device she always carried. They put me in the very back row, with candles, fruits, and bottles of water piled around my feet. I sat crammed into the narrow space and watched the trees slide past the window. I had long since grown used to it. Silverline Church sat at the top of 108 steep stone steps. The moment we got out of the car, my father stacked two crates, each weighing over 30 pounds, and shoved them into my arms. "You're strong. Carry them up. Watch your step, and don't damage the items inside." I took the crates, and the rough cardboard edges immediately rubbed my palms raw. The summer sun beat down on the stone path like fire. Cyrus had climbed only a dozen or so steps before he started gasping for breath, his face pale. My mother immediately told him to stop, sick with worry, while my father grabbed a fan and began fanning him. Maya knew exactly what to do. She pulled a cold sports drink from her bag, twisted off the cap, and held it to Cyrus' lips. "Cyrus, take a deep breath. Look at me. It's okay." Maya's voice was gentle and soothing. I stood three steps behind them under the blazing sun, hauling a load that must have weighed 70 pounds. Sweat ran into my eyes and stung painfully, but I couldn't spare a hand to wipe it away. It hadn't always been like this. When I was seven, my father had carried me up these very steps on his broad shoulders. He had smiled up at me and said, "Jasper, you're going to be a great engineer someday. Your old man has to lift you up high so you can see farther." Then everything changed. When I was nine, Cyrus and I were playing hide-and-seek in the alley. Some older boys, the neighborhood troublemakers, locked Cyrus inside an abandoned metal cabinet. By the time I found an adult to break the lock and get him out, he had been trapped inside for five full hours. After that, Cyrus developed severe claustrophobia. He couldn't go anywhere crowded or stay in tight spaces. The slightest trigger left him struggling to breathe. That night, in the hallway outside the ER, my father slapped me hard across the face. My left ear rang for three days afterward. "You're his brother! Why didn't you watch him? You've ruined your brother's whole life!" From that day on, I became the guilty one in the family. Every moment of fear Cyrus suffered became another entry in the debt I owed. Cyrus couldn't be startled, so no one in the house was allowed to make noise when they walked. Cyrus was afraid of enclosed spaces, so no door in the house was ever allowed to be locked from the inside. Even Maya, who had once promised me during our first year of high school that we would get into a university in Baronton together, had spent so much time caring for Cyrus that all her attention had gradually shifted to him. After considerable effort, we finally reached the church entrance. Just as I was about to set the crates down, my mother stopped me. "Jasper, you don't need to come in." She frowned at my sweat-soaked face and dust-covered shirt. "You reek of sweat, and you're covered in grime. Don't disturb the purity of the church. Cyrus is finally doing a little better, so just wait outside." Maya helped Cyrus step over the high threshold. She glanced back at me and said quietly, "Jasper, go rest in the shade. It's crowded in there, and Cyrus will get anxious." "Okay." That was all I said. I watched my parents, my brother, and my girlfriend disappear inside, then slowly lowered the crates onto a stone pedestal outside the church hall. Just then, my phone buzzed. A local day-labor broker had sent me a text. [Southside Building Materials Market. Need two truckloads of tile unloaded. 400 dollars for the day. You in?] I had 45 days left before I had to report to Noveria. I was still 4,000 dollars short of what I needed for tuition and a ticket on a long-distance train. There was no chance my family would give me the money. My father had already made that clear the night before. "Since you're going to the local community college, you'll commute from home. Take out a student loan for the tuition. The money we save can go toward a new phone and computer for Cyrus." At the thought of his words, I didn't hesitate. [I'm in.] I turned and started down the mountain. From inside the main hall, the chanting drifted out, solemn and full of compassion. They were praying for Cyrus to have a bright and peaceful future. As for the future that belonged to me, I would have to build it myself. Chapter 2 The work at the building materials market proved far more grueling than I had imagined. Dust mingled with the sweltering June heat, scraping at my lungs until they burned. After half a month, thick calluses had formed across my shoulders from the constant chafing. My once-fair skin had burned so dark it had begun to peel. Every night when I got home, I washed up as quietly as possible. Then I returned to my room, a kennel-sized space converted from a balcony that measured less than 45 square feet. There, I tucked the cash I had earned that day, bill by bill, beneath the mattress board. That afternoon, the contractor tossed me an address. "Jasper, this delivery's going to a nice apartment complex. Solid wood desk. You'll have to carry it up to the sixth floor, and there's no elevator. I'll throw in an extra hundred for the haul." I pedaled my delivery tricycle to the address, checked the unit number, and froze. It was Maya's home. I hauled the heavy wooden desktop up the stairwell, one flight at a time, all the way to the sixth floor. When the door opened, Maya stood there in her loungewear with a damp towel in her hand. The moment she saw me, her smile froze. "Jasper? Why are you... dressed like this?" Her eyes swept over my work clothes, caked with putty dust and mud, and her brow furrowed. "Didn't you say you were studying at the library?" Before I could answer, Cyrus' voice came from inside. "Maya, who is it?" Cyrus emerged from the study in a clean white T-shirt. He stopped when he saw me. "Bro? Why do you look like such a wreck?" "Delivery," I said flatly. I turned sideways and carried the desk into the study. Maya had decorated the room to feel warm and cozy. Soundproofing foam lined the walls, and soft, warm-yellow curtains hung over the windows. Maya followed me inside, reproach creeping into her voice. "Even if you wanted some extra pocket money, you didn't have to take a job like this. You're covered in dust. Don't you know Cyrus is sensitive to it?" I ignored her. I set down the desk and pulled the assembly toolkit from my pocket. The toolkit was made of old canvas, and its zipper tended to stick. I gave it a hard tug. With a clatter, the wrenches and screwdrivers inside spilled across the floor. Amid the sharp clang of metal, a silver fountain pen rolled out from the bottom of the bag. My father had bought it for me at the department store when I was eight, after I won first place in the city's children's essay competition. The cap bore an engraving: [To my son Jasper, a bright road ahead.] It was the only thing in the house that belonged to me and no one else. I had carried it with me ever since. The pen rolled to a stop at Cyrus' feet. In the quiet study, the sudden clatter of metal seemed deafening. He flinched violently as panic from his claustrophobia seized him. "Ah!" Cyrus clapped his hands over his ears. His face drained of color, and he stumbled backward. His foot came down hard on the silver pen. A sharp crack rang out. Maya shoved me aside and rushed to wrap her arms around Cyrus, whose entire body trembled. "Cyrus! It's okay. It's okay, I'm here. Take a deep breath!" Maya patted Cyrus' back, then turned and shouted at me in fury. "Are you out of your mind, Jasper? You know he can't handle sharp noises, and you knocked everything over on purpose? You're just upset because I bought him a desk and never got you one, aren't you?" Her shove sent me stumbling into the doorframe. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my shoulder. But I didn't look at her. I didn't look at Cyrus either. My eyes remained fixed on the pen lying on the floor, crushed out of shape. The cap had caved in. The words *a bright road ahead* had been scratched into an illegible scrawl. The ink cartridge had burst, and blue-black ink spread across the floor. Cyrus was still gasping for breath in Maya's arms, but his eyes remained fixed on me. A flicker of panic crossed his face. "I'm sorry, bro... I didn't mean to. I'll get you a new one." "Replace it? Don't be ridiculous!" Maya cut him off sharply. "How much could some cheap pen even be worth? He did it on purpose! Jasper, take your trash and get out!" I stood there and watched Maya shield my brother like a mother hen protecting her chick. The young woman who had once told me we would see the world side by side now looked at me with nothing but naked disgust. I crouched slowly and picked up the broken pen. Ink stained my fingers. I wanted desperately to ask her one thing. *Maya, do you remember our first year of high school, when you said there was nothing you loved more than watching me write with this pen?* The words rose to my lips, but I swallowed them. I packed up my tools one by one, then tossed the pen into the trash can outside the door. "Desk's assembled. Remember to leave a good review." I brushed the dust from my hands and headed down the stairs. Chapter 3 In mid-August, my family held a banquet at the biggest restaurant in town to thank Cyrus' teachers. Officially, it was meant to honor his high school homeroom teacher and school counselor. In reality, the banquet was a chance to show off to all our relatives. Cyrus had earned a solid SAT score, enough to get him into a decent four-year college. For a kid with a serious psychological condition, everyone considered it a miracle. And naturally, I became the waiter for the evening. Two tables filled the private room. I wore an old shirt that did not quite fit and moved back and forth between them, pouring drinks, handing out towels, and keeping a smile plastered on my face. My uncle raised his glass and heaped praise on my father. "Old John, Cyrus really had it rough. That kid's got good fortune, though. He's staying local, so you two can keep an eye on him every day." My father's face flushed with pleasure. He downed his liquor in one gulp and waved his hand repeatedly. "It's all thanks to the teachers, and to Maya here. She counsels him every day. Cyrus is a sensitive kid. He's going to study language and literature, then find a nice, stable office job." Nearby, my aunt cracked pumpkin seeds between her teeth. She glanced at Maya, who was peeling shrimp for Cyrus, then looked over at me in the corner with a jug of juice in hand. "Oh, what about Jasper? I heard the science exam was brutal this year. How did he do? Where's he headed?" she asked. The private room fell quiet for a moment. Every eye turned toward me. I tightened my grip on the jug of juice and said nothing. My father's smile faded slightly. He waved a hand as if shooing away an annoying fly. "Him? His scores were nothing special. I had him apply to the local community college for special education." "Special ed?" My aunt curled her lip in faint disdain. "That's the kind of job where you wait on people hand and foot. It's exhausting, the pay is low, and you have to deal with disabled kids every day. Can Jasper's temperament even handle that?" My mother cut in with complete certainty, "Why wouldn't he be able to? Jasper has been tough as nails since he was little. He's thick-skinned, not sensitive and fragile like Cyrus. "If he studies special ed, he'll pick up some professional caregiving skills too. Then he can take even better care of Cyrus. Between two brothers, one of them has always got to give a little more." "That's true. Jasper has always been able to endure hardship. This kind of work suits him just fine." The relatives murmured in agreement, then went right back to complimenting Cyrus on how nice his clothes looked. I stood in the shadows and listened as they picked apart my future. The truth was, I had earned a 1560 on the SAT, placing me among the top students in the state. My score was more than enough to make me a strong candidate for Noveria Engineering University, one of the country's top engineering schools. My acceptance letter had arrived three days earlier. I had buried it beneath the boards of my bed on the balcony. The university's emblem was stamped on that piece of paper, a symbol of the country's heavy industry. Beyond it waited the sea of stars that would become my future. Yet not one blood relative in that entire room had asked me a simple question: "Where do you want to go?" Not one of them cared about my scores, either. In their eyes, I was nothing more than an accessory to Cyrus, a piece they could arrange however they pleased. "Bro, pour me some juice." Cyrus' voice suddenly broke through my thoughts. He looked at me with the smug satisfaction of a child who had always known he was the favorite. I walked over and poured orange juice into his glass. My hand did not tremble in the slightest. I did not argue. I did not pull out my acceptance letter in a fit of hysteria and throw it in their faces. I knew that the moment I said anything, they would smother me with lectures about family duty and morality, accompanied by plenty of tears. They might even use Cyrus' condition as leverage to force me to withdraw. I set down the jug of juice and walked to the restroom at the end of the hallway. Once inside, I shut the door, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water over my face. Water dripped from my chin and struck the sink. I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, but my eyes were bright. "Not yet, Jasper Lockwood. Three more days. Get through these three days, and you'll be free," I muttered. Chapter 4 After the banquet ended, the guests dispersed. My parents took Cyrus and headed home first. I stayed behind in the private room to pack the last few unopened bottles of drinks into a bag. When I walked out of the restaurant, Maya was waiting for me at the bottom of the entrance steps. The summer night breeze stirred the hem of her skirt. She still looked like the same untouched, pristine girl I had always known. Unfortunately, her heart had already drifted 100,000 miles away. "Jasper," Maya called out to me, then stepped forward and pulled a small box from her bag. "A graduation present," she said softly as she held it out to me. I didn't take it. I simply looked at her calmly. A little awkwardly, she pressed the box into my hand. "It's a wooden keychain for good luck. I know you're upset. Your parents didn't show you much respect at the table tonight. "But try to understand them too. It wasn't easy for Cyrus to get into college. Today was supposed to be his day." I glanced down at the wooden keychain in my hand, the kind you could buy three for 10 dollars at any street stall. I almost wanted to laugh. Half an hour earlier, back in the private room, I had watched Maya give Cyrus the newest top-of-the-line tablet on the market, along with a stylus engraved with his name. When I said nothing, Maya's brow furrowed again, and her voice slipped into its usual lecturing tone. "Jasper, you shouldn't always be so petty about these things. "You've always been like a weed—tough enough to grow anywhere. You're tough, so it doesn't matter if you get shortchanged a little sometimes. "But Cyrus is different. His heart is made of glass. Even the slightest neglect could shatter him. "You're about to start studying special education. I hope you can grow up a little and start treating Cyrus' care as your responsibility instead of competing with him." That was the verdict she handed down to me. Because I never screamed in the dark. Because when I bled, I bandaged my own wounds. Because I never used sickness to hold anyone hostage. So I deserved to have everything taken from me, even love. A laugh suddenly escaped me. "You're right." Without another thought, I tucked the wooden keychain into my pocket and looked her in the eye. "Maya, take good care of him. I won't make a fuss about it." Maya froze for a moment, clearly surprised that I had given in so easily. Then she let out a relieved breath and smiled with satisfaction. "I'm glad you've come around." "Whatever makes you happy." I turned and walked into the night without looking back. … By the time I got home, it was already 11:00 p.m. The house was pitch-black and so quiet that all I could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall. They had all gone to sleep. No one had left a light on for me. By the glow of the streetlamp through the window, I stood in the middle of the living room and took one last look at the home where I had spent the past 18 years. On the wall behind the door were the height marks that tracked our growth from childhood. The red lines belonged to Cyrus. They continued all the way to age 18, with little notes crowded beside them, each one some variation of "Cyrus grew again!" The black lines were mine. They stopped at age nine. After that year, no one had ever cared enough to check whether I'd grown any taller. The umbrella stand by the entryway held three high-end folding umbrellas, one for each of my parents and Cyrus. Mine was an old black umbrella with a rib snapped by the wind and patched together with tape. It sat alone, crammed into the shadowy corner. A thermos sat on the dining table. Beneath it was a note from my mother. [Cyrus, if you wake up from a nightmare tonight, drink the chicken soup in the thermos to calm your nerves.] I had been hauling bricks at the building materials market since 7:00 a.m. that morning, then pouring drinks and serving at the restaurant that evening. Sixteen straight hours had passed without a bite to eat. My stomach was completely empty, and hunger had left me dizzy. Yet when I looked at that thermos of fragrant chicken soup, I found I had no appetite at all. I went into the cramped little room on the balcony and pulled my backpack, stuffed with loose cash, from beneath the bed board. My acceptance letter was carefully tucked inside a thick dictionary. I didn't take a single cent of my family's money or a single piece of new clothing. I walked over to the dining table and pulled the house key from my pocket. I set it beside the note my mother had written for Cyrus. Then I picked up my backpack, opened the front door, and stepped into the heavy darkness of the night. The lock clicked softly shut behind me. At last, I had closed the door on the cage they called home. Completely and for good.