“Collin? Oh, there you are. I need you to come to the garage”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, dad.”

Collin watched from the willow tree as his father turned around and headed for the door. The garage was where his parents smoked, and where they had important discussions as a family. Collin didn’t know what to expect, but he dreaded the thought of another “family meeting”. He really wasn’t in the mood for talking, at least, not with his family. He took one final deep breath and stood up. He had been sitting down on the ground with his back against the thick trunk of his family’s willow tree with the branches surrounding him, like a beaded curtain in a fortune teller’s shop. He didn’t normally sit there, or really even go in his backyard at all, but a nostalgic feeling called to him from the drooping branches swaying in the wind. He looked around reminiscent of his childhood spent playing by the tree and in the grass and swimming in the pool, but it was time to go inside. He walked towards the withered gray steps of the back porch. After summiting the steps he looked to his right, to the abandoned above-ground pool; now dark green and teeming with algae and swimming bugs. From the deck he could get a good view of the whole yard. Just past the pool stood a towering playset with a torn cloth roof. He was reminded of days spent playing on the swingset. He didn’t like the swing on the right. The chain covering was sticky. And just to the left was the shed. The shed reminded him that he would have to mow the lawn soon. And so he went inside.

He walked in and went straight for the big, steel garage door. First knocking and waiting for a response. He got the “okay” and entered. The garage was unfinished. The walls and ceiling were painted white with big brown blotches all around. Metal shelves cut the two-door garage in half, holding the dusty trinkets and encouraging cobwebs. No cars here. The steel door opens up to a set of 3 wooden steps. In front of those steps, a desk and computer, and to the right, a square foldable table. His father at the desk. His mother at the table. His sister somewhere in between.

“Take a seat.” his dad said as he motioned towards the steps. There were no available chairs so the steps leading towards the door would have to do. Well, Collin thought, I wasn’t planning on standing.

“Collin,” he said “Grandma has been sick, we talked about this a while ago, didn’t we?”

Collin nodded in agreement. Oh, God. I don’t want to talk about this. Please stop. he thought. Collin already knew what he was about to say.

“Well Grandma’s brain tumor- Grandma died last night. At around 9pm. Your mother and uncle Dave were there with her…”

He trailed off. Collin couldn’t concentrate on what his dad was saying. He could only nod along and act as if he were conscious. Collin wasn’t sad; they had known for months that she was going to die, and they thought she wouldn’t even make it to Christmas. It was mid April. Collin had no reason to be sad. He had accepted the loss months ago. But that didn’t mean that he could listen to them talk about her. Collin’s dad then handed the torch off to his older sister, Barbarra, to let her talk about how she felt. She was already crying. He couldn’t stand it; it was all fake. Why is she crying, we knew this was coming he thought. Even his mom wasn’t crying and she felt the loss the most. Just shut up. Stop, please. She talked about her favorite memories with their grandmother. Shut up, please. Stop talking you stupid phony. Just shut up. Why do you care now? You should’ve cared when she got the tumor. Shut up. Collin was so riled up that he was covering his ears and looking at his feet, anything to not have to listen to her. There was still mud on his feet from the backyard. It had dried up.

“Collin? Are you even listening?”, his dad asked, “Collin?”.

Collin looked up at his family. They were all staring at him. “Can- Can I just go inside?”

“Why? This is serious, Collin”, his dad said.

Collin snapped back, “I just don’t want to talk about this right now, okay? Can I just go? Please?”

His family looked shocked, but they agreed to let him go. He stood up and left. Barb spent the next few days “sad and upset” and “alone” and “feeling like something was missing”. When he would call her on her bull, she would resort to personal attacks, like: “It’s not my fault you’re heartless?” and “It’s not bullshit, Collin. Grandma was a big part in my life. Sorry you didn’t feel the same way”. No she wasn’t. And he did. A long time ago. But this started to eat away at Collin. He often thought about why he didn’t care and if he was wrong for “not caring”.

Exactly one week after his grandmother’s death, Collin’s parents went to the will reading. They left Barbarra and Collin alone at the house. Barbarra made comments all throughout the day about how sad it was that their grandmother died and how sad she was and how the world is sad and sucks. She thought she could get Collin to “release his feelings” as if he were hiding how sad he really was. But he wasn’t sad. Eventually they started watching TV. Collin wanted to start season six of his favorite show Psych. A show about a psychic detective solving murder mysteries with his friend. He started the first episode of season six with glee. “I don’t want to watch this. It reminds me of Grandma, can you turn it off?”

Collin was flabbergasted. He almost forgot how to speak. “How does this remind you of Grandma? You’ve never even seen the show,” he exclaimed. Barbarra stared him dead in the eyes and told him that detective Juliette looks like their grandmother. “You’re so annoying. Oh my God, I- I think I hate you, holy shit. There’s no way in hell that she looks like Grandma… Oh my God, you’re so stupid. Why are you trying to antagonize me? Just let me be. Stop bringing up Grandma. Stop talking about how “sad” you are. Just stop. Just… please…stop.”

“Collin, I’m just trying to get you to feel-”

“Well,” he interrupted, “you suck at it, so just shut up.”

“Collin-”

“I said shut up,” he yelled.

“Fine” she said under her breath.

“I said shut up. Shut up means shut up; don’t say “fine”; don’t say “okay”; don’t say anything, just shut up.” he barked.

“Okay, I get it.”

Collin clenched his fists in anger, his knuckles turned white and the veins on his forehead and arms almost bursted out of his skin. “I said shut up!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He turned and reached for the back door and ripped it open, barley turning the knob, and slamming it shut behind him. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to maim her. He wanted to utterly destroy her, tear her to shreds, the list goes on and on. He sprinted across the yard to the shed. He fiddled with the lock trying to get it open. “Stupid tin shed with this stupid lock and these stupid doors and this stupid, rusty, tin roof.” He threw the sliding doors open and went right for the axe in the bucket of tools. He was so focused on the axe that he smashed his forehead on the top of the door and recieved a long gash above his right eyebrow. The tools sat together in the bucket and their handles overlapped one another essentially tangling them. Barb watched from the door as he ripped the axe from the bucket and turned to face her direction. She trembled with fear and fell back tears streaming down her face. “Stupid piece of crap, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her” he mumbled to himself as he walked. He was going towards her, this was it. She’d pushed him too far. But, he passed the door.

He went right up to the willow and drew the axe back for a mighty swing. “Why,” he shouted as he swung the axe towards the trunk. But the axe dragged along the long droopy branches of the willow tree and slowed and turned the axe. The axe bounced right off the tree. This of course exasperated Collin even more. He held onto the axe tight and with a lazy, almost drunken swing cut the branches behind and around him. He then focused on the tree again. He brought the axe up. “Why,” he shouted as he swung the axe towards the trunk. He drew the axe back again, “don’t” he shouted as he swung the axe towards the trunk. Again, “I” he shouted as he swung the axe towards the trunk. He let out a blood curdling scream. The axe had gotten stuck in the trunk of the tree and had ruined the rhythm again. He scream and kicked the axe where the shaft and the head meet. He screamed and kicked again; the axe flew out and hit the ground. He grabbed the axe with both hands at the end of the shaft and dragged it out from behind the tree. He turned, and used his whole body to throw the axe. He didn’t even watch it land before he turned and punched his fence. Anything would do. He sobbed as he punched the tops of each fence post, trying to break them, or himself. He turned violently and threw himself to the ground and dug holes in the earth with his fists, “Why”, punch, “don’t”, punch “I”, punch, “Care?” He shouted the last word at the sky as if looking for an actual response, challenging the sky. He threw himself forward, smacking his forearms against the dirt, sobbing to himself, “It’s not even tin.”