Then 

 

By Nicole Credit

 

My basement is dim and open, just like yours. But mine carries childhood memories and unresolved problems. I can recall birthday parties with pony rides, a pathetic clown, and days of sand art. There were times where only boys came to the party and others with only girls. I acted like a princess with the girls, but at my seventh birthday you would have found me throwing tiny fists at a punching bag.

 

But, of course, when there is even the slightest light there will always be a shadow. My brother, Chris, moved downstairs when he was about sixteen. My friend Cindy went down there once, and was never allowed to come back. Chris had a girlfriend at one point and the relationship ended with a roar. She’d lived down there until she was scared away.

 

 My brother and I do not have the best brother-sister relationship. We are not brave enough to cross the barriers of tension. When he moved into the basement, all ties were cut. We did not and do not see each other daily like we used to. We’re no longer drawing pictures while lying on the living room floor with pillows stuffed beneath our chests. We no longer twist our arms this way and that with our controllers playing racing games on our outdated Play Station II. We don’t really talk now.

 

Like my brother’s girlfriend, I have gotten my fair share of a scare down there as well. And it wasn’t completely caused by him because that basement has to be partly to blame.

 

September fifth of 2014, I decided I would take the challenge of feeding Chris’ dogs while he was out on his motorcycle. It really wasn’t a big deal; I just had to open the cage and place the bowl inside. Getting to the cage was my problem. I tiptoed around obstacles that littered the floor starting at the end of the staircase.

The dogs yipped at me as I carried a pizza box full of Kibbles N’ Bits.

 

 During my first attempt, I had to set the food down on a coffee table to lift the blanket that covered the cage door. I never knew exactly why the blanket was there, but I assumed it was because of the smell. The odor hit me in the face, which added onto my discomfort of just being down there. The box of dog food fell from the coffee table, and I ran from the cage, up the stairs.

 

In my second try, I opened the cage and set the food inside after scraping it off the floor. I also brought water but couldn’t find their original bowl of water. I was about to walk around the pool table beside the cage when the sound of an engine caused me to flee. Up the stairs I went. Again.

 

 The engine was not Chris’s motorcycle, but merely a car passing by. With this in mind, I decided to try a third time. In my third trip downstairs, I brought the water again. I was paranoid about the possibility of Chris walking in and finding me in his space. I didn’t think he’d do anything about it, or that he’d even be mad. I just didn’t want to be found for a reason even I didn’t understand.

 

 On my fourth venture into the basement, I decided I would walk around the pool table to find the water bowl on the other side of the cage. What a big mistake that was. Around the opposite side of the pool table were piles upon piles of garbage. I dared to step into the disaster. My breathing picked up to an abnormal speed as I contemplated what could possibly be under all of that junk. The paranoia of being stuck in the trash and being caught in Chris’ space crept up onto me as I moved forward. I could picture snakes and spiders – which are my newfound phobia – crawling over my feet and around my ankles. My brain screamed at me saying, “YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.” And those thoughts were an endless chant each time I exhaled. I was not sure if I was exhaling, but all I was focused on was getting to that water bowl. When I reached the other side of the cage, the water dish was empty. The only way I could have filled it was to walk back around the pool table and reach into the cage. I trudged through the trash again, with my thoughts roaring and my lungs pleading for a rest.

 

 I grabbed a random bowl on the floor and opened the cage. The dogs leaped towards me as I stuffed the bowl in between their blanket and the side of the cage. I pushed them back into the cage, and filled the bowl with fresh water. I closed the cage with adrenaline-charged speed before booking it down the hallway and up the stairs.

 

 I had to control my breathing before anyone saw me like this. Kevin, my mom’s boyfriend, was sitting in the living room and it would be utterly embarrassing for him to witness this. He wouldn’t understand this. I didn’t even understand this.

 

 Somehow, by the time my shoes were on the hallway floor, I had reduced my breathing to normal. The thoughts had disappeared and were now replaced by eerie numbness.

 

Months Later

I find myself standing in front of the basement door from the outside. I have just walked up the road from where my school bus dropped me off and realize I’ve misplaced my key. Nobody else is home and this is the only way inside. It’ll only be a few seconds, I tell myself. I knock on the broken wooden door although I can see through a hole in the garbage bag where his window once was. From outside, I hear the dogs yip for attention as my brother grabs his crutches. The door opens and I see Chris leaning on a single crutch. “You forget your key?” he asks in a friendly attempt.

 

“Yeah,” I reply and walk around him. Chris struggles to keep the small dogs inside the basement. I focus on my breathing as I step around the chair and through the recently cleaned hallway. Our mom had spent hours down here cleaning the place up. The sound of the dogs fades as I concentrate on getting to the staircase. I remember the rush of climbing from the last time but there isn’t a need to run. My dog barks from behind the basement door leading upstairs, as if he wants me to speed up. I do, and my hand is on that golden doorknob once again. The stale air of the basement leaves me as I escape into my home.

 

Now

I remember us riding four-wheelers when I was eight and Chris was sixteen. He sat behind me on the red and black ATV with his arms on either side of me gripping the worn-out rubber handles. We rode all too fast through the woods by our house, roars echoing among the trees. Mom would tell us to go slow, but that only meant to go even faster. Glee broke a smile onto my face, and I never wished to get off the four-wheeler because getting off would mean leaving this connection. But we are family, even if we aren’t like your common pair of bickering siblings you see on television. And family cares in the quietest of ways, even in the darkness.