They met on that soaking wet night; the two girls perched atop a chipped red fence, laughing away the things that made life glamorous. Their jeans were dirty and their hair was humid and long past manageable, but the scent of rain hung happily about their youthful faces. How little of life they had yet to be burdened with.

He appeared out of the thick blackness—but they had seen him coming from their high throne of wet paint and wood. He almost did not stop (for in fact, why would he?), but the elder of the two was bolder then society had outlined.

“Hello,” she called out, as the two girls’ laughter subsided.

The man looked up, surprised. He still saw her as a child. “Evening,” he said softly.

The older smiled. “You’ve got very nice hair,” she commented, as he noticeably flipped his cascading brown hair out of ocean eyes.

The man ran his fingers through soft brown locks, and smiled gratefully. “Why thank you. That’s really nice of you. I mean, most people don’t say that.” The younger laughed at the fact that the young man was quite serious. His tone went unsurprised, and yet, pleasant, as if this was your average small talk. “You’ve got really nice hair yourself.”

“Oh, thank you,” replied she with equal regularity. “Although right now it’s all weird and frizzy…”

“Nah. That just means you’ve got good hair,” he said, despite the fact his hair was not in the least bit frizzed. Honestly, he was beautiful. “So, do you both live here?” Eyes flickered to the house behind them.

“Well, I do,” interrupted the younger—truly speaking for the first time. “She doesn’t though.” He smiled. “So, what’re your plans for the night?”

“Well,” began the man, settling his hands into his pockets and leaning back in thought. “I was going to walk over to my car, which is right down that street, and, then I was going to get into my car and drive over to my… Mom’s and pick up some stuff. And then, I don’t know what after that. I’ll probably just hang out there.”

The younger smiled, brushing rainy hair out of her face. “Sounds exciting,” she commented, beaming, “fun stuff.”

The gorgeous young man flipped his hair again. “Yep.”

And then silence. The older smiled still (oh, he was so pretty, she thought) but the younger did not. Why would he not leave? Memories of “breaking news” passed through her mind of young girls who talked to strangers. But he was so nice… and besides, he was too beautiful to be a stranger!

“Those are some really nice Christmas lights you got there,” the man said finally. She glanced protectively to her house, still uneasy of his presence. It was so late…

“Yeah, yeah they are… My dad put them up.”

“Well, they’re really nice.”

“Thanks.”

They were quiet for a few minutes more. “Well, tell your Mom we said hi,” said the younger, smiling once again, as she nodded to send the young man on his way.

He nodded briefly. “Okay. I… will. Bye.” He waved, and then disappeared towards his car.

“You’re really, really good-looking!” called the older after him, as he faded away into night. “I hope you know that!”

With a laugh of relief that he was gone and on his way, the younger reprimanded her, finally joining in the joy of the scenario. “Shut up, he’s still right there!”

“I know!”

The young man pulled the sedan up close to the suburban house. It was pretty—it had been like that for all 23 years of his life, and the five before his birth, too. Although the nice yellow paint had faded over time, the warmth that it brought never did. Before, that is. Tonight was different.

He strode up to the house painfully, trying to balance his thoughts. The doorway was simple, and not in the least frightening, and yet, for some reason the young man could not help but feel afraid to open it. He stood there for a long time, before finally reaching for the doorknob. He opened the door easily—in 25 years, that front door had never been locked. He chuckled.

His brother was already in the living room by the time the man finally entered. As was expected, the older man was sitting idly, hardened on the couch, staring into space. Without flickering his eyes in the slightest to hint at the fact that the younger male’s presence was known, the older sibling sighed and muttered, “I can’t believe they’re gone.”

The younger of the two just shook his head, gazing up at the staircase that he knew would lead to his once-parent’s bedroom. “I don’t think I can handle going through their stuff just yet.” The beautiful man looked to his brother, who had barely moved. Would he ever move again?

“I’m going home.” Yes, of course he would move again. He had always been the older brother—the one to get over things quicker, to understand things better. And the one who cared less, too. “Later, little bro.”

And with that, the man was alone in the house.

Ascending the stairs unhappily, it was realized that although he was disappointed in his brother, he was not surprised in the least. He had known he’d have to go through this alone the very moment the doctors proclaimed the surgery over. The car crash had been too much for their frail, old bodies to handle. There was nothing more they could do.

In the same way, he was also aware of the fact that Dad kept a gun in the bedroom. (“I guess no one ever feels safe after a war like that,” he had explained one night. “But still, it makes me feel just a little bit better to know we have some form of protection…”) Subconsciously, he knew what he would find in the second drawer from the top.

The man examined the weapon carefully—he’d only seen the gun once before, as a curious boy of twelve. And yet, despite his ignorance in that field of study, he could tell it was loaded, and he understood easily how it would work.

In minutes, he would tell Mom… oh, what would he tell her?

That he was sorry that she and Dad had gone out for the first night in weeks?

No, he was fair proud of them—Mother rarely left the house anymore. An acute phobia that she had developed, they called it.

That he loved her and always would?

She knew that. He knew she knew that.

That those girls on the fence said “hi”?

He smiled in the memory, surprised at his own mind for bringing that up. “You’ve got very nice hair…”

As an appreciative laugh formed on his lips, the man opened the drawer, and put the gun away. Grabbing his coat, he swung out of the room, and left the house in a hurry, climbing back into his car. He would deal with the house tomorrow.

In minutes, he was back on the familiar highway, the radio playing loudly as the window brought in the chill of January.

With the secret memory of those two girls forever imprinted in his mind, the man ran his fingers through soft brown locks, and smiled gratefully…