Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25042659-20140611204350

So, I need some feedback on what's wrong with this story, called Bolt Awake

Growing up, I always thought my Grandfather was the greatest. Me and my brother Robbie lived with him most of our lives. Well, with him and Grandma, but I always thought of her as just someone who lived there with him, not someone connected to me. Mom came by sometimes, she always said she was on her way to someplace really exciting. Me and Robbie would beg her to take us with her, and she’d always promise she would “next time.” I stopped begging sooner than Robbie did, and stopped pouting about it long before..

But Grandpa did everything with us. Took me to get shoes for gym class, stayed up late watching horror movies with me and taught me how to shave long before I really needed to. He always told me “you and me, Jake, we’re two peas in a peashooter.” I always laughed even though it was the same old joke, because when I laughed Grandpa chuckled. Robbie was there too, but he never seemed to really enjoy the same things as me and Grandpa. He was usually sulking or borrowing my stuff without asking, or just breaking my stuff. He was always having nightmares too, waking all of us up. He never seemed to remember his dreams, he’d just suddenly sit up in bed wide awake and yelling. Looking back, I think maybe he missed Mom more.

After a while Grandma got sick. Or maybe just sicker, I think she’d been sick for a long time. Soon she was just a name we said, and a reason Grandpa had to disappear into the back room for hours on end. Lots of times it was just me and Robbie running things, trying to fix dinner or get ourselves ready for school. Grandpa seemed to keep getting more and more tired. Until then I had never thought of him as old, but now I was starting to worry about him.

Robbie didn’t help. He was getting in trouble at school and being a real jerk at home. Between me and Grandpa, we referred to him as “the little shit.” Grandpa always winked at me when he said that, like it was our own little private joke. We never said it when anyone else could hear, especially not Robbie.

The night before Grandma’s funeral Grandpa finally snapped with Robbie. Robbie had brought home another note from school saying Grandpa had to go in and talk with his teacher’s, and when Grandpa asked him about it Robbie just stared right at him. Grandpa didn’ t say anything though, just stared back. I didn’t think anything of it until later that night.

It must have been 2 or 3 am. I woke up to Robbie yelling, again. He was wide awake, sitting straight up in his bed. The light came on in the hallway and Grandpa came in quietly.

“Nightmare, Robbie?” He asked quietly.

“I dunno, I don’t remember.”

Grandpa sat on the end of Robbie’s bed and looked at him for a long time without saying anything. Robbie rolled his eyes and lay back down with a grunt. I thought Grandpa was going to leave, but instead he leaned over and talked into Robbie’s ear, but loud and clear.

“You know, when you bolt awake in the night and can’t remember why? It’s because someone has wished you dead. If you’re having trouble sleeping you’d better think about how you treat people. Because sometimes, people think something enough times that they decide to DO something.”

Robbie didn’t move, and Grandpa got up and walked to the door. Before he left I heard him mutter “little shit” under his breath before giving me a wink and closing the door.

The funeral and the week after was kind of a blur for me. It wasn’t for awhile that I realized that Robbie was starting to act differently. He started asking if I needed help with the dishes, stuff like that. He still acted like a jerk a lot, but then he’d apologize for it. He always seemed tired, but he didn’t wake me up all the time at night anymore. So I didn’t think about Grandpa’s little fib until I woke up in the middle of the night freezing cold. I looked up and Robbie was sitting in front of the window, staring outside.

“Whatcha doing, Robbie?” I asked, rubbing at my eyes and pulling up the blankets.

“I can’t sleep when it’s cold” he said quietly.

I got up to shut the window, but Robbie slapped my hand away and pushed me back to my bed with a grunt. I shrugged and stole his blanket, put it on my bed and went to sleep. He wasn’t in the room when I woke up, but I guess he stayed up all night. While I had breakfast I thought about it and decided I needed to talk to Grandpa. I didn’t think he’d wanted to scare Robbie as bad as he did. I wanted him to tell Robbie it wasn’t true. I figured I’d ask after dinner that night.

Turns out we didn’t have dinner that night. I was pulled out of school right before lunch and sent to wait in the principal’s office with Robbie for a long time. Eventually the principal came to talk to us, and then we had to wait for some social worker person.

They let us go to the hospital to say goodbye. We didn’t get dinner that night, but I had my lunch that I hadn’t gotten to eat. I shared it with Robbie at the hospital.

Robbie was sent to live with his dad, whom neither of us had met. I didn’t even realize we had different dad’s until then. No idea how they found him. I wound up with some distant Aunt. She was nice, but she didn’t understand movies or much of anything. She was a good cook though, and she made sure to arrange weekend visits with my brother. That’s how I know that 4 months later Robbie ran away. I did know he wasn’t happy there at all, and I think now that I was supposed to say something. He said that his dad came into his room at night, but I’d never get him to say what happened after that or why it bothered him so much. Of course now I have the worst suspicions. It could have just been the nightmares again, though. I never had the nerve to ask how he’d been sleeping.

We never found out what happened to him. I know it sounds horrible, but I stopped thinking about him. I had my own problems. Things got bad for me after Grandpa died, even though my Aunt did everything for me she could. But now I can’t stop thinking about my lost little brother.

Robbie, wherever you are, I’m sorry. Wherever Grandpa is now, I bet he’s sorry too.

I keep waking up in the middle of the night, but I can’t remember any nightmares. I just bolt awake. It’s been happening for awhile. And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or guilt, or something else, but last night I swore I heard a voice whisper “you little shit” just as I woke up.

And I swear I closed the window before going to bed last night, but today I woke up to find it open.

Robbie, it was Grandpa not me. 