"In the Clouds" by Matthew Fluty
Photo by Carlos Torres https://unsplash.com/photos/white-cloudy-sky-MHNjEBeLTgw
Trigger warning: this story mentions a fatal car crash.
I wake up, get out of my booster seat, and slowly look around the inside of the car. What happened, I wonder, as I grip my dizzy head. I see my mother hanging upside down, the seat belt wrapped around her neck. There are flames everywhere. The urge to puke creeps up on me. My head feels like it is full of air. I’m unsure what to do at the moment. I hear someone crying their eyes out. I see Dylan, my three-year-old brother. He’s also hanging from the roof. I unhook my booster seat and climb up. I can just barely reach him as I try to unbuckle the chest strap. He cries harder, and I get it. His neck is released, but the four points down on his waist feel impossible to undo. Suddenly the frantic drive down the highway with Dylan and mom comes back to me and I realize how we got here, but there’s no time to think. Someone’s yelling at me, and the flames are getting higher. We have to get out of the car fast, or else the ever-growing flames might burn us alive.
***
A bright and vibrant cotton candy sunset with hints of fluorescent yellow fills the June afternoon sky, yet it feels earlier than it actually is. I eat a bowl of creamy mac and cheese that my mom cooked for me and Dylan. The cheese gets all over my face, even behind my ears... I’m a messy eater. All of a sudden, the door slides open. My step dad strolls in. At the time, my mom had recently divorced my other step dad, who was eight years older than my mother and is my brother’s father. He was very abusive. They would get into verbal fights that shortly escalated to actual fighting nearly every night, and I, who was in love with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, would put on my Leonardo mask and see if my mom was okay. He did many things, but one of the things he did was push her into the wall and punch her, mercilessly, until her face was bloodied so badly that the blood went down her face like a waterfall. She would lie on the ground, crying. That’s when I would check up on her. It seems kinda useless now, but when I look back, it looked like she was really grateful for what I did.
“Darryl, why did you bring home pizza without bringing us some?” My mom shouts.
“Well, I didn’t know you wanted some-'' he says, noticeably trying to watch his words.
She looks at him, shakes her head, grabs my little brother, and stomps out the door, furious.
The door slams. I ran out the door after her.
“But, Mom, I’m fine with mac and cheese! I don’t need pizza!”
She buckles Dylan into his car seat and turns to me, yelling at the top of her lungs that I need to get in the car. I bet the houses down the block can hear her as clear as day. I get into the very back of the car, buckle into my booster seat, and we drive off.
My gut feels like I got stabbed with a pocket knife. Should I listen to her? Should I not? Too late. We get onto the interstate, heading towards the pizza place. We don’t speak. Not even once. After about five minutes or so of driving, she pulls off to the side of the road.
“Mom, what are you doing?” She doesn’t respond. Time freezes for a second. I can hear my own heartbeat. The sharp pain in my gut gets worse. Something bad is going to happen.
BANG! Shattered glass flies into my face.
***
"Isanti Fire Department!" Someone shouts from outside the car after I release my brother from his car seat. They break through the door, grab Dylan first, and then pull me out through the flames. I take a few steps away from the black, upside-down SUV, and it shocks me. The Chevrolet Trailblazer that my mom got from her friend for free is fully engulfed in flames. All of the windows are smashed, there is glass everywhere you step around the car, and it smells like burnt rubber. A woman in her late 30s greets us and asks for our names.
“That’s Dylan,” I say as I point at my brother, “and I’m Matthew.”
“How old are you boys?”
“I’m seven years old, and Dylan is three.”
She offers her phone to us so we can play games.
“Sure,” I say, distracted by the helicopter overhead, but Dylan already has his hands on the phone.
She asks me questions like: “How old is your mom?” “Where are you from?” “Where is your dad, and what’s his phone number?” for 45 minutes until I hear the ambulance siren in the background.
I look at the phone and then I look at Dylan. He just smiles at me, making fun of the fact that I’m not able to play.
***
“So you saved your little brother’s life?” The nurse, who is doing scans in the hospital, says.
“No... I wouldn’t say that.”
“Come on, you’re a hero!”
“No...”
Every time a nurse walks by, they ask if I am the kid who saved his brother. I’m overwhelmed. I have never got this much attention in my life. The results come back after an hour or two of me and my brother being shuffled between MRI machines and blood tests.
“You’re both lucky,” says the Doctor, “No brakes, no sprains, no concussions. The worst thing is the rash on your brother's neck from hanging from his car seat. Although, you both still have to sleep at the hospital for the night.”
The doctors walk us to our beds, we jump on them, and they hand me a free Transformers blanket. It almost takes my mind off of what happened to my mom.
***
I wake up and my step dad—Dylan’s father— is sitting in a chair near my bed with a girl I have never met in my life before. I check the clock on the nightstand next to me: 11:30 pm.
“Hey bud,” he says, “How are you doing?”
“Good,” I say sleepily, “I got a black eye.”
“I see. How bad does it hurt?”
“Really bad.”
“That sucks. Hey, remember how I said I don’t have a sister?”
“Yeah... why?”
“Well, I lied.” He points to the girl next to him. “Here she is.”
“Hi, nice to meet you!” she says.
“Hello.”
I’m frustrated. Why does he always have to lie? There is a long wave of silence.
“Hey, I’m gonna take you home,” he reassures me. He must see the scowl on my face.
We have a long, quiet walk to his car. His sister and I sit in the back, while Dylan gets to go in the front because he gets special treatment because he’s the younger brother.
“Are you feeling good?” she asks.
“Yep.” I responded.
She can tell that I am frustrated.
“Y’know, I’m the oldest child, too,” she says. "I used to not get my way all the time. It sucked! It felt like nobody cared about me.”
It feels refreshing that someone can relate to me. That night as I try to sleep on my step dad’s couch, it hits me. My mom got into a car crash, Dylan and I made it out alive, and I still don’t know the verdict on if my mother is going to make it out or not. I think about it for a second, then think about how I didn’t brush my teeth, but I can’t because I am exhausted, and then I stare off into the darkness.
***
Two days after the incident, I wake up and there are my grandparents, sitting next to me on a long brown couch that is worn and comfortable. I haven’t seen my grandparents for over a year, but I’ve made such good memories with them that I know them better than even my parents.
“Hey, bud!” my grandma says gleefully.
Shocked that they came all the way from Maine to see me, I jumped up and gave them a bear hug.
“Hey, tomorrow we’re moving to Maine to start a new chapter.” She pulls out three plane tickets.
“These tickets were meant for you and Dylan. And your mother... but–”
“But what?” I ask.
“She’s not here anymore, " she says with tears flooding her eyes. "She's in the clouds now.”
***
Two years later, my grandparents and I got notes from several different people thanking my mom for donating her organs. All of them were thoughtful and appreciative and expressed their gratitude. My step father and brother left Maine within the first month of moving here. My step dad has always hated Maine, so my grandparents bought him plane tickets for him and Dylan to go back home to Minnesota. I haven’t seen either of them in person since, but I still frequently call Dylan so he can play video games with me. My step dad had bought plane tickets so he and Dylan could visit me in Maine a few years back, but then, well, I’m not sure what happened to be honest. Long story short, they didn’t come. Hopefully I can meet my brother in person again someday. We don’t talk about the crash, or if he even remembers it, but we went through it together and even though I hate him sometimes, I still love him.
Matthew Fluty is 14-years old, and attends Orono Middle School. He plays football, basketball and baseball. Matthew lives with his grandparents, his dog Benny, and his cat Eevee next to a lake in Maine. "In the Clouds" is a true story based on Matthew's early childhood in Minnesota and the tragic loss of his mother.