Matthew Thorne sat quietly in his room, playing on the brand new game system his dad had bought him for his eighth birthday. He abused the buttons as he forced his character through armies of inhuman monsters and deadly dungeons, enjoying every moment, until he heard a crash from downstairs.
He paused the game and walked out onto the landing before the stairs to the next floor down started. Matthew heaved himself halfway over the railing to look down, balancing on his thin stomach, and saw his parents on the next landing. They were arguing again, right next to a broken vase of flowers. He could hear their every word, so he planted his feet back down on the ground in order to listen to their latest fight through the bars of the railing.
“You’re never here, Jonathan!” he heard his mother shout. “I have practically raised that boy on my own and you haven’t been around for any of it!”
“Well, excuse me for going to work and putting food on the table for us!” his father shouted back. “Goddamn it, Sarah, just let me rest! I just got out of work!”
Matthew sighed, unimpressed. They were always fighting about him. Besides, the previous week his mom had thrown a wooden statue at the TV and broken the screen, so this fight was not even a good one. He turned to go back in his room and play.
“Fine, you rest, but I need to tell you this!” he heard his mother shout—she sounded like she was trying not to cry. “You are missing your own son’s childhood!”
“I have to keep up a house and family!” came his father’s heated reply.
“Jonathan, if you’re not going to be here then why do you tell him you will be? He got up early this morning because he thought his daddy would be home in time to watch him open his presents!”
Matthew opened the door to his room and sat on his bed to continue playing his game, flinching at his mom’s use of the word “daddy”—he had not personally used the term “daddy” to refer to his father for at least two years, preferring the cooler, shorter version of “dad”.
“Would you rather I be here for what little I can and keep the house running, or should I give up my job so that I can watch him open his presents? You don’t know what it’s like to be bound to a job because you’ve never had one!” his father shouted back. Matthew had forgotten to close the door.
“You want to know the truth, Jonathan?” his mother screamed back, her voice finally breaking. “I would rather you just get out and stop torturing him than stay here and crush his spirit everyday!”
“Fine then! I’m going!”
Matthew looked up from the television screen. Where was he going? He had promised to teach him how to throw a football later that afternoon, how could he just leave? He stood again and walked onto the landing to peer through the railing.
“What do you mean you’re going? Jonathan, get back here, we are not through discussing this yet!”
“Oh, yes we are, Sarah. We have had this exact argument too many times.” Matthew crept down the first flight of stairs. “And you know what? I’m sick of it!” He sent his voice to an unnaturally high pitch as he imitated Matthew’s mother. “It’s always ‘You’re never here! You always break your promises!’ Well, that is just too bad! I refuse to go through this every single day as soon as I get home; I refuse to be yelled at for half an hour or more about what I did wrong today. I am walking out this door, I am hiring an attorney, and I am divorcing you! And before the ink is dry on the forms I am flying to Hawaii with the first cute broad I see and not coming back until I’ve forgotten every memory of you and that damn kid!”
He then roughly opened the door, strode through it, and slammed it shut again. Matthew was about halfway down the second set of stairs, and was able to see through the nearby window that his father had marched down the driveway and hopped into his black Jaguar, which he started furiously and sped off down the road.
Matthew was stunned. What was he doing, leaving when he had made such an important promise? He stood properly and walked down the rest of the stairs to his mother.
“Mom?” he asked tentatively. She was standing very still, as if she was no more certain what had just happened than Matthew. “Wh-where’d Dad go? He promised me that he’d—”
“Matthew…” she said quietly. Her voice was toneless, but broken, like she was trying to hold back tears. “Daddy won’t be able to keep any promises to you for a long time.” She sat on the couch and started to cry softly into her hands.
Matthew stood there, shocked. He could not remember his mom ever crying before. “Why?”
His mom wailed loudly. “Matt…” she sobbed, unable to control her breathing. “Go to your…your room…just go.”
Matthew did not want to leave. He wanted to understand what had happened to his dad, and why she was so upset. “When is Dad coming back? He said he’d—”
“He’s not coming back, sweetie,” his mom said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than her son. “Daddy’s left us. We’re going to have to live on our own, and I’m going to have to start working soon, so you won’t see me much for a while, all right? Go on up to your room and we can talk more later, but I need some time to think for a while. Please?”
Matthew stared at her for a long time. Her entire face was wet with tears, and her eyes were pinkish and puffy. She was still taking really short breaths, so he decided to drop it for a while, at least until she felt better.
“Okay,” he said. He walked back up the two flights of stairs to his room. He slammed the door when he got there, and then flopped onto his bed. “My dad’s not coming back…” he whispered to himself, only just realizing what that meant now he was alone. “So Mom’s gonna try and raise me by herself—and I’m never gonna have any boys to talk to.”
Matthew sat up straight, as though he had been suddenly filled with unstoppable fire. “I’ll have to find some way to raise myself, then,” he said, his voice firm, deep, strong, and very much unlike his own. “And no one will be able to stop me.”
Matthew snapped out of his strange stupor, unsure of what had happened.
“That wasn’t me talking,” he murmured. “That sounded older than me, but what could it be?”
“Me.”
Matthew leapt off his bed. There was someone else in his room, and whoever it was scared him. “Who…who are you?”
“My name is Ira”said the voice. “I’m here to help you, Matthew. I’ll never leave you like that scum of a father of yours.”
“Don’t call my dad scum!” Matthew yelled, turning to face the voice. He spun toward his bed and saw a boy with hair an even brighter red than his own, which was spiked so that it looked like it was on fire. “Why would you want to help me anyway?” Matthew asked. “I don’t even know you.”
“You need a male figure in your life, Matthew,”said Ira, “and I can be that for you. I can do a better job of it than your father could have anyway.”
Matthew stared at the strange boy for a long time. What could he possibly say that would counter what the boy had said? Defeated, but still suspicious, he said, “What could you do better?”
“I would always keep my promises, keep you safe and happy, and…” The boy smirked. “I could teach you everything you ever needed to know about sports.You in, Matthew?” Ira held out his hand.
Matthew barely needed time to think; what did he need a dad for if he had this awesome new friend who would be everything a dad should be and more? “I’m in!”
He took Ira’s hand to seal their deal. When their hands met, Ira’s seemed to melt into Matthew’s, and his entire body seeped into Matthew as though Matthew was some giant vacuum.
“From here I can guide you,”Matthew heard Ira’s voice—but it seemed to be coming from inside of him. Matthew closed his eyes, and he was able to actually see Ira’s face in his head.
“What are you?” Matthew murmured in wonder.
“I am you, you are me. We are one.”