The notion that nothing in life has any permanence, that anyone can walk out on you at any given moment, can be disheartening for most people, but it's especially daunting for a child whose primary concerns should be more on the wavelength of which Crayon he should use next.

Jeremy McBride sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor with a poorly-aged video game controller in his hands. The screen across from him lit up and reflected in his disinterested eyes as his fingers effortlessly danced over the buttons of the controller, having long since memorized their arrangement. He wasn't smiling, despite the fact that he was playing one of his favorite games. He was not having fun in any sense of the word. On days like these, he played video games not to have fun, but to distract himself from thoughts that had no right to plague his young mind, dreaded memories that had a tendency to sneak up on him when he least expected it. And yet, as the blaring 8-bit music stung at his ears, he still found his mind wandering back to what took place three years before.

Waking up. Asking where his father went. Waiting for him to come home.

He shook his head, as if doing so would ward off the unpleasant thoughts, and hit "pause" on his game. As the screen went dark, he let out a sigh. Three years was a long time for a six year-old, but for Jeremy, the memories were still felt fresh and painful, like a wound that had yet to heal, and the lessons he had learned from them were more painful still. People have the power to leave you the first chance they get. It's a universal constant, a simple fact of nature, albeit one that people seem to pretend doesn't exist. The other children Jeremy encountered at school, for instance, seemed oblivious to what he had come to begrudgingly accept. He'd seen their multicolored renditions of their families, all wearing empty, crooked smiles. Nuclear families. That was what his brother once called them, with a certain bitterness to his voice. Jeremy used to think that his family was just like that, like the ones made of scribbles and glitter. That is, until a door shut in the dead of night and never opened again.

Except this time was different. He had to keep reminding himself of that. This time, a door had opened, and the endless waiting had come to an end. After four agonizing years, his older brother, Andrew, was home at last. Words could not even begin to encapsulate how much he'd missed him while he was off at college, and how thrilled he was to have him around again. Still, the sinking feeling in his stomach that he'd grown so accustomed to over the past few years lingered. Andrew was back, yes, but not for real. Not for Jeremy. Ever since Andrew arrived a few months before, the majority of his time was spent not with him, but with an old friend from high school.

Lucy.

If he thought hard about it, Jeremy remembered her from when he was younger. Dark hair, big blue eyes, that kind smile she wore whenever she listened to you talk that made you feel as if she deeply cared about what you had to say. Still, as fondly as he recalled her, he resented her now for taking up all of his brother's time. Why did she have to wait until Andrew was finally back to suddenly decide to be his friend again? It wasn't fair.

That day, though, she couldn't get between him and his brother. It was Thanksgiving, and that meant that Andrew had to stay at home with his family. Whenever he visited for Thanksgiving during his time at college, all of his time was spent with them. He was at work for the time being, but once he got back, he would be with them for the rest of the day. With Jeremy.

Everything would be just like it used to be. No, better than that. Everything was going to be perfect.