Don’t listen to your brother, Cassia. There are no monsters under the bed. There’s nothing under the bed. This whole house is safe for you.

But Acchan, did you look under there?

Look, love. There’s nothing under here. Rio’s just trying to scare you.

Under the bathroom sink of the home Sage grew up in, there was a spray bottle labeled monster spray. Rio, who found a sick satisfaction in scaring his siblings, forced Surya to get creative. Every night, he’d take the bottle and spray all throughout the house, swearing up and down that any monsters were afraid of it, and insisting they would all run away in fear. When Sage was little, they were convinced the bottle contained some magic chemical to kill monsters on sight. Now, they know it was just tap water.

Sage doesn’t remember a lot about Cassia. They remember moments of her funeral, and overhearing their parents arguing behind their closed bedroom door, and shouting at Rio. Amani and Surya don’t believe in grounding. Maybe they did, at one point. Sage's household was always very calm and open; they were never shouted at or spanked, and can’t say the same about lots of their friends. Everyone assumes that Sage can’t have traumas or struggles if they had a peaceful upbringing. Everyone assumes they know what’s going on inside Sage's head. Last month, they graduated high school. Both of their parents were there, and their grandmother, but Rio wasn’t there. He never is. They talk maybe once a month, in brief conversations between games and classes, and Sage misses childhood.

Surya knocks on Sage's door, and then peers inside their room. Sage's door is never shut, and their parents always knock. “Are you ready for work?”

Since graduating, Sage got a part-time job at a clothing store. It’s anxiety-inducing, and most customers only think of themselves. Working in retail with a speech impediment is a struggle enough on its own. At least once a day, Sage is stopped by a stranger who demands to touch their hair, or know what sex they are, or ask personal questions. By now, Sage should know how to stand up for themself. “Yeah.”

Some of Sage's followers say they should release an independent album. This is possible to do from their bedroom, but it’s far too scary, and Sage doesn’t have the talent for it. Still, when they think about what they want to do with the rest of their life, music is the only thing that comes to mind. Sage likes gymnastics. They’ve never wanted to do it professionally.

“Acchan,” Sage says, fidgeting with a button on their synthesizer. “Do you think I should make an album?”

In the eighties, Amani spent eight years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Sage learned of this for the first time only a couple days ago. According to Amani, he was arrested for armed robbery in 1988, less than a year after coming to America. He’s a good man. Sage is angered by the way their father has been treated in the past. Amani is a gentle man who would never harm a fly.

Sage has a hammock chair in their room, which is the biggest room in the house. Surya sits in the hammock, watching Sage. He always chews on his words before saying them. “If you’re comfortable with that, I think there are many people who would support you.” Even if this isn’t true, a father is supposed to support his children. Most parents will tell their children they’re great even if they’re not, just to make them feel good. Sage's parents always tell their children the truth, but they do it in a way that’s constructive and kind. As a sensitive person, Sage appreciates this.

Their kitten, Heka, sleeps with Sage at night. She’s not particularly friendly to anyone aside from Sage, whom she snuggles daily. Sage prefers cats to dogs. When they sit down with their mandolin, Heka swats at the strings. “Do you want to hear a new song before we leave?”

It’s not uncommon for strangers to finish Sage's sentences. Sometimes they struggle a lot, and people figure out what they’re saying before Sage completes a sentence. Being interrupted feels disrespectful, but nobody likes to wait five minutes for Sage to finish one sentence. When Sage and Rio were kids, he’d bully them for their stutter, and mimic it to make them feel insecure. This just seems like something any sibling would do.

Surya pets Heka, pulling her claws away from the mandolin strings. “Of course.”

Next month, Sage has a live performance at a karaoke hall. They’ve played in front of a crowd only once, and nearly had a panic attack because of the attention. Amani says the more Sage gets out in front of people, the easier it will become. They don’t like public speaking. It’s probably something that will never get easier. “I wrote a song called Submerged in Honey. I know it’s a weird name.” Sage is very familiar with the concept of imposter syndrome. Most musicians sing about falling in love and broken hearts. Sage has never experienced either of these. Sometimes, they wonder what it would be like to crave someone in that way. They could pretend. They could write a love song about somebody else.

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Sage's parents always claim to love their music. They aren’t hard men to impress. At times, Sage looks for real feedback on things that could be improved, and all their parents do is say everything is perfect the way it is. Rio says they can’t see imperfections in Sage's music, because they aren’t musical men - but he isn’t either, and he can still give Sage harsh critiques. In Florida, Cassia loved when Sage sang to her. Every night at bedtime, she’d insist they sing her lullabies, and it would always put her to sleep. Even though Sage hates singing in front of others, they sort of miss this. The girl’s bedroom doesn’t exist anymore; it’s a spare room now, and few of her things remain. Purging is a way of dealing with trauma. Before the family moved away, Sage's parents got rid of most of Cassia’s things, claiming healing couldn’t happen otherwise.

The worst fight Sage ever had with their brother was shortly after the move to Alaska. Sage was struggling with leaving friends behind, and with fitting in at a new school. Rio, like always, adjusted pretty much overnight. This wasn’t fair. Rio was speaking one day about how he was sad about Cassia, and Sage was bitter and stopped doing homework to shout at him.

“It’s your fault, you know! All of it! It’s your fault she’s dead, and I hate you for making us move away!” Their stutter had been quite bad then, as it always is when Sage is worked up. In retrospect, it wasn’t fair to blame him. Things go wrong. Accidents happen. Still, a lot can be prevented if you just pay attention.

Rio’s never been one to sit back and let things happen. Even as a child, he loved to be in the center of the action. He yelled back at Sage from the living room, where he was playing a computer game. “At least I didn’t just stand there and cry like a baby! You could have helped, you know.”

It’s easy to lash out at people when you have unhealed trauma. Sage has overcome some things, but there’s still a lot to unpack. “I’m only eight! You’re the oldest! You’re supposed to keep me safe.”

“Eight years old is old enough to not be a crybaby all the time! You just get in the way, anyway.” Before this, they’d never really fought before. All siblings argue, and purposely annoy each other. Sage is a highly sensitive person, and Rio is good at getting under people’s skin.

“I’m not a baby!”

The way Sage remembers it, they were nearly in tears. “You act like one,” said Rio, making them cry. “See! You’re acting like a baby right now!” Sage had thrown a book at him, which he’d dodged easily. It was a rather heavy book, and had landed loudly on the wooden floor, drawing the attention of their father across the house. He’s been bald as long as Sage can remember. He has thick hair in photos from years ago, and looks very different.

He was tired that day, and fed up with the children’s fighting. “What’s all the yelling about?”

Rio was first to speak, as always. He hasn’t changed much since then. Sage likes to think they have changed a lot. “Grier said everything is my fault.”

“Because it is!” Sage stomped a foot, sniffing angrily. “Rio said I’m always acting like a baby!”

“Because you are!”

“No I’m not!”

Amani is always level-headed. Like anyone, he loses his temper sometimes: but he never takes it out on the children, and he never stays frustrated long. “That’s enough.” He sighed, taking a seat on the large Chesterfield, waiting for the children to join him. This is what he always did. “We’re going to take turns discussing what’s going on, and we’re going to be patient and wait our turns without interrupting each other.”

Sage stuck out their tongue at their brother. “Yeah, Rio.” He always interrupted. He’s impatient, and hates waiting for Sage to finish a sentence. In their house, conflict was always dealt with by discussing it, and this was very uncomfortable at first. Amani always wants the kids to figure out what’s causing the conflict, and then discuss how to solve it. Amani got his psychiatry license in 2008. If he hadn’t been falsely imprisoned, he would have accomplished this much sooner.

“Grier is entitled to feelings,” Amani said. “Fear and crying aren’t only for children.”

Despite learning how to be emotionally open from a young age, Sage still finds it uncomfortable. After acknowledging that their bitterness toward Rio came from insecurity and fear, Sage had to learn how to deal with negative emotions in more constructive ways: like journaling or walking. The best outlet for them was always music. Submerged in Honey, like most of Sage's songs, involves only a mandolin and their voice. They’ve been told their voice sounds like honey, whatever this means. They have new comments on a song they uploaded. Putting yourself out there for criticism is scary and makes Sage feel nauseous. There’s no way to grow without forcing yourself to leave your comfort zone.

“Let’s get going.”

Surya stands, fixing the blanket on the hammock chair. There are seldom days he doesn’t work. Sage enjoys spending time with him.