Friday Reasonings: 5/16/25
The walks started as a ritual when one of us got back from a trip. We would start near my house and make our way down the proceeding blocks until we reached the bookstore. Then we would turn around. Walking back to my place, where I would make us coffee, or lunch, or dinner, just depending on what time of day it was. My brother and I, we loved this ritual. I was twenty-nine, and he was twenty-three. Now we are at least. It not only got us together on the rare moments when we were both home at the same time, but would connect us over the times we were away.
We weren’t always close. Definitely not at first. We started this ritual when my brother went to college. We had lived apart for years now, but when he came to college, we lived in the same town again. The first three months of his freshman year, he ignored the fact that we lived in the same city. I remember him then as someone who was angry. Upset at his upbringing. For what reason, I don’t know. I think we had a decently good upbringing.
When he got to college I would ask him how he was doing. “Good” was his response. I would ask him if he wanted to grab dinner, or have dinner at my place with T and I. “I am SUPER busy this week, maybe next week” was his response. Always an excuse and always something to counteract my time with him. For months it was like this, and as much as I was irritated by it, I accepted.
“Hey, are you up?”
…
“Yeah, T and I are watching a show. You okay?”
…
“I need help.”
“Okay, whats up?”
“Can you pick me up? This is the address: ______”
“Umm, yeah. Is everything ok?”
“Not really, I just need your help, really bad.”
I began pulling myself from under the body of a sleeping T. Gently bringing the blanket over her and writing a note. I turned off the tv. Hopefully she sees my note. On which is scribbled, “Rich needs me to pick him up. Be back soon” my handwriting nearly illegible. Getting into my car and backing down the driveway, I sit in silence. Thinking the whole way. I have never been someone prone to anger, and never heap shame on anyone. I have made plenty of decisions on my own. T knows just the half of them. So, as I drive, I feel clear headed. Knowing exactly what he needs. It is about a twenty-five minute drive to the address he gave me. Pulling up, it is a small house overshadowed by a barn which is lit only by the lights within it. A few cars remain scattered around, though from the tire tracks, I could tell there was many more. I turn into the drive and roll down the window, the silence in the air seems to be telling. I see him now, walking up to my car, his white and red plaid flannel covered in more red than white. Blood. I look up at his face, which he hid looking down at the ground, his baseball cap shadowing what I know is a torn man. I reach into the backseat, pulling a T-shirt I had there from last weeks bonfire. Unlocking the door he pulls open its frame, sliding into the seat. “Here,” I say to him, giving the shirt to my brother to hold up to his face. Knowing it will most likely be ruined by the end of the night. Call it the stain of family, my blood.
He takes the shirt, “thanks.” Putting the car into reverse I see a number of people walking out of the barn, one of which, I know. His girlfriend. I myself have never met her, but social media fixed that. She walked towards the car, “Do you want me to wait?” “Please don’t, I have done enough talking with her for one night.” “Okay.” We drive towards the town, not saying much. “Do you want to stay with T and I tonight?” We drive for another minute or so. “Yes please.”
The next morning I wake before the rest of the house. I workout, shower, and when I am out, a cup of coffee sits on the bathroom sink. Steam still rising from the cup. A love letter from T. I dress, taking the cup with me, sipping as I go. Walking downstairs, my wife sits on the kitchen island. “Busy night last night?” She winks at me, nodding to the couch, where Rich is still sleeping soundly in one of my t-shirts. “Yeah, tell me about it.” “Did he say what happened?” “No, we didn’t talk much. Though he smelled slightly like alcohol I don’t think he was drunk.” “Did you tell your parents?” “No, I will let him do that.” “Probably smart I guess.” T holds out her arms and I embrace her. She washed her hair last night. It smells like honey and feels like silk. I kiss her on the cheek. “I should probably head to work soon.” “Okay,” she responds. “Can you make sure he stays here until I get home? Have him eat dinner with us?” “Yes, of course I will offer, but I am not going to hold him hostage.” "I kiss her again, smiling slightly. “Thanks.”
That was years ago now. He graduated college, dated that same girl I saw outside the barn for two more years before bending his knee. I was his best man. T was a bridesmaid. I think I can trace how things changed to that one night. My brother realized, probably for the first time, that I see him. When I got home from work, we ate dinner and I saw him smile as T told a joke about our own college days. He fell asleep that night on our couch while we watched Love on the Spectrum. He felt at home, I think. Then, from that week on we had weekly dinners, first just him, and then with his now wife.
I never knew what ended up happening that night. In the barn. I never asked and he never disclosed, even when T begged me to ask. Which was okay. A little mystery does a relationship good.
I do know, at one time, my brother was a frustrated boy, and then an angry man. That night fixed it. His anger no longer steeped from head to toe. Bitterness no longer flowed from his mouth. Now, he was kind. He was merciful. He knew what it was like to finally lose.
Maybe we all need that. To lose.
Things I saved this week:
That’s all! Come back next week!