the poet

epilogue

"why is the gas bill high this month?" tamino asks, plopping down next to me as i lay like a rag doll on our large, lumpy couch.

"the little one likes to crank up the heater when he feels cold," i reply, referring to my little brother.

"the heater? it's march," tamino says shuffling the bills in his hands. i shrug, curling and uncurling my toes, easing them through the pain of a 12-hour surgery.

"he's moving in with his boyfriend next month," i state, pursing my lips.

"yeah?" tamino mumbles, his attention at the many numbers on the electricity bill, "what's his name?"

"uhh," i think hard, my mind fully fogged, "mark?"

"i thought it was miller,"

"miller?"

"like david miller,"

my mouth presses into a line as i gaze at the wall in front of us, mouth frowned funnily as i shrugged it off.

"he's the devil," i say after a moment of silence.

"miller?"

"no my brother," my hand grabs onto the gas bill, eyes widening slightly at the total, "he called my wedding ring ugly."

"i don't think it's ugly," replies tamino, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he turns to look at me over the frames.

"i know it's not ugly," i press my head into his shoulder, "he was mad at me for not parking my car properly -- he had to park mine again to move his little eco-friendly lunch box sized car into the garage."

"totally understandable then." tamino snickers as i poke his side.

i quickly jump up and head to the kitchen. "we should visit leila," i suggest as i grab a pear from the fruit basket.

"is there a special occasion?" he asks, preoccupied with the stack of bills.

"she had a baby boy,"

tamino lowers the bills as he gapes at me, "and this is her --"

"sixth child," "sixth child?" we say at once.

"wow..." he mumbles, missing the look of disdain on my face. i think a few times before finally spitting it out:

"do you think we're missing out?"

he lowers the bills again, a thoughtful look on his face as i watch him over the counter. he tries his best to join together the right words -- making sure not to say anything that will upset me.

he takes a deep breath and says, "no i don't think so," to which i nod -- eyes cast down to the marble counter.

"children are loud and expensive."

i nod again, a part of me agreeing while the other feeling a sort of existential loneliness. i can feel my body age, every time i look in the mirror i look different. he looks different too, and we both know our hair's thinning -- won't be long till our joints start rusting.

when we first got married, my brother moved in with us a year later to save on rent since our home was close to his work. it felt like raising a kid since it was a lot of emotional and physical labour with no return.

by our mid-thirties he moved out to the city and we were left alone once more, a house to ourselves. tamino spent most of his days in his den writing music while i toiled at the hospital. every month felt the same and though we went on trips often, coming home wasn't as exciting.