Older Brothers

TYLER A Pit Stop

Graham is my best friend. Graham is also an extremely talented musician. Graham is not, however, a very good driver.
Just picture it: Helen the red minivan, covered in youth orchestra and University of Virginia bumper stickers, with Graham at the wheel, flipping his coppery bangs out of his eyes. Me in the passenger seat, gripping the dashboard like my life depended on it, jazz blasting from the radio, my backpack and Graham's trombone case bouncing around in the backseat. Combine this with Graham's erratic driving, and you have quite a sight. The little boy in the car next to us clearly thought so. He couldn't take his eyes off of us.
"Do me a favor," Graham said to me, "and give that little boy the finger for me."
"Absolutely not."
"What? I can't do it. I'm driving. Would you like me to do it?"
"Keep both hands on the wheel, Graham."
"But-"
"Shut up and drive."
"But he's-"
"DRIVE, Graham."
Graham drove. I slept a little, and attempted to read more of my boring book.
After about an hour, I said, "Would you like me to drive for a while?"
"No way, man," Graham answered. "No one drives Helen but me. Plus, we would have to stop."
"What's the rush? It's not like we're missing anything; whether we get there at 3 or 6:30 we still have to wait."
"I don't know about you," Graham said, "but I would like to sleep once we get wherever we're going."
"Fair enough."
We were silent for the next ten or fifteen minutes. Then Graham turned to me and said, "What if they won't let us visit her?"
I hadn't considered that. "Why wouldn't they?"
"I don't know, but in books they're always like, 'Immediate family only'. And then the friends have to, like, hide in a supply closet and sneak in or something."
"Jackson isn't going to want to hide in a supply closet." Jackson was definitely the biggest of the four of us. He was tall and burly, and the rest of us acknowledged that he was most of the reason that people didn't mess with Lexa more than once.
Graham and Mike are relatively normal sized; but Graham has what we call his "beer belly", although it's caused less by beer and more by too many snacks and not enough physical activity, and Mike is the most athletic-looking of the four of us.
And me- I'm small. It's not that I'm particularly short- I'm 5'9", which is pretty average. I'm just scrawny. I'm the thinnest of the four of us, which Graham says isn't a bad thing, but I hate it. I hate looking weak.
We made an odd group- and we would certainly raise some eyebrows hiding in a supply closet. "And I don't particularly want to, either," I added.
"I guess we could tell them we are 'immediate family'," he mused. "If, you know, they question us."
"They'll believe four dudes are her family?"
He turned and smiled at me. "We'll tell them we're her older brothers."
I stared out the window and said nothing.
"It's kind of true," Graham persisted. "We're like her older brothers."
"I guess you're right."
"Is that weird?" he asked. "Considering she's, you know, your girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend." This was only the millionth time we'd had this discussion.
"Are you seriously still insisting that you aren't dating? Come on, Tyler. Everyone knows you like her."
"So?"
"And everyone knows she likes you."
"So?"
"You guys kind of act like you're dating."
"S-"
"Don't say 'so?' again, Tyler. You guys are basically dating."
"Right," I said. "Just, you know, minus the 'going on dates' part."
"Not everyone does that."
"Shut up and drive."
"It must be hard, with you away at college and her still in high school."
"Graham. This is how accidents happen. Distracted driving."
He rolled his eyes and turned away.
About a half hour later, I asked, "How much longer?"
He checked the dashboard clock. "It's 12:53. We've been driving for a little over two and a half hours. So probably about an hour and a half more. But there's no way to be sure."
"Should I text Jackson?"
"I would hope he's asleep. But yeah, probably. Just let him know it'll probably be around 2:30."
After that, I must've fallen asleep, because I woke up to Graham pulling on one of my curls. "Ow. Stop. Why do you always do that?"
"Because it's the best way to wake you up," he said, smiling wickedly. "Go for the Jew-fro."
"I'm not even Jewish. And that's another thing. Why do you always tell people I'm Jewish?"
"Because they believe it," he answered. "Why are you asking so many questions? Now is not the time. Now is the time to pee- I'm stopping for gas."
I noticed for the first time that the car wasn't moving. "Oh."
"So if you need a break," Graham said, "now is the time. But make it fast."
I went inside the gas station's little convenience store while Graham got gas. When I returned to the car, Graham was already in the driver's seat.
"Get in!" he shouted over the music.
I swung myself into the passenger seat and slammed the door as Graham pulled out of the gas station, the tires making squealing noises on the asphalt.
"How long was I asleep?" I asked.
Graham checked the dashboard clock again. "About forty five minutes. But good news, we're ahead of schedule. We're in Maryland."
"So how much longer?"
"About thirty minutes. Text Jackson again, tell him what's up."
TYLER: 30 minutes
JACKSON: I'll be ready
We hit a bump, and I could hear Graham's trombone case bounce in the backseat. "Um, Graham? Where are Mike and Jackson gonna sit?"
"This is a minivan. They can move our stuff to the back."
I craned my neck to see behind me. "There's stuff in the backseat too."
Graham muttered some creative swear words. "All my sisters' stuff. Jackson'll have to move it when he gets in."
About fifteen minutes later, Graham lowered the music and said, "Okay. Start looking for his house."
I panicked. "I don't remember what it looks like!"
"Look for his dad's car, you idiot!"
There were at least five small silver cars that I could see. "Um. I think it's that one?"
"Are you sure?"
"No, I'm not sure! What should I do?"
"You could go knock."
"It's 1:30 in the morning!"
"Then text him," Graham replied. "Tell him to come out."
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