I had been up until nearly four in the morning the night beforehand, with my nearly pitch black coffee making it easier to keep myself awake.
I hadn't checked my phone yet, nor could I since I passed out without having plugged it into it's charger. It was charging at the moment and I was sure I'd missed something by now - Have I really gotten that addicted to a screen?
Four missed calls and more texts than I can count all from my younger brother, Charlie. All of which were about his new book; he had found out that it had gotten published earlier today. It reminded me of how I felt when my first piece was published. I had never imagined I would get to that point with my writing, and could barely believe other people enjoyed it. A sense of pride washed over me.
I call him back when my phone reached around twenty-three percent. As soon as he picked up my call he sounded exhausted and almost out of breathe. I tried asking him if he was alright, but the sound of two knocks at my beaten down front door startled me. It was Charlie, holding his phone to his ear.
"Did you run here?" I questioned my sometimes 'unique' little brother.
"No," he panted, "of course not! I biked." he told me, nearly gasping for breath.
"You know kid, sometimes you make my head spin."
I really admire how far he's come in his career. I was talking to him on the phone about my next book the night before, and I suppose he wanted to know more.
"I just," he was barely breathing now.
"Just come inside, you must be dying out there. It's nearly 100° outside."
His normally swooped hair was drenched in sweat, along with what I'm pretty sure was his favorite T-shirt. He looked paler than normal, which was either from lack of sleep, staying inside too often, or both. He's been putting so much of his energy into his book, he's even looking slimmer than normal.
"So please, tell your biggest fan what's happening in your new book. I'm dying to know, and out of working on it for months, you've only told me the character's names!" he exclaimed in a somewhat winey voice.
"I've told you all I can Charlie! It'll be finished in a few weeks, I promise."
While he goes and plops himself down on my shitty sofa, I grab a bottle of water from the cooler to give to him.
I notice his hands are shaking a bit when I hand him the water. He seems to be in a good mood so I decide not to bring it up.
We begin going on and on about his book, which may I add, he's had me proofread maybe a million times. Okay, yes that's an exaggeration, but it sure feels like a million times. I couldn't ask for anything different though, considering he trusts me to go over something he loves most in the world.
His style of writing intrigues me; as well as gives me new ideas for my writing. He always focuses on the good parts of people in real life, no matter how bad they might be. He puts that same characteristic into the characters in his book. They all have such unique perspectives on the world, whether the public views them as good or bad, they're unique in they're own way, just like him.
He had to leave fairly quickly, and although I offered to drive him home, he insisted on riding his bike instead. I hug him tight, and for some odd reason he hugs me tighter. It feels as though the hug lasts for a decade, but I don't mind it since he's one of the only people I have left to rely on.
