Mr. Brightside

At Least

We sat at the dining table. The sounds of the spoons hitting the bowls full of chilli echoing through the room. The aroma was making my mouth water but I just couldn't bring myself to eat Francis' delicious food. Not with this tension. Not with Dad watching Al weakly pick at his food. Out of all four of us, Francis was the only one eating.

Even then, he wasn't eating much because the tension in the room was so thick it made things hard to swallow. Al ultimately sighed and pushed the bowl away.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't." He stood up and walked off to the living room. He laid in his makeshift bundle on the couch.

"That's better than last time." Francis weakly smiled.

"But he's still barely eating." Dad looked to Francis.

"Maybe it would help if you didn't make food that looked like puke." I mumbled.

"Matthew!" Dad yelled. "Don't say that!"

"It's not bad, I swear." I defended myself. "It just really does look like puke."

"He has a point." Francis frowned. "I should be more considerate of what I make."

Dad sighed, "You are not helping in the slightest."

"You're not helping either, he's right there." I pointed to the living room. "He can easily hear us."

"Sorry I'm such a problem!" Al yelled, getting up from the couch and stomping off up the stairs.

We stayed silent for a moment in shame. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We all made a promise to keep it together. To support him through it all. It's a shame we can't even try. Dad's gets too angry, Francis is clueless, and I barely know a thing. It's all so messy and Al's right in the middle of it.

"I'm going to talk to him." I declared, getting up from my seat.

"Good luck." Dad mumbled. I walked off quickly so I wouldn't hear anything else. Even I'm sick of him and I'm not even the center of the problem. I can't imagine what Al must feel.

Up the stairs and down the hall I went. Al's door with a taped on poster that said "Warning: Awesomeness Ahead" appeared within my sights. The poster was old and falling off. It only reminded me of Al when we first got adopted. He was lively back then.

I gently knocked on the door. A hostile "What?" was his response. I couldn't help the sigh that escaped my throat.

"It's Matt." I said.

"What do you want?" Al's voice was softer and more coherent meaning that he was closer to the door.

"I just want to talk."

"About what?"

"Cabinet design." I answered sarcastically. "What the hell do you think I want to talk about?" I heard him giggle then sigh. He opened the door enough for him to peak his head out.

"Did you bring any food with you?"

"No, did you want some?"

"Well, yes-I mean, no-I mean-" He sighed. "I don't know."

"Don't stress yourself out, Al."

"I'm not trying to." The creaked quietly as he opened the door more. "It's just hard."

"And that's okay."

"Everyone keeps saying that but it's really not."

"Al, just look on the brightside, you're alive and in no danger whatsoever."