A Collection, Vol. I

Brothers

Lucille and I were always close. Even though I was born first by only a few minutes, Luci was definitely always the 'younger brother'. My mother said that even as kids we were inseparable – if we were ever apart he would cry until he saw me. It wasn't easy for my mother to raise us without our father, but from what she told me about him he was a strong, wise man with a caring heart you couldn't contain. I wish I got to know him better before the accident that took him from us. We weren't even a year old. As the oldest man in the house now, I had to live in his footsteps. Luci certainly couldn't be, as he weighed easily half as much as I did. Hell, he could barely help me chop wood for the winter. What he made up for in his lack of physical strength, however, he made up for with his head. He was smart – leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates. He helped me with our schoolwork more than mom ever could. But he was alone. He didn't understand the kids his age and couldn't make any friends growing up, often spending all his time alone out in the forest when I wasn't around. He was smarter than his teachers, but I was his only friend in this world. We spent most of our time wandering the forests outside of town. Once, though, we wandered too deep – presumably after one of his pets that escaped again. We got lost. The sun went down. What I remember most about that night was when we got separated in the dark. We must have been apart for only a minute before I heard him. He was crying. Neither of us could see a foot in front of our faces, but I found him after crawling through bush and log for what felt like forever. He was sad about losing one of his pets – but he was absolutely torn up about losing me in that forest.

When our mom passed we inherited the house, and things were harder with her gone, yes, but we managed. We were both in school, working on the side to make ends meet. He studied music while I studied business. It was only less than a year after she left, though, that he became more recluse – more alone than ever, if that was even possible. He lost all passion for his studies, his books, and his music. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't bring himself to play music. He became empty...and he began to drink. It was hard on both of us to lose the only other family besides ourselves, but he stayed strong despite it all. He got accepted into a good school. Full-ride scholarships, a job practically lined up and ready for him after graduation, the works. But then he got sick. He started sleeping less – eating less. I took care of him the best I could. I worked two jobs and had to stop school, but he never got better. I will never forget how he looked when the doctor came over. He looked like a corpse in his bed; shriveled up and even skinnier and lankier than normal. He was all skin and bones. We both knew he wasn't doing so good. I stayed by his side that night as he cried, saying he didn't want to die like this. He missed mom. I cried too, that night. He stared out the window to the moonlit forest outside of town and told me about that night we got lost in the woods looking for his pet rabbit. We laughed with tears in our eyes as we reminisced over his affinity for making friends with any sort of creature – from the cute and cuddly to the gross and grotesque. From a raccoon to a spider, he could befriend anything alive but another person.

He told me he felt better now that I was at his side. 'Maybe tomorrow I'll get up and try to finish that song I've been working on' he said. He loved the violin. He played the same fiddle since one of our school's music teachers gave him their old one when we were kids. He had to finish his masterpiece, he kept telling me. I made him a promise: he kicks this sickness and I'll learn violin too, so I could help him finish it. He laughed – we both knew I was never the best at playing an instrument. I couldn't even hold the darn thing right, much less play it at the same time. He wiped his tears and looked at me. 'We'll figure it out tomorrow' he told me. I nodded and blew out the candle, wishing him a good rest and getting up to close the window. 'Stop' he told me, 'leave it open tonight.' I tried to tell him that he was sick and that leaving the window open would give him a chill, which would only make his sickness worse, but he wouldn't hear it. He wanted to feel the cold night air as he slept. I left it open for him and went to bed myself.