Chasing Sunshine | JJ Maybank

36 // Dead Calm

"A bit shy of twenty-one aren't we?"

My head snapped up from the dark maroon liquid swirling around in the glass at the sound of my brother's voice. His question was said in jest; neither one of us ever pretended that we hadn't snuck drinks here and there. Well, to each other at least; we made sure to keep our parents blissfully oblivious to what occured during summer hang-outs at the Boneyard.

I rolled my eyes as he stepped from the shadows of the hallway into the tiny kitchen which was just a L-shaped countertop and the very basic of appliances. "Ha ha, you're hilarious," I quipped back, taking another slow sip of the red wine and involuntarily wrinkling my nose at the sickly-sweet aroma. It wasn't my first choice of alcohalic beverage but the remaining half-bottle of my mother's favorite merlot was the only thing I could find, sent to us from a sympathetic well-wisher. What a stupid gift to give, as if the contents of an over-priced beverage with a name I couldn't pronounce could overshadow the thick cloud of grief left from the passing of a loved one. Although, it was rather handy on nights like tonight, when my constant tossing and turning had become unbearable.

James leaned against the countertop, facing me as my legs swung in the air from my perch on the bar stool on the opposite side. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, the teasing tone leaving his voice as he studied me closely. I supressed a small ironic chuckle as my gaze flashed to the clock on the microwave that read 3:36 AM in bright green digital font.

"Brilliant observation Sherlock Holmes," I responded, looking back at him as I slid the green bottle across to him in an silent invitation for him to finish off whatever was left, which wasn't much. My sarcasm earned me only a ghost of a smile from him, but I'd take what I can get these days. James's smile was my favorite, all crooked and playful, and I hadn't seen it in months. He took a glass from the cabinet and I watched him as he poured himself the rest.

We both had our mother's nose and our father's paler complexion, but the shared sibling characteristics ended there. He took after my dad mostly: tall, dark-haired, big. James was never fat but he definitely carried an imposing sort of bulk, which was ironic considering he'd sooner chop off his own arm than hit someone. He took after Mom in that way; the pair of them always wore their hearts on their sleeves which was something I could never come to emulate. She gave me her rather small stature however, along with a pair of dark, stormy blue irises. Dad always said he fell in love with the ocean in her eyes which made James pretend to gag and me question what ocean he was looking at, because ours' were much too dark to be the color of the sea.

We continued this way in silence, neither one of us having much to say. The only sound was the harsh winter wind tunneling in between the tall, high-rise buildings of the city and rattling the panes of the window. A few stray flakes of snow were drifting past and I interally groaned, knowing a fresh blanket of powder would only make navigating the subways to get to school tomorrow that much more difficult. Deciding I couldn't stand the quiet any longer, I ventured into a somewhat random topic.

"Your birthday's coming up," I said, which made him snort, unimpressed, "We should do something."

February 5th, exactly one month before mine, although separated by about two years. Born at the tail-end of winter, although that never meant much to me before this year because back home, there wasn't ever a winter to be had. Well, not a winter comparable to the Midwest's anyway.

"Doesn't seem like there's much to celebrate this year," he muttered, taking both of our now empty glasses and dumping them in the sink to be washed tomorrow. Dad wouldn't notice, and if he did, he'd be too hungover to care. I frowned at the statement and my eyes carefully traced over the shadows clinging under the shallow angles of his face, the only light coming from the ever-present light pollution filtering in from the streets outside. Even though it was dark, I could picture the heavy bags sitting underneath his honey-brown eyes; they had been there ever since we came home from the hospital that day for the last time.