He came into my room completely intoxicated. I smelled the alcohol mixed with something, I'm not sure what, before I saw him. He talked to me. He told me about his night, everything he had done even though he knew he shouldn't. But he was smiling, he had this old familiar happy smile. Like my oldest brother, he has the biggest dimples you only see when he's smiling. I can't remember the last time I saw them. He walked around my room and told me how long it had been since he'd seen everything. He told me about the book he was reading, and even though he hardly does, he loved this book because he saw the movie first. He told me we should hang out more, and I told him that he never talks to me. He said it's so much easier to talk to me with the alcohol. He shook my hand twice and picked up the guitar (he hasn't played in at least 2-3 years) and played it awfully while laughing. I was laughing too. He told me that nicotine isn't worth it. He told me never to do it. But the residue from his decisions filled the air of my room and though it didn't feel right and I couldn't keep from coughing, I loved it because it reminded me of him. And despite everything, he was quite like himself tonight. He reeked of old memories between the two of us. Of times when all we really had was each other, and that was enough. My mother once told me people's true selves show when they're drunk, and for my brother, it's being happy and funny and sweet. So I suppose under all the layers of depression and anxiety and mental health issues without a specific name or diagnose, he's still himself. Somewhere there's room for us to be like we used to be, there's a place in him that's youthful and joyful. There's a place in him where I'm still the little sister he loves, and I don't care if it makes me selfish to wish he would drink more around me, I don't care if his other 'products' make it hard to breathe. So I gave him my sushi because I knew he was hungry. He smiled and said goodnight, and gently closed the door. I know in the morning he'll remember little and the distance will be as before and all his walls will be up again.
YOU ARE READING
Quiver
Poetrya place where I've written my feelings when I felt them. it has become a story of depression and recovery, love and loss, hope and fear, and everything in-between. mostly poetry, sometimes stories. :)
