Wishes

As I slowly take out a pen from my pencil case, I find him watching me. He always does it. Everyday, he just sits in my room, in front of me, staring at me, as if I’m some sort of creature he’s never seen before. I hate it. But what the heck can I do? It seems like only yesterday we were playing outside my house in the mud, having the best time of our lives. And now? I still don’t understand how… and why…

My father always told me it’s funny how we got along. We are such different people. I mean, look at me, a “weirdo,” as everyone called me at school, and him, one of the funniest, joyful, and kind-hearted people there are. He’s always been the “cool kid.” He’s always been the better sibling. Surrounded by numerous people, he would walk in the hallway holding his head up high, not worrying about anything. Like, how is that even possible? But now, all he can do is watch me.

He’s had hundreds, no, thousands of friends! To be honest, I was always a bit jealous. It must be cool always having people to talk to. It must be cool never having to feel lonely. Well, at least that’s what I thought. That’s what I thought, until the only thing he was able to do was watch me.

Ever since I remember, he was the best big brother I could ever ask for. If anyone ever picked on me, he would always protect me and made sure I was “safe and happy.” But, you know, nothing can change society. Not even someone so perfect. Perfect? Well, at least he was to me.

My “Harry Potter” addiction was considered not cool and dumb at the age of 17, but he always thought otherwise. He thought it was beyond amazing that someone could name every single character without a doubt and know every movie like their five fingers. We would binge watch it all the time. He would always forget the difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and I would have to remind him which one is which. It was kind of ironic. Ironic, because he hated Harry Potter. He hated it more than anything in the world. Yet, every Thursday, at exactly 6:30 p.m., we would sit in our tiny living room, with, what seemed like hundred kilograms of popcorn, and watch Harry Potter. Oh, and he hated popcorn, too.

I remember the day we last spoke. I remember that day so well; it still seems like it was yesterday. I remember every little detail of it, and I will hate that day forever. It was his girlfriend’s birthday. Honestly, I never really liked her, but that’s not important right now. She had a massive “Sweet 17” birthday party at her dad’s pool house and everyone was invited. Yeah, everyone except for me. He thought it was some sort of mistake.

“Her phone must’ve glitched or something,” he said, holding the bright pink invitation in his hand, “C’mon, Liz, get ready. We are going to be late. We can’t be late to her 17th birthday, you know how much it means to her.”

“We?” I mumbled, “But, she clearly didn’t invite me! She doesn’t want me there, can’t you see?” He shook his head at me, indicating that I needed to get ready no matter what.

“I’m not going to her stupid party!” I yelled, “You always make me do things I don’t want to do!”

He yelled in return, telling me I’m ungrateful for all the effort he puts into making me feel more comfortable around people. That was it. I hated when he started that whole “you’re so ungrateful” talk. I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me, leaving him alone. I was not going anywhere. The last thing I said to him was “I never want to see you again!”

In fact, I never did see him again. My brother, Lucas, died in a car crash that night. And, I guess, I got what I wished for. It’s been a while, and the only thing I have left from him is a framed portrait of his beautiful face, which watches me live my lonely and boring life, every day, through day and night. 

Corporate, Lee. Lee-Corporate-Portrait-Wall.