‘You’ll tell mum?’ Samir asked crestfallen.
When he was 8, he broke the tele. He looked at me distraught and asked me the same thing.
Now, I can’t even look at him anymore. He has lost weight. My eyes trying to find my brother in the shell he has wasted into. I wondered why did he relapsed this time.
I looked out of the car window, the day was beautiful. The type of day I would be spending soaking the sun on a beach somewhere. But I was outside a rehab.
“I should tell her, she has been texting me since last night.” I finally mumbled. I should have been angry, but all I felt was tiredness.
When I saw him two years ago, we fought. He stormed off into the night but eventually he settled into our mum’s garage. From the corner of my eye, I could see him nodding his head. He was high.
“You sure I need to go there? I would be okay, I won’t take anymore.” he uttered sullenly as he gazed upon the doors which would be his home for the next couple of months.
“You know you do. They can help you, I…” I choked up.
He got out of the car for what seemed like eternity, the silence hanging between us like a carcass. I watched him talk to the receptionist.
I sat in my car, hoping he wouldn’t come running out. I hoped this would be our last visit.
I receive another text.
‘Have you found him?’. Mum.
I never told mum how the tele broke.
‘He’s fine. He would be living with me for a while.’
I wrote this for Brilliant Flash Fiction’s Concealment prompt last year. It didn’t make the cut but after listening to ‘This American Life’s’ episode on Dopey I revisited it. I tried to modify to what the episode was about, how I felt while listening it.