So Many Times

Baby Brother Chapter 3

Are you sitting? He asks. You need to sit. I put my fist through the wall, he says.

Saturday morning, middle brother calls. I’m at the hospital, he says. I’m here with baby brother. Baby brother binged on booze and sleeping pills. He sees ants crawling everywhere. Ants crawl through the phone wire, crawl up my arm.

Can you watch him this weekend? Middle brother asks. I have plans to leave town.

I pick up baby brother from the hospital and bring him to my place. He wears dark glasses, slumps into the couch, falls asleep. I watch him as he sleeps. I want to pull him to me, make him happy. But he is far away.

Baby brother sleeps, takes his medication, watches cartoons, and sleeps again. Then he wakes up. Take me home now, he says. Are you sure you’re ready? I say. You can stay here as long as you like. I’m sure, he says. Please take me home.

What happened? I ask as I drive him home. She left me, he says. And I got drunk. I got drunk and couldn’t sleep. I took sleeping pills, I don’t remember how many. I saw ants. I’m ok now.

We walk together up the stairs to his apartment, and he opens the door. Photographs of them together, sliced apart, litter the floor. Papers are taped to the wall, shouting failure in large black ink strokes. Glasses litter the table. The air smells of alcohol and dust. My jaw drops.

I pick up an overturned bottle of anti-depressants. Are you still taking these? I ask. He nods. And you’re still in therapy? I ask. Again he nods.

I need to clean up now, he says. Do you need help? I ask. No, I’m ok, really. Goodbye.

I walk downstairs and look back up at his apartment. The door is closed and the shades are drawn. What can I say? What can I do? Reluctantly, I drive home.