Interlude 5
What brothers see
People at school talk about being “depressed” like it’s this new, great vibe, like wearing black hoodies and listening to sad indie music makes you emotionally deep.
Half the time, they’re just bored, or posting something cryptic on BeReal for attention that their parents were too busy to give them.
But I’d seen the real thing when Alicia came home from the hospital.
She didn’t cry and didn’t break plates. She didn’t do any of the stuff you see in movies when someone’s suffering.
She just… disappeared, even though she was right there, across the hall.
Sitting at the dinner table, pretending to read, smiling politely, and saying thank you for things no one should thank you for, like toast or tea or not slamming the door.
It was worse than rage. I feel rage sometimes when I think about Mom.
I miss her like a sissy little boy, but I hate her for leaving.
And with Alicia… I didn’t know what to do.
I was sixteen, a nerdy sixteen. It’s easy to sit next to Brian in math class, who seems off, and say, “Hey, you good?” But when it’s your sister, who used to fly planes and talk about lift and drag like they’re her second name, and now she barely speaks at all…
You freeze. And I still feel shitty about that.
I wanted to say something, but everything I thought of sounded dumb or too little, too late.
So I hovered: made her coffee, left ketchup chips by her door, sent her weird memes and reels.
And then came he. Paul. The cool guy. Mysterious like a picnic basket.
Always with the jacket, leaning on the handrail, and sneaking in.
I knew his type from day one, this adult version of Holden Caulfield.
The kind that says the right things and listens to vintage music and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room—until you’re not.
I tried not to judge, I really did, because Alicia started smiling again and started flying in her sleep, I think.
So yeah, part of me wanted to thank the guy.
But there was also this other part: the part that watched her break before, and crawl her way out.
That part made me nervous, because we’d already been there, and there was something silent about her again.
Like when she crawled into my bed and we binged Night Agent.
I don’t know what happened, but something did, and I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monsters of this and other worlds, if he did anything to mess with her head or heart, I’ll actually punch a grown man in the throat, or the shin, whatever I can reach first.
It’s weird, leaving soon, Stanford still feels big and surreal.
And I’m excited, really! I might’ve met someone during the interviews, someone I finally like.
Most of the girls here look like they had their eyelashes glued together.
Nothing serious with the Stanford girl. Yet.
But she laughs at my terrible jokes, and she’s into astrophysics and churros, so who knows?
And she’s so pretty: American, but her family is originally Japanese-Norwegian. I think I’m nervous.
Still, part of me’s gonna miss this place, especially the chaos and kitchen wars, Alicia stealing my hoodies.
Even Dad, humming along to the noise the kettle makes and pretending it’s music.
And yeah, I know about the photos. I figured it out a while ago, don’t ask how: I have my ways.
Let’s say not all tech guys are moody and sexy: some are just nosy and really good with passwords.
But I haven’t said anything, because maybe Alicia needs a mystery that’s not trying to ruin her.
I know it’s one good secret she deserves.
I hope that whatever happens next, she remembers who she is: the one who always makes me feel like life is big and full of possibilities. And if she ever needs a reminder… well. She knows where my hoodies are. And for now, I hope we can go to that damn airfield together.