Lonely Nights // H.S

1.

'I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine'

*

When you have an older sibling, there always comes those moments when you have no choice but to spend time with them because you either have none of your own friends or they're too boring to hang out with. Maybe it's after school, too young to be allowed out on your own because your parents dictate your every move to keep you safe. Perhaps on a Sunday, because nothing fun ever happens on a Sunday.

Whatever the circumstance, you find yourself sitting in the corner of the room while your older brother or sister does whatever older kids do, sometimes on their own or sometimes with friends. They might tell you to fuck off or they'll just ignore you, but you notice everything, because you have nothing better to do.

I've always been a keen observer, I think. Eyes lingering on something a little too long, at things they really shouldn't be paying attention to. I like to watch people, to learn their quirks and intricacies, to observe because someone should always have another looking out for them.

When I was a child, my mother said it was like I clocked out of reality and decided to disappear for a bit. My mind would only focus on the acts of others, both people I knew and those would only see in passing, and everything else around me faded away. I'd see the person, hear their chatter, watch their movements, and I'd piece together some of their tightly locked secrets. They would never find out, of course, because once I have a secret I never tell, but being a keeper of them meant more to me than having any of my own. Like I was somehow a protector of these people.

In the moments I spent with my brother, I always silently observed others. A lot of the time it was down to nerves, always too insecure to engage on the conversations he had with friends when he was so much older and wiser than me. Even when we were alone, and he let me sit on his bed and draw while he played games or practiced whatever sport he intended to play indoors, I'd just watch him. He found it strange at first, making snide comments about how odd I seemed, but as I got older, he either got used to it or chose to ignore it.

Some of his friends over the years would ask why I was so quiet, so watchful, and he'd tell them to not think about it or ignore the question entirely. I think he grew to like my company, in a way, because it was like I never really existed. Of course, he felt my presence, and he liked that he wasn't alone, but I never did anything to disturb him. We're still like that. Quiet, but content.

Inseparable in many ways too, I think. Joint at the hip. Ask us anything about ourselves and either one can answer, because we know so much about each other without every really speaking much. Over time he came to watch me too, and as a result he's one of the few people that really knows me.

It's not like we don't have conversations. We do, we have lots of them. Just not about things that matter. Maybe what the best flavour of ice cream is or our favourite song on the radio or what someone said to us at work that day, but never have we broached on the subject of feelings. We notice, of course, judging by the types of silence that cloaks us in certain situations or the body language we display. If one of us is sad or uncomfortable or hurting, the other will always know. Maybe it's telekinesis, maybe it's delusion; as long as we both know we have each other, though, it doesn't really matter much.

He's my best friend. Always has been, always will be.

It's obvious as he's gotten older, he's grown more protective, but I suppose that happens when there's a seven-year age gap between us. Like a paternal figure in my life, but not as serious as a father. Certainly not one that leaves as easily as a father, either, because it's harder to shake the irritant of a sibling than it is for an adult to hide from their child.