My Brothers Roommate

one

I've never been one for goodbyes. It always seems like the end. It always seems like there's nothing left. That's why I never say the word. It's always "see you later," or just a simple "I love you."

   Goodbyes are just too hard. Sometimes, you never get the chance to say it when you need to and you end up feeling abandoned. You end up feeling lost and confused. Out of control when control was all you had to begin with. It's upsetting when people leave, even if you know you'll see them again.

   My name is Phoenix Quinn, and my big brother Sawyer is headed for college. He's been packing all week and been preparing for college all summer. He leaves tomorrow and everyone is coming here to wish luck.

Now, he's in his room, packing any last minute things. I'm standing in the doorway, waiting for him to stop mumbling his check list as he looks through his suitcase, duffle bag, and laundry basket. His fair hair is in a tangled mess and I can see his muscles move fluidly beneath his tight shirt. "Nix," he says without looking at me. "Is the microwave in the car?"

"Yes," I tell him as I move to sit on his bed. "You put it in there this morning."

"Right," he says. "Thanks. I forgot."

"You have everything," I told him. "You checked last night and this morning. All you added was the sweater mom just got you and the t-shirt dad sent last week."

"I forgot to write a thank you card." He opens his drawer on the nightstand and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen.

"Stop," I say grabbing the pen. He looks up at me, his baby blue eyes meeting mine.

"Why?"

"It's the first thing he sent in almost two years," I said, "and you had to tell him in the first place. He hasn't called or even called back. He never sends cards for our birthdays anymore and we haven't seen him in three years. He doesn't deserve a thank you." I pointed at the shirt on his suitcase. "It's not even the right college."

"It's the thought that counts," Sawyer said.

"It only counts if he actually sends it," I mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It wasn't his handwriting and he spelt my name wrong." I sighed. "He doesn't care, Sawyer."

"I know," he said. "I just hoped that maybe he did."

   "I know. Mom's making breakfast for dinner. It'll be ready in a few."

"Alright," he said zipping his suitcase closed. "I'll be out in a minute."

   I nodded and walked out of his room. I felt bad for him. Our dad left five years ago, we haven't seen him in three and he stopped calling and sending cards two years ago. I was twelve and Sawyer was thirteen when he left.

   I used to blame myself, thinking I had done something wrong. I know Sawyer blamed himself too. Sawyer and I had gone to the park down the street and didn't tell our parents. When we came home they were furious. Our dad was gone a week later. Mom assured us that it wasn't our fault, but we were children and didn't know anything else. We didn't know that dad was cheating on mom.

   We figured it out when he came to visit. It was the last time I saw him. He told us about his girlfriend and how it was their four year anniversary of being together. He had left our mom three years prior to the last visit he ever made. At first I had thought he had forgotten exactly how many years it had been, only to realize that my father knew exactly when he left. He knew what he did to our mother and he knew what he did to us. I haven't seen him since.

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11.24.16