My Brother in the Dark Kitchen

I came home for the weekend and now it's 2am and my brother is sitting in the kitchen in the dark. not on his phone. just sitting, with a glass of water he isn't drinking.

we shared a wall growing up. I knew his footsteps, the exact creak of his side of the bunk. tonight I stood in the doorway a full minute before he noticed me, and when he did he smiled at me the way you smile at a coworker.

I asked if he was okay. he said yeah, just can't sleep, same as always. but it wasn't same as always. same as always he'd have thrown the dish towel at me. made some joke about my face.

we talked ten minutes about nothing. the fridge that needs replacing. mom's knee. he answered everything a half second late, like the words were coming from another room.

I don't know when my brother turned into someone I have to be polite to.

I said goodnight and went up. through the wall I used to hear everything. tonight I heard him still down there, not moving, the tap dripping into that glass he wasn't drinking.

I lay there and did the math. I have his number memorized and haven't dialed it in two years. we're under the same roof this whole weekend and we text each other happy birthday like acquaintances.