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My Brother’s Keeper

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My brother and I were always close. He was extremely shy. He never invited over friends and he always stayed in our room.

Growing up, our parents were dirt poor. After third grade, we moved into a basement my parents rented. This meant that Erik, our parents, and I had to share one room. One bed for us, one bed for our parents. I never minded it, but Erik seemed to. It was around here that he started to change.

Mom and Dad sold a lot of our stuff to make ends meet. Erik got it the worse. Pretty much everything of his was sold. His bed. His favorite comic books. Half his clothes.

I offered to share my bed with Erik, but he always refused. He said he had trouble sleeping at night. I asked him why once, and he told me that he was afraid of dying. He heard stories of people falling asleep and never waking up again. He didn’t want that to be him.

I tried telling him that he shouldn’t be afraid. We would watch over each other. He would always refuse. “I’ll watch over you,” he insisted. I would argue, but I was never able to stay awake long enough for him to fall asleep.

I felt bad for him. We weren’t in any of the same classes. He never spoke to either of our parents and wouldn’t meet any of my friends. He said he only cared about me. “We’re brothers,” he explained. “I just want to hang out with you.”

It all changed when we graduated. I got accepted into our state school, while Erik didn’t even bother applying. It was then that I realized Erik wasn’t the same brother I grew up with. Instead of trying to get out of poverty, he was going to rot away at home.

I told him he was going to end up like our parents.

He didn’t respond, only watched as I loaded my truck and drove away.

I really regret it. I shouldn’t have said that to Erik, and I plan on making it up to him. Now that the semester ended, we can finally get back in touch. I bought all of his favorite things. His favorite movies. His favorite cds. I even managed to hunt down copies of the old comics Mom and Dad sold.

As soon as I got home, I noticed something was off. Erik wasn’t there. I asked my mother where he was, and she immediately started crying. I asked Dad, and he told me to get out of their home and never come back. I couldn’t figure out why until I got a call three days later.

It was my father. He said he was concerned that my countless voicemails asking about Erik wasn’t a joke. And that’s when I got the truth.

Erik and I went to the park in the third grade. Only I came home. 

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