The call came twelve minutes before I was supposed to clock out. Sarah sounded frantic - something about a PTA event and she'd forgotten that Harry didn’t like large crowds and would I please watch my brother that evening? I pinched the bridge of my nose. At least she’d said please - usually she just threw Harry at me like I was an adult daycare. I mustered up enough fake cheer to not sound like I was being marched to my execution. “Sure, sis, anything for you.”
An hour later, Harry sat on my living room couch, staring at the glass sculptures I'd brought home from the company retreat in France the previous year. His hair looked greasy (he claimed showers were too overstimulating), but somehow Sarah had convinced him to make it presentable. He looked up at me with a gap-toothed grin. “How much was it, Chuckie?”
“How much was what, Harry?” I mumbled, trying to avoid conversation as I scanned the list Sarah had left regarding his evening routine.
“The weird lookin’ bird thing.” He pointed to one of the sculptures, an abstract art piece I'd been told was meant to symbolize a sunset, but to me was just a mistake someone had put a price tag on.
I shook my head. “Oh, I don't remember. Been a while since I got it.”
“Well could you ask the person you got it from?” His innocence was sickeningly sweet.
“Not something I want to talk about right now, bud,” I snapped, my voice slightly harsher than I'd intended. Harry didn't flinch, instead sitting back and continuing to stare at the statues, leather creaking under his weight.
Dinner was at 6:30 sharp - tomato soup from the can and microwaved cheese sandwiches, Harry's favorite. I unzipped Harry's medicine bag and pulled out his dinner meds. Harry grumbled when he saw the baggie.
“Come on, Harry. It'll take two seconds and then you can eat in peace.” He reluctantly extended his right hand, and I poured the eclectic collection of multicolored drugs into his palm. His fist closed around the mass of pills, but he didn't immediately put it in his mouth. He just sat there, staring straight ahead. I reached out and grabbed his rough-skinned hand, intending to shove it towards his mouth, but he pulled back and glared at me.
“Don't touch me,” he snipped. “I'll bite you.”
“Harry, I'm your brother.” I replied, trying to maintain decorum. “I have permission to touch you.” He grunted and slowly raised his fist to his mouth, depositing the pills inside. He slurped his water, then slammed the glass on the table and began devouring his soup. I wanted to tell him off, but he was eating his soup at least. I plopped down, my own dinner practically wet cardboard in my mouth.
After dinner, Harry snatched the TV remote, flipping it on to some auction channel. I tried to focus on some accounting records I'd brought home from the office. For a few minutes, it was surprisingly quiet - just the faint sounds of the TV combined with the scritch-scratch of pen on paper, Harry's breath quickening whenever the gavel sounded.
Harry’s snarls snapped me back to reality. “Stupid remote!”
I looked up, already dreading another meltdown. The TV was off and Harry was hammering the “change channel” button on the remote. I warily shuffled over. “Harry, the TV's off. You're going to have to turn it back on if you want to change the channel.”
“No it's not!” I wrestled the remote from his clenched fists to prevent its destruction. “It was workin’ earlier!”
“Harry, the TV is off. You probably just bumped the ‘Off’ button while you were watching it.”
“No I didn't!” he screamed, shooting to his feet and grasping for the remote. “Gimme the remote back!”
“Not until you calm down first,” I replied, my tone slowly rising in intensity to match his. “Here, I'll show you-”
“NO!” Harry's breath was hot on my face. “GIMME THE REMOTE!”
My patience evaporated. “Harry, sit down and listen here for once in your life.” Before he could retort, I continued, words spilling out faster than I could think. “Do you think I wanted to take care of you tonight? Every time you come over, it's problem after problem after problem. The only reason I said yes tonight is because Sarah asked nicely.”
Harry's face tightened, his eyes darkening. I pressed on. “Why won't you accept the possibility that the TV is just off? It's an inanimate object, for Pete's sake! Yelling at it won't fix anything, nor will ignoring me and your meds, nor will trying to pry into my personal life! For once, why can't you just sit down, shut up and stop being such a childish burden?!”
There was a split second of beautiful silence, and then Harry punched me in the face.
I staggered back, stunned. Harry stood there, fist still extended, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. My nose throbbed, though thankfully it didn't feel broken. Neither of us said anything for several minutes. Finally Harry muttered a brief apology and slumped back onto the couch as it complained about the new weight it had to support. I stood there, still stunned, eventually gathering enough of my wits to ask a question that surprised even me: “Does Sarah say the remote doesn't work?”
He nodded, his whole upper body slowly bouncing up and down. It was one of the few things he did that didn’t feel burdensome, a thought that now felt unsettling.
The rest of the night passed in silence. Even when Sarah showed up and apologized again, I just shook my head. I watched her car drive off, Harry in the passenger seat, once again his bubbly, innocent self. And for a moment, my stomach tightened; I wondered if I could run out and get in the car with them. But by then her taillights were a speck on the horizon.
An hour later, Harry sat on my living room couch, staring at the glass sculptures I'd brought home from the company retreat in France the previous year. His hair looked greasy (he claimed showers were too overstimulating), but somehow Sarah had convinced him to make it presentable. He looked up at me with a gap-toothed grin. “How much was it, Chuckie?”
“How much was what, Harry?” I mumbled, trying to avoid conversation as I scanned the list Sarah had left regarding his evening routine.
“The weird lookin’ bird thing.” He pointed to one of the sculptures, an abstract art piece I'd been told was meant to symbolize a sunset, but to me was just a mistake someone had put a price tag on.
I shook my head. “Oh, I don't remember. Been a while since I got it.”
“Well could you ask the person you got it from?” His innocence was sickeningly sweet.
“Not something I want to talk about right now, bud,” I snapped, my voice slightly harsher than I'd intended. Harry didn't flinch, instead sitting back and continuing to stare at the statues, leather creaking under his weight.
Dinner was at 6:30 sharp - tomato soup from the can and microwaved cheese sandwiches, Harry's favorite. I unzipped Harry's medicine bag and pulled out his dinner meds. Harry grumbled when he saw the baggie.
“Come on, Harry. It'll take two seconds and then you can eat in peace.” He reluctantly extended his right hand, and I poured the eclectic collection of multicolored drugs into his palm. His fist closed around the mass of pills, but he didn't immediately put it in his mouth. He just sat there, staring straight ahead. I reached out and grabbed his rough-skinned hand, intending to shove it towards his mouth, but he pulled back and glared at me.
“Don't touch me,” he snipped. “I'll bite you.”
“Harry, I'm your brother.” I replied, trying to maintain decorum. “I have permission to touch you.” He grunted and slowly raised his fist to his mouth, depositing the pills inside. He slurped his water, then slammed the glass on the table and began devouring his soup. I wanted to tell him off, but he was eating his soup at least. I plopped down, my own dinner practically wet cardboard in my mouth.
After dinner, Harry snatched the TV remote, flipping it on to some auction channel. I tried to focus on some accounting records I'd brought home from the office. For a few minutes, it was surprisingly quiet - just the faint sounds of the TV combined with the scritch-scratch of pen on paper, Harry's breath quickening whenever the gavel sounded.
Harry’s snarls snapped me back to reality. “Stupid remote!”
I looked up, already dreading another meltdown. The TV was off and Harry was hammering the “change channel” button on the remote. I warily shuffled over. “Harry, the TV's off. You're going to have to turn it back on if you want to change the channel.”
“No it's not!” I wrestled the remote from his clenched fists to prevent its destruction. “It was workin’ earlier!”
“Harry, the TV is off. You probably just bumped the ‘Off’ button while you were watching it.”
“No I didn't!” he screamed, shooting to his feet and grasping for the remote. “Gimme the remote back!”
“Not until you calm down first,” I replied, my tone slowly rising in intensity to match his. “Here, I'll show you-”
“NO!” Harry's breath was hot on my face. “GIMME THE REMOTE!”
My patience evaporated. “Harry, sit down and listen here for once in your life.” Before he could retort, I continued, words spilling out faster than I could think. “Do you think I wanted to take care of you tonight? Every time you come over, it's problem after problem after problem. The only reason I said yes tonight is because Sarah asked nicely.”
Harry's face tightened, his eyes darkening. I pressed on. “Why won't you accept the possibility that the TV is just off? It's an inanimate object, for Pete's sake! Yelling at it won't fix anything, nor will ignoring me and your meds, nor will trying to pry into my personal life! For once, why can't you just sit down, shut up and stop being such a childish burden?!”
There was a split second of beautiful silence, and then Harry punched me in the face.
I staggered back, stunned. Harry stood there, fist still extended, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. My nose throbbed, though thankfully it didn't feel broken. Neither of us said anything for several minutes. Finally Harry muttered a brief apology and slumped back onto the couch as it complained about the new weight it had to support. I stood there, still stunned, eventually gathering enough of my wits to ask a question that surprised even me: “Does Sarah say the remote doesn't work?”
He nodded, his whole upper body slowly bouncing up and down. It was one of the few things he did that didn’t feel burdensome, a thought that now felt unsettling.
The rest of the night passed in silence. Even when Sarah showed up and apologized again, I just shook my head. I watched her car drive off, Harry in the passenger seat, once again his bubbly, innocent self. And for a moment, my stomach tightened; I wondered if I could run out and get in the car with them. But by then her taillights were a speck on the horizon.