Admission

It’s Sunday morning and I should still be asleep. Crazy gig last night. Didn’t get in ‘til four thirty this morning. So sick. Jamie came, too, which was a plus. I invite him every time, but usually he’s all, “I don’t even like punk, Hannah,” or “Your friends all hate me.” But yesterday he seemed pretty bummed, so I told him that he could bring Dan and they could actually spend an evening together without anyone caring, and that cheered him up. So he agreed to come, and Dan came, too, and it was a freakin’ party. Man, I hadn’t seen my little bro so happy in years.

But then she found out. Not sure who told her, but someone did, and now they’re fighting. So instead of sleeping, this morning, I’m spying on my little brother. Excellent.

He crashed at my place last night, since I didn’t trust either of us to drive him home. Maybe a little too much fun, if you catch my drift. Anyway, he’s now sitting at my computer, hunched over, chewing on his lip. He’s done that since he was a kid. I could always tell if he was nervous or stressed or whatever by how chapped his lips were. And they are not looking so hot this morning. I feel like I should go give him a hug or something, but I know he wouldn’t appreciate that. He’s so introverted. He never wants to talk to me. I guess I was the same way – unable to express myself, I mean – before I found the guitar, but still. It’s not healthy. I worry about him. So I’ve resorted to spying on him. That’s how I justify it for myself, at least.

The situation’s not looking good. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t written anything yet… but every time that computer pings, he jumps about a foot in the air. His lip might actually be bleeding at this point. I’m not sure.

He mutters something. He’s on the phone…? No, I don’t think so. Talking to himself, then? The computer pings again.

“Yeah, I know you want to talk,” he says. Maybe he’s Skyping with her? But then he continues, “You love to talk. But you don’t want to listen. You never want to listen,” and I know there is no way he is actually saying that to her. I hate using the word ‘cause it’s sexist and derogatory and it doesn’t help my cause (yeah, okay, I’m a feminist. So shoot me), but there is no other way to say it: that girl is a bitch. I mean, I guess she doesn’t mean to be, but I can’t help hating her for the effect she has on my brother. He’s terrified to come out to her – that’s why he and Dan have to sneak around. It kills me, watching them hide. So I hate her. For not seeing it. For being intimidating. Maybe it’s not fair, but whatever. I hate her.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he’s saying. “I’ve always been here.” Now sarcasm colors his tone. “But you’re never there… Not unless you need me.”

Ping.

He makes a sound like an asthmatic cat being hit by a bus. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s laughing.

“Hilarious. That is absolutely hilarious! Of course I can trust you.”

Holy crap, I can’t help thinking. My brother’s losing his mind. I feel like I should go talk to him, but what can I say? “Hey, bro, I was spying on you talking to your girlfriend and you just started screaming and now I’m afraid you might be going crazy. Wanna talk?” That’d go over well. No, I have to be subtle.

Suddenly he freezes. The computer pings. He seems to be holding his breath.

Ping.

“I wasn’t what?” he whispers.

Ping.

“Spit it out, Kate.”

Could she finally be figuring it out…?!

Ping.

His hand comes down on the keyboard, hard. The computer falls silent. His head drops. Then his shoulders start to shake and – oh my God. He’s crying. Before I know it I’m right there beside him, wrapping my arms around his skinny little shoulders. He doesn’t tense up like he usually does. Instead he buries his head in my shoulder and hugs back.

“Shh. It’s okay,” I murmur. “It’s okay.” To hell with subtlety. It’s not my style, anyway.