Wilt

She was made out of flowers, that's why they called her Lily. She was beauty and she was fragility. She was light and radiant smiles. She was positivity divine and purity. She was happiness. Joy. Bliss. If she was a flower, than my brother Elliott was the sun.

But what happens to a flower when the sun is taken away? At first, nothing. No immediate changes are seen. But as days go by and the flower continues without its light, it starts to fade. The petals wilt and fall. The stem shrinks down closer to the earth. The former beauty and magnificence that the flower once was, perishes.

A flower cannot live without sun. Lily couldn't live without Elliott.

Lily was wilting.

I waited impatiently for the phone call I knew I'd soon be receiving. My fingers were mindlessly tapping out a rhythm on the plain white comforter that covered my bed. My phone sat next to me, seconds away from ringing—I was sure of it.

There was no use in getting comfortable because I’d soon be leaving. “To where?” you may find yourself asking. Every night, it was a different destination. However, the purpose always remained the same— to pick up Lily from whatever shit party she found herself at that night, too drunk or high to drive home.

I don't know how it happened; becoming her designated driver. Especially when I had never, in all of my life, attended a party with her. We never hung out unless my brother was there. We weren’t friends.

Elliott died on a Thursday and on the following Saturday I received a call at 2 in the morning from Lily, speech slurred, words jumbled, asking me to come pick her up. It’s continued every Saturday, Friday, Sunday, sometimes Wednesday, once on a Monday, since then.

Heavy, my eyes struggled to remain open as time carried on without a call or text from Lily.

As soon as I managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep, my phone started ringing.

I grabbed the phone, pressed the ANSWER button, and put it to my ear. I hadn’t bothered looking at the caller ID because I knew exactly who it was.

“Hello?” I answered, my voice gravelly.

“Heyyyyy Jesseeeeee,” a very drunk Lily greeted on the other end.

“What’s up, Lil?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what she wanted.

“Could you come pick me up?” she asked, her words falling over each other.

I sighed inwardly as I felt a familiar pain erupt in my chest. “Where are you at?”

“Um… Emily’s house. I think.” she informed. “I’d drive home, but drinking and driving is illegal!” Drunken giggles ensued.

“Well, at least you’re being responsible.”

I’m not sure that was the right thing to say in the moment. When it came down to it, she was most certainly not being responsible. Partying without restraints was never a responsible thing to do. But it’s not like I’d tell her that. I’d never mention anything of my disapproval for her behavior. I wasn’t her father. It wasn’t my place to tell her what to do with her free time.

“I’m always the most responsible, always, all the time.” She sounded proud of herself. Like she’d just accomplished some great task.

“I’m gonna leave now.” I stood up from my bed and grabbed my keys from my nightstand. “Do you want me to stay on the phone till I get there, or will you be alright?”

“Will I be alright?” she found the question humorous. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always alright, all the time.”

“Yup.” I couldn’t suppress a sigh. “Always alright.”

“Always.” She repeated in a flat, serious tone, then hung up.

I felt responsible for her. She wasn’t my problem, I know. I didn’t want to fix her. I didn’t want to take care of her. But she needed me to—frequently asked me to. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no.