Constant Recovery

He's done it again. Another night, locked up in the garage with the car running. At least he wasn't unconscious when I found him this time. He seems less enthused about that than I am, but that's how it's always gone with us.

I pull him to his feet, shove my arm under his to keep him upright. We stumble together out of the garage, all the way around the house until we're on the back patio. I let him fall into the porch swing, ignore his grumbling as I shove myself down beside him.

Why won't you let me help you? I think, but the question is silent and so he doesn't know. Or maybe he does. I'm not sure how well I know him these days, brother or not.

I look into his eyes and see a stranger.