Broken Reflection

The first rays of sun hit my eyelids, making them glow with a yellow hue. The windows had automatic curtains that, along with the alarm clock, helped me wake up. They were programmed to open every week day at six in the morning and every weekend at nine in the morning. Even if I didn’t wake up at that time, I would be greeted by a brightly lit room.

I opened my eyes, fluttering them a bit as they adjusted to the sudden light, and looked at the ceiling. The huge panels of fluorescent light were placed strategically on its pale surface, to light up every corner of the room, once the night sky enveloped the city. I rested my elbows on the bed and used them to support my torso as I looked at the apparently blank wall in front of me. I knew I would have to get out of bed, although it was cold and the bed sheets were too inviting to abandon… I sat up and stretched my whole body, my arms reaching towards the sky, and then brushed my hands on my eyes, so I would fully wake up. Even after this little morning ritual, I didn’t want to leave my bed, but I urged myself to get up and went to the spot on the wall where my closet was located.

I grabbed my remote control on the way and aimed it at the spot and waited for the doors to slide open. Every single piece of our clothing was registered in the computer of the closet. The outfits were sorted by material, color, comfort, occasion, season and patterns; and, sometimes, even sorted by mood. Usually most people would trust the computer to decide their outfit for every day, so that you would rarely wear the same thing twice in a month. You would just tell the computer the type of outfit you want for the day and it will select one for you so you don’t have to waste time. I preferred doing everything the old fashioned way and pick the outfit myself.

This time I opted on giving technology a chance at arranging me the perfect ensemble to fit my comfort. Once the doors opened, a long hall with many hangers and clothes on each side was revealed to me, and beside me, there was a voice activated computer. I spoke clearly “Comfortable, warm, easy to change into swimwear…” And then I saw a small square on the corner of the screen blinking as it searched the inventory for the best outfit that fit my description.

Within seconds, the machines inside my closet were holding a pair of dark blue denim pants, a pale blue long sleeved t-shirt, a pair of socks and some trainers. It was basically what I would pick, but the inventory had gone through the pieces of clothing that weren’t used as often, so I could see the machine’s advantages.

I whistled my way out of the closet and as I closed the door, using the remote control once again. I was going to take a shower before I got dressed, so I left my room and went to the bathroom, which was at the other end of the floor. The walls of the bathroom were made of many huge white tiles and the floors were made of marble. Everything was spotless. There was a huge mirror on one wall where you could see the whole bathroom: a big shower in the center, with transparent glass walls surrounding it and the shower being on the ceiling; the toilet seat was in one corner isolated from the rest of the bathroom, near a wide selection of towels; shelves of colognes and lotions and other products of hair and skin care…

Undressing my pajamas and placing them into the laundry basket, I walked into the shower and the water immediately turned on. It was just right: not too hot, not too cold. I stepped out for a second to get the hair conditioner, the shampoo and a bar of soap. The automatic shower was a way to avoid wasting water when unnecessary. I finished my shower quite fast and used a towel to wipe myself, until I was dry, and then I got dressed in the articles of clothing the computer had selected, before returning to my room.

I made my bed in a hurry, and grabbed both bags: the school bag and my swimming duffel bag, because I would go to my swimming practice as soon as I left school, and ran downstairs to eat some breakfast.

My brother usually slept in, since he didn’t have school anymore, and both my parents were already work before I even woke up, so I usually ate breakfasts by myself. Not like I needed to do much. I would just put two slices of bread, ham and cheddar cheese into one of the machines of the kitchen, and a sandwich with melted cheese and a toasted finish to the bread would pop out onto the plate placed on the other end of the machine. And I just had to pour the homemade orange juice from the glass jug where my mom had poured the juice she made a few days prior, also using one of the machines. Like I’ve said, machines basically rule everything…

As soon as I was finished, I left my house and started walking to school. The sky was even darker in the morning and the temperature was cooler. I probably should’ve told my closet computer to select a jacket as well… Anyway, the walk to school was sort of long, but I wasn’t old enough to drive and I wasn’t too keen on public transportation. I looked at the houses on either side of the road and they all seemed lifeless, although I could tell that people lived inside. There didn’t seem to be much warmth in any of them either… I wondered if that was how other people would see my house: cold and lifeless.

School began at precisely a quarter past seven and finished at three in the afternoon, with a twenty five minute lunch break. It was a lot of time in school, but we had plenty of subjects per day. Unlike in the past, each year was divided into many classes and each class not having more than 10 students. Studies showed that the smaller the number of students in a classroom, the greater the grades were. Josh wasn’t in my class unfortunately and even if he was, nobody talks during class, because by the third time your name was called to attention, you would be suspended and three suspensions equaled to you getting expelled. In other words: it was the army for you…

Of course, there were those skeptic students who believed that all of these rules were just myths, ways to scare students. After some months, you would see their parents mourning or going to memorials for their kids that died at war.

Girls always had it lighter. But apparently they had also a catch. We had the army. And since all the men were going off to war, the women would have to handle tasks like working in constructions and factories or go to war as nurses or soldiers. We were drafted off to war; they were drafted to these jobs. Just like us with the army, they had to work at least one year in those jobs.

As I approached a tall and monstrous building called Geoffrey Hamilton High School, I had the feeling I had forgotten something. I looked at the metal statue located in front of the building of the founder of our school. Geoffrey Hamilton was one of the seventeen people who along with the actual president decided the reforms of education just a few years before I went to primary school. The reforms were applied to the system even before the president was elected. So by the time I was in primary school, I already had to deal with the new system. Before he died, Geoffrey Hamilton founded a school in his hometown: the one I attended.

The facilities were quite hostile from the outside, but once you entered the school, it wasn’t such a bad environment. It had about twenty five floors and it wasn’t just tall, but also wide. I entered the building through the automatic sliding doors and saw the empty entrance hallway and ten elevators at the end of the hallway. This hallway looked like one of a hospital: white and clean. I passed by the headmaster’s office which was halfway though the hallway. It was closed and the door was and opaque so I couldn’t see anything inside.

I grabbed my student ID from my school bag and pressed it against a sensor beside the elevators. Immediately, one of them opened. The good thing about electronic student IDs was that every year they were renewed and the schedules and lockers were saved into the school’s computer data, so we just had to press our IDs on the sensors and the elevator would take us to the floor where our locker was, then to the floors of our respective classes. It saved us time to look through our schedules and know in what floor we had classes after.

As I walked out of the elevator in the twelfth floor and began making my way to my locker, I suddenly remembered what I had forgotten: I had an English test and I didn’t study. I hit my hand to my forehead and muttered a swear word to myself. “Shit!” Most students were by their lockers doing some last minute revisions for tests they had. I ran to my locker and turned on the computer inside. Every locker had one. I opened an icon that had basically everything we had learned in English in a summarized manner. I read some of the thirty pages, skipping the ones I knew fairly well, until the bell rang and I had to go take the test I wasn’t ready for. I took the elevator once again to the floor where my English class was. We had a five minute tolerance at the beginning of each class, because of the time we needed to take the elevator.

My classroom was fairly small, having precisely ten desks and a bigger one for the teacher. There were computers in each desk. I was the last student to arrive. I sat at my desk and waited, along with the other students, for the teacher to arrive, which was odd, because the English teacher I had was known as the teacher who was always in the classroom by the time bell rang and was counting the seconds until she could make it the first call of attention of a student who arrived late. Suddenly, she entered the classroom, but her usual cold stare was different. Her eyes were slightly red and her outfit was put in a hurry. Her grey hair wasn’t prim and proper like every other day; instead, it was cascading in a messy disarray.

She looked at us without even taking her seat and said “Class is dismissed for today… The test will be moved to next week.” Then she left the classroom without another more word. Everyone started staring at the people beside them, trying to understand what had just happened. And we all faced the person we knew would have some information: the head student. He stared at us knowing exactly what we wanted to know and said “Mrs. Fiennes son died fighting in the war…” And that was that. Mystery solved. Students were used to the mourning from the teachers’ part… At first people were empathetic, but after some years, people grew numb to the sadness. It became a normal occurrence.

We left the classroom, not mentioning the topic again, and went to the student’s lounge in the twenty fifth floor. It was the last floor and it was the only place in the school where we could hang out without any rules. On the twenty fourth floor, there was a big cafeteria and on the first floor, not counting the main entrance floor, was the gymnasium. The students lounge was a comfortable place with many floating couches (only possible by making the floor and the couches having the same magnetic pole and not being of opposite poles) made with the fibers that were “in” in our lifestyles. Neutral colors were also in, so the room was decorated in green, black and white. It had a big screen television and a few touch screen computers on the wall where we could do some last minute revision.

I sat on one of the couches and observed the people around me. To my left, there was a shy girl from my class. I knew some things about her, like the fact that both her older brothers were fighting in the war and that she didn’t like to reveal her emotions. She seemed to lose herself in her studies to forget parts of reality. To my right, there was another one of my classmates looking at her cell phone. You could say she was popular. Out of the school, she dated the head student of Josh’s class, who was basically the most admired guy in the entire school. He had always the highest scores of his class and he was very good looking to the female persuasion of the school. She was one of the people I knew I would never get along with. She lived in the same bubble most people did.

Well, actually the real reason I hated her was because back in primary school, I had a big crush on her and it stayed with me until I was in junior high. The crush disappeared when she got into a huge argument with Josh accusing him of being a criminal. I still remember her last words to him on that discussion: “I know where people like you go! You go to jail and die and rot in Hell!” And then her eyes looked at me in a mocking stare letting me know that in her eyes, I was just a pathetic naïve kid who followed his friend and didn’t know what he believed in. I lost all my respect and admiration for her.

She caught me looking at her and scoffed, before returning her full attention to the little screen on the gadget in her hands. I didn’t care what she thought of me. Not anymore. I looked to the people in front of me: just a bunch of students, some from my class and some from other classes. I could hear parts of the conversations. Just by hearing fragments, I could find out the latest news on the war, the school, the romantic relations, etc. Just by hearing, not interacting.

From the few words I heard, I found out that the other class also was dismissed, because their History teacher, Mr. Locke, was best friends with my English teacher’s son. He was relatively young, but excelled so well in his studies that he skipped some grades and finished college earlier. He was a couple of years older than Mrs. Fiennes’ son though, who was just twenty two. He had been drafted relatively late, only a couple of months before he turned twenty two. His parents had sent a letter to the president themselves, because their son, Jules, was injured in a car accident and had problems on his right leg, asking time for their son to recover before being drafted. I actually felt pity for Jules. As soon as he recovered and finally could begin to enjoy life once again, he was sent to war.

And once again, I knew all of that from hearing conversations in the students lounge.
In a matter of minutes, everyone was walking out of the lounge and into the elevators, because it was almost time for the next class. I did the same. I was in the elevator with six other people. Some were staring up at me, knowing very well that I was Josh’s friend; I was friends with probably the most hated person in the school. I had to admit, I didn’t like having no one but Josh and Ian to talk to. Most of the time, I was alone at school, because Josh’s schedule wasn’t the same as mine. The only time we saw each other at school was during lunch. And even then, we didn’t have the chance to talk freely, so he wasn’t himself and it just wasn’t the same thing.

I walked into my next class: mathematics. It was not weakest subject, but it was hard. I usually had 63 or 64 at it. I sat at my usual spot and waited for the teacher to enter and take attendance. My teacher then proceeded in announcing publicly the grades we got on our essays: the one of the Pythagorean Theory and its applications to our daily routines. Mine was quite good – I had a 65, but I wasn’t the highest. I was stuck in one of the best classes of the school. Half of the people in my class were the geniuses who usually got into college, getting grades above 68. But I wasn’t the worst in my class, so I wasn’t so disappointed in myself.

The rest of the school day was almost the same: walking into a classroom, waiting for the teacher to enter, taking attendance, learning, doing exercises, learning more, bell would ring… And repeat. We did this for pretty much every subject.

Repeat until lunch time and after it. Lunch time was the only break we had. It was precious to most students. The cafeteria food was actually quite tasty. It was carefully planned out and basically healthy food. There was no sign of junk food. People were superficial, so being healthy and fit was practically a lesson learnt at school to be able to survive in the modern society! But one thing I had to admit: they made delicious recipes using your standard healthy food, and they won me over.

I met with Josh and he ranted me about his latest test results. He had failed in his Mathematics test, but he had a 68 in History. He was still shocked at the grade, because his usual grades were 58 at most in History. He told me that they had just entered began the Ancient History book. History in our system worked this way. We only had it in high school, primary and junior high students didn’t have it. And we began with Modern History, in which we would learn all the glorious facts of our country that happened since the new president was elected. That was our freshman year. Then from sophomore to senior year, we would learn the rest of History chronologically, from the dawn of Man, to the modern days.

I still hadn’t had my history test, so I asked him what the test was based on. He told me there were seven questions, each worth ten without any difference. They all were placed in the same difficulty area. He gave me a brief summary of the questions and answers and then wished me luck. I would have the test the next week, so I already had an idea what to focus on. We were also in the same part as them: Ancient civilizations.

After lunch, I had classes again, until the bell of freedom for the rest of the day rang. The sweet rush of freedom as I heard that beautiful melody went through my veins. I ran my way to the swimming facility, which wasn’t so far from school, just some minutes by foot. If I ran, I could save ten minutes and make it there in five minutes at max. I wanted freedom, I wanted to scream inside the water where nobody could hear me, I wanted to unleash my thoughts into the water that splashed when I moved my arms and legs…. I wanted to swim.

The water was heated that day, probably because the temperature was dropping more and more with each passing day. Only half my head was over the surface of the water, watching my surroundings like a predator waiting for its pray with its magnificent vision and complete stealth. I buried my head underwater once again and instantly felt the peaceful environment and the freedom. I dragged my whole body forward, bringing my knees to my chest and then I was upside down underwater. Instead of just going back up, I forced my body to complete the turn and then I came up for air and was facing the same side I was looking at before I dove.

The whistle blew behind me. I turned around and saw my coach with a huge grin on his face and a shine in his eyes I had never seen before. I swam in his direction, appreciating every moment I spent underwater. I had gotten there earlier so instead of the usual one hour of swimming, I would get one and a half hour. I had made great time by running. If I walked like I normally did, I wouldn’t get this much time.

I rested my elbows and arms on the border of the pool as Mr. Rodriguez kneeled down to speak to me. “I thought we could have a small talk before swimming,” he smiled and helped me out of the pool. It saddened me a bit, being taken away from the freedom I had put some effort on to win, but I also wanted to talk to him about some things. Once I was out of the pool, I sat around the edge and he wrapped a white cotton towel he had carried along with him around my bare back and shoulders.

I took my swimming cap and goggles off, because outside of the water, they didn’t serve any purpose. At first, I just looked into the water, trying to think exactly the words I wanted to say, but he helped me by asking “So the last time, what was on your mind?” He knew I had had the time to clear my mind and he probably had a vague idea of what had happened. I cleared my throat and moved my legs in circles beneath the water surface, playing with it.

“My brother was called for army inspection…” I stated. His huge smile dissolved into an empathetic and understanding one, yet never losing its firm and determined nature. He was a coach after all. He put one of his hands on my shoulder in a comforting way.

“Always have faith and hope for the best. You will see in the end, whatever decision he makes, he’ll reach the end victoriously. I’ve met your brother, and I’ve never met someone so full of life so optimistic. He is strong…” People always thought me and my brother were very different. Well most of the time we were, but at our most vulnerable moments, we both didn’t know how to react and what to decide. We were so different, yet so identical. Seeing him speak about his fears the previous night had made me afraid for him. But whenever someone would say those words, no matter how unrealistic they could seem, it always lifted my mood,

“I hope so,” I gave a sincere smile. He returned it and then he decided to sit beside me, not caring if his shorts got wet. He put his hand discreetly inside the pool and suddenly, he threw at my face some water, catching me completely off guard. I took some seconds to realize what had happened and I could hear a faint sound of someone laughing beside me. He wasn’t paying attention to me anymore, his eyes closed as he laughed, so I took that as my opportunity to get back at him. I put both of my hands underwater, then lifted them up with some strength causing a lot of water to hit his face and wetting his shirt, jacket, hair and shorts. And once I saw his reaction, I burst out laughing. I guess anyone could guess how this would end… Both of us soaked and laughing after having a water splashing fight. Sometimes it was nice to act like a kid again.

I remembered how when I was younger, our parents would take us to a water park and me and Ian would stay hours competing on who had the best waves. We would splash each other with water and sometimes tackles each other, never getting hurt, because it was all done in plain fun. It was also on one of those trips where he taught me how to swim. I was about five and was watching him swimming and he could tell that my eyes lit up whenever he swam, so he decided to teach me. I remembered when I almost gave up and he said “Don’t worry, Tristan. I’m here and I won’t let you get hurt…” He always was protective of me, even when I became a teenager and wasn’t so naïve anymore.

And ten years later I was again having those moments I missed a lot. When we recovered from our laughs, he looked at me and said “I received some good news yesterday. He looked at me with the same smile he had had at the beginning of the practice. “Not just for you, but also some personal good news…” I waited for him to just spill the news. I was impatient. After years of finding out everything just by hearing, I had gotten used to getting information fast. “Well, I’ll start with the good news for you. I was talking to a friend of mine, a coach of a person who will participate in the national swimming competitions to be illegible for the Olympic Games. He told me that he could put you in the competitions. So, if you win, you’ll be able to go!”

I was smiling like a fool when he told me that. I wasn’t a person who had dramatic reactions to news, but I still couldn’t stop thanking him. I lost count after my tenth thank you. He then said “And the other news…”He paused and looked at me, even happier than when he said the last news. “My wife told me she was pregnant. I ‘m going to be a dad!”

Probably on impulse, my arms circled him in a hug as soon as he revealed the great news. I was happy for him. He had mentioned how he wanted to raise a family and I was sure he would make a great dad. I let go of him and looked at the big clock on the other side of the facility. I still had one hour and ten minutes to swim and I wanted to make the best of it. As much as I liked the conversation, I needed to satisfy my craving.

“Shall we begin now?” I asked. He looked at the clock and nodded, so I put my swimming cap and goggles back on and returned him the towel, before diving into the warm water. My whole body seemed to release tension out of its pores. It felt great. I stayed underwater for some more seconds, before I could hear, very faintly, the sound of the whistle.

“Let’s do the usual routine,” then he blew the whistle and the practice officially began. This was the only routine I loved, the only routine I could do subconsciously. I didn’t even count the lengths I swam or think about the style in which I was swimming. It was ingrained into my mind and body. It was my passion: I didn’t fight it, just went with it and let it guide me through the whole routine.

Going back and forth in the swimming pool, I felt my whole body flow easily without getting tired. I was completely in my element. If I had to guess, I probably was an aquatic animal in my past life. I just couldn’t find another reason that could entice such a passion for water in me. Even before I had learnt how to swim, I had a fascination with water. I loved taking baths just to play with water and I would come home wet on rainy days, for refusing to use an umbrella. Water just seemed to magically control me, whether through sports or nature.

But time, as always, seem to have something against me, because it decided to fast forward in the moment I wanted it to slow down, and, therefore, the bell that signaled the end of practice rang and I didn’t even get to satisfy most of my craving. It was like giving a vampire a small cup of blood, when the deep, burning desire in his throat longed for a whole bathtub of it… That was just like me with swimming. The cup is never enough. You could never have enough of freedom.

Even as the bell rang and its sound echoed through the vast facility area, I continued swimming, moving my arms and legs at a certain pace, drowning everything around me. If only the world could be swallowed by this freedom… If only everyone would ignore their differences, their greed, their need for superiority, their materialism, their megalomania… If only all these hypothetical options were more possible… But they weren’t.

Eventually, after hearing the whistle blow too many times, I stopped and got out of the pool. Mr. Rodriguez was used to it, so he didn’t even make a snide remark on my persistence to break my curfew and ignore the homework I would have to do once I got home. He knew how much I’d love to stay there all day, every day.

We said “See you later,” to each other, and then I went into the locker room to rinse my body and hair from the chloride of the pool and get dressed to face reality yet another time. I still didn’t know what my brother and Uncle Kant had talked about the previous night, and I wanted to talk to him before I did my homework. I hoped he was home.

As I walked through the city on my way home, all I could see were tall buildings, many off them, all concentrated on that small area, yet no traffic, thanks to the air taxis and all the other public transportations. Few people in the city actually drove around in cars. Usually it was people like us from the suburbs who drove to the city and the government created these big parking lots around the city so we wouldn’t contribute to the noise pollution and traffic chaos that the cities used to have. To be perfectly honest, I preferred walking everywhere, personally. The shops were simple and only the best products were on the display, leaving the worse ones hidden in the shallowest corners of the stores. The business buildings’ doors were constantly opening and closing and people with different colored suits and bags or hand cases and different types of coffee in their hand were entering and leaving, almost in a mechanical way. It was all too repetitive, too choreographed.

I could see people going in and out of buildings; some of them caught my eye, but only six of them actually made me observe with more attention: a family of four and a couple. The family seemed happy: two proud and smiling parents, both with immaculate blonde hair and blue eyes, and two perfect, obedient little kids, a boy and a girl, who inherited the same genes their parents had been blessed with. They were the typical example of what most families dreamed of being, they were perfection. It actually scared me and gave me the impression that all the emotions that were shown publicly were just fake and planned, choreographed, just like the rest of the city.

The other couple was of Hispanic origins and contrasted with this picture perfect family. Not just physically, but they didn’t seem happy about some things: the lines on their forehead indicated that they frowned a lot, disappointed and unsatisfied with anything and maybe everything about their love, yet both seemed to love each other very much. Surprisingly, to me, their love seemed more real that the one of the parents in the perfect family. Their cuddles seemed genuine and not practiced and rehearsed. Their kisses had passion and didn’t care whether or not they looked good or bad on camera if someone suddenly took a picture or not.

I wish I could someday be like them. I may not like the situation around me, but I’ll have someone to love and care about. In the end, that’s a lot more important to me than being rich or looking perfect in matching clothes and stylish hair, which is what everyone worries about these days, when they are not thinking about patriotism. If you were patriotic and rich, living in oppression wasn’t such a bad thing. You were powerful and untouchable nonetheless.

The city was very metallic and neutral, and also incredibly robotic, even when it came to emotions. I didn’t feel at ease there, so I only went there when I came back from the swimming facility. I usually preferred to go through the green areas of my city, like abandoned parks and open fields. My parents didn’t know this though. To them, the city was a lot safer than the country, because it had guards, and guards would arrest anyone who could harm society, meanwhile the country seemed like the perfect refuge for criminals.

A couple of minutes later, my body began to loosen up, because I wasn’t in the city anymore, but already in the suburbs. My house wasn’t so far, so I jogged, to save up some time. My parents were still at work for another half an hour, so I wanted to use that time to talk to my brother without being worried about saying something that could get me punished. In about five minutes, I was at my doorstep.

I entered after passing the tough security system that I had to face everyday, which included password, key and also a numeric code. Climbing up the stairs, I wondered what had been the solution or the advice my uncle had given my brother. He had come back to the dinner table with relief expressed in his face. I was too curious, so I climbed faster. I was out of breath by the time I opened his door.

Nothing went as I planned. Firstly, my brother wasn’t alone. Secondly, I had completely drowned out all the sounds coming from the room, thanks to my thoughts. And third, my brother wasn’t wearing any piece of clothing. I really should’ve knocked. And I stood there watching my brother and his girlfriend trying to cover their bodies up, too shocked to react. But after a few seconds, I left the room and closed the door. “Sorry! I should’ve knocked!” I yelled before scurrying off to my room.

Well, I should’ve thought of it. My brother had the house all to himself. He was going off to war. Of course he would want to spend some time with his girlfriend in private. He wasn’t expecting me to arrive home so early, because I had in fact arrived earlier than the usual. I felt so stupid and embarrassed. I saw my brother having sex with his girlfriend. I closed my bedroom door ashamed at what I had just witnessed.

They probably wouldn’t continue, knowing I was in the house, but he wouldn’t leave his girlfriend to come talk with me. But our next conversation would be awkward. I was trying to erase the image of my brother naked in bed and his girlfriend on top of him. I was trying really hard, because the image wasn’t one I wanted to keep in my mental archives. I should’ve taken my time getting ready and walking home. I should’ve paid attention to the sounds in the house instead of my own thoughts. I should’ve knocked! I was frustrated with myself…

I pressed a button on the remote control to open my desk and computer. I was going to distract myself with some homework before my parents arrived, and I would only have to face my brother at dinner time when we all had to sit in the same table. But luck wasn’t with me. I heard someone going down the stairs and a faint sound of the front door closing. And in a few minutes, another set of steps was walking in direction of my door. Why wasn’t my hearing good when I wanted it to be? Was it too much to ask to pay attention to some perfectly audible sounds of people moaning and groaning? Sure it was still uncomfortable to hear, but at least I wouldn’t have a visual image stuck in my head!

He knocked on the door. When I didn’t say anything, he asked “Tristan, can I come in?” I just looked at the door fiddling with the remote control in my hands. “Please.” I took my time before pressing the button to open the door. He was standing in front of me, wearing nothing but his wearing his pajama pants revealing a bare and sweaty torso. Well seeing him half-naked was always better than seeing him completely naked, having just darkness of the lights being turned off to his favor. I just couldn’t look him in the face, but I could talk to him as I stared at another corner of the room. He was about to talk, but I cut in.

“I’m sorry,” I was stuttering, hinting him on how nervous I still was about what had happened just moments before “really, really, really sorry about before. I was too distracted and I didn’t hear. And I forgot to knock. And I didn’t mean to walk in on… Well, you know.” I was making too many breaks and adding more and more apologies.

He laughed and said “I should’ve been more careful too. Knowing you, you would like to know about my conversation with Uncle Kant last night, but Petra came over unexpectedly and I forgot the time...” My brother rarely got upset at stuff. It sometimes annoyed me. How could he not be giving me a sermon about wanting privacy? He then said “Let’s just forget it happened, okay?” I could tell he was also in an awkward situation. I mean, I had never seen him exposed in that way. And although he may express ease, I knew deep down, he was embarrassed about it. I nodded without hesitation, although, like most things, it was easier said than done.

When that topic was over, my brother said “So, you still want to know what me and Uncle Kant discussed last night?” He had a big grin on his face and his eyes, which were the same color as mine, lit up. We were very similar physically, having inherited the same features from our parents, but he tanned more easily, just like Josh and his hair was darker than mine. He also had slightly chubbier features, but that’s because I swam and worked out. He didn’t do much sport, just when he was still at school.

Just as I was about to start asking questions, I heard someone opening the front door. Ian heard it too. He seemed slightly disappointed, because he wouldn’t be able to tell me the news until the next day, because he didn’t want my parents to hear it, and we both knew that our parents work shift had ended. He asked me about school instead, knowing it was a safe topic in our house. I filled him in on the news I heard at school, as he fiddled with stuff on my computer. While I was talking about the son of my English teacher, he froze and immediately changed subject. “So any news from your swimming practices?”

He turned away from the computer screen and faced me. I felt a smile form on my lips and couldn’t help it. “My coach spoke with this guy who can try to get me into the national competitions. If I go to these competitions and win, I can go to the Olympic Games!” My brother was happy and he didn’t have any intention of hiding it: he wrapped me in a huge hug.

“Aw, my little brother is going to make his dream come true!” He then messed up my hair just to annoy me. When he let go of me he had a smug look on his face. “Just don’t forget to thank me when you do win in the Olympic Games! I can even give you some pointers…” He went on my bed and pretended it was a podium and tried to impersonate my voice as he pretended to receive flowers “Oh, none of this would be possible without my dear brother who taught me how to swim…” And he pretended to wipe some tears away. It was in these moments, I wished I had more pillows in my room to throw at him. Instead, I pretended to throw him a pillow, since he was really good at it and he actually pretended to get hit and that’s when I started laughing. If I didn’t have homework to do, I probably would’ve started an imaginary pillow fight right there. But I wasn’t that irresponsible!

My brother saw my attention turning to the new messages I had received from the head student, with information on the essay I had to write as my assignment. It wasn’t such a hard topic and my brother appeared behind me and started reading it out loud. “In a minimum of 2000 words, explain how the Roman and Greek civilizations differed.” We had every subject every day, and the one who usually sent the most homework was our history teacher. My brother said “That’s an easy one. Wait,” he left my room for some minutes and came back with a scribbled piece of paper. “I wrote this before typing it in the computer, but it’s basically all the topics you have to cover.” Well, that would save me time and I could finish it before dinner.

He left me alone and I got to work. Won’t go into detail about the ways in which these two civilizations differed, but I wrote a bit more than the required, using always the topic program provided by the school. After some time, my mom buzzed my room using the speakers, to call me and my brother down for dinner.

I ran down the stairs and arrived at the table before anyone else. I sat at my usual spot and waited for my mom to set the trays of food on the table. My brother arrived shortly after, wearing jeans and t-shirt, but it was still awkward to be in the same room as him, even after we talked. I would still have that image glued to my head and it wouldn’t go away too soon. He, unlike me, seemed to be at ease as if nothing had happened. As far as my parents were concerned, their little son was still a virgin and planned on being until marriage. This was the biggest lie in the household.

We ate mostly in silence, and my parents just asked us about our day. It was mostly small talk, not going much into the details or into the news. I didn’t even talk about my swimming, knowing their opinion on it still. My father suddenly asked “So have you been exercising, Ian?” Ian stopped and looked at my dad. He was intrigued by the question. “You’re going to war, so you better get ready for the army… You will need to bulk up.” He was chewing his food, not even looking at Ian as he spoke.

Ian stopped eating as soon as he heard those words. “What if I don’t want to go?” He asked audaciously. My father stopped chewing and looked at my brother with a menacing glare. “They don’t have the right to steal us our lives, because they can’t solve this problem without violence! What if I’d rather travel the world before raising a family of my own? It’s not my fucking fault they made colleges almost fucking impossible to get in!” He was mad. And so was my dad.

“Do you have any idea what you’re talking about, Ian?” He asked almost growling. He asked it almost in a rhetorical way, not even wanting to hear what my brother had to say about it. It was the first time I had ever seen my dad acting that way towards my brother, but my brother also usually hid his opinions. “Do you even understand why we are in this situation? You have no idea! If we left the war, we would be cowards, lose a lot of money and you and your brother wouldn’t have all this comfort which you take for granted! The streets are even harsher than the battlefields. At least in the battlefield, if you die, you die a hero. In the streets, you die a nobody that did nothing to change the world. Would you like that?”

“I don’t think war is the solution. Do you really think that the only way to solve an economical crisis is joining a war that began with a bullshit reason, in which we are in no way attached? We just are too lazy to come up with a better economical system, so we hope that with this war, we can get some money out of it. As well as develop more weapons and earn more money…” He said and my father just lost it. A war of swear words hit the dinner table and me and my mother looked at each other in disappointment. The fight was so bad, that it ended with my dad asking my brother to leave the house. My brother wiped his mouth with a napkin then threw it at his still half full plate, and then he walked out of the room and out of the door.

After that, we all ate dinner in silence.

As I lay in my bed before falling asleep, I wondered what had made my brother vent about the war to my dad. I wondered why he had suddenly expressed his opinions so openly. It probably had something to do with the escape goat Uncle Kant had found for him, which made me more curious. I wanted to know so badly. I would even sneak out and go to Petra’s house, where I knew Ian was. Petra lived with her grandmother, who spent most of her time asleep, so she wouldn’t notice if Ian slept over. Both her parents had died, her father in the war and her mother had committed suicide because of her father’s death. Petra didn’t ever talk about it, but people just knew. She was too young when it happened.

Ian seemed to truly like Petra, which was shocking. Usually, his longest relationships would last at most two months. Most would actually last less than a month, either due to the origin of the relationship being mere lust, in both parties, or the girls would dump him, eventually. Usually, he didn’t break up with anyone unless he couldn’t take it anymore. He had been with Petra for over a year. And the way he talked about her, made it seem like he really loved her. He had a phase where he was a bit superficial, but it only lasted two years, which were basically during junior high. He had met her through a mutual friend at a party out of town and they just clicked. Well, it wasn’t love at first sight. He had a crush on her and worked his way into conquering her heart. I still record the times he would come home frustrated not knowing exactly what to do. In the end, it all worked out.

The first time I met her, I thought she was too shy, but my brother told me she was just nervous. The first thing I remembered noticing was her long, wavy purple hair with electric blue streaks, which matched her dark blue eyes. Many teenagers dyed their hair, but hers was very unique. After some time, her true personality came out and I could see that it too matched her edgy hair. She also had a slightly tall and curvaceous figure, not being afraid to flaunt it. Ian was just a bit taller than her, but she was taller than many girls her age.

I didn’t know how she had reacted to the news of Ian being called for the army. She loved my brother too, I could tell from the way they looked at each other, the way they kissed and hugged and cuddled, the way her eyes lit up whenever Ian said her name in a sweet tone. In a way, they were perfect for each other. If it were up to me, I’d just push them into a room and just let them out once they were already married, because I was sure that in a couple of years they would get married. That is if he did tell her, which I highly doubt.

I got my remote control and left my bed. But they were still too young and wanted to take their time. Then I pressed the button to lift my bed. I was going to look for my cell phone to send a message to my brother asking if everything was alright. I wasn’t going to demand him to spill the beans on his conversation with our uncle, because I knew that most of our phone conversations and messages were being tracked by the government, unless you didn’t register your number in a legal phone company. Both mine and my brother’s numbers were registered, so I couldn’t risk it.

I asked him where he was, although I knew too well, and then I asked him if he was okay. I pressed the button to lower my bed and lied on my bed with the cell phone on my hands. I was almost falling asleep when I received a message saying something I wasn’t expecting. The white screen contrasted with the dark, navy blue letters that popped out of a small window in the screen saying “Backyard and not really.” Our backyard had a huge, rusty metallic bench that had been there even before we moved in. He was probably sleeping on it, despite its lack of comfort. I was surprised at why he hadn’t gone to Petra’s. I would ask him the next day about that after I would clarify all my questions about his solution to the war thing. That was my top priority right now.

I looked through the window at the dark sky. It was cloudy and not a single star was in sight. I don’t remember ever seeing a star. I remember my brother telling me when he returned from his trip to Europe, how he had seen a few stars. He was very happy as he described me how beautiful they were and how he wished he could see them more often. He also told me that in Europe, he got to see the moon without a single cloud covering its view. We had seen the moon many times, but it was always partially covered, just like the sun.

A memory from when I was younger popped into my head, just as I closed my eyes and got ready to sleep. I remember I had gotten a nightmare and sneaked into my brother’s room, but he wasn’t there. I almost panicked, but then I looked through the window and saw him sitting on the bench looking at the sky. I went downstairs and out the back door to meet with him. He was wrapped in a blanket and his head was tilted upward, but once he heard me opening the back door, he turned his head to face me. “What are you doing here?” I asked him. I was still shaken by the nightmare.

“Remember how mom and dad used to tell us stories before we went to bed about how they would sometimes just sit at night and watch the stars when they were our age? And then they had to explain what stars were because we didn’t know?” I nodded. “I can’t see the. It’s annoying me. I come here every night to see the, but they never appear…” I explained him that I had had a nightmare and he let me sit with him and look at the pitch black sky. There was nothing poetic or beautiful about it, but it was a lot better than going back to bed and risk facing my nightmare.

A week after, my parents found out about his secret habit and forbade him from leaving his room after lights out, taking precautions by locking the back door every night. I didn’t understand their panic then, but they just didn’t want Ian to develop such a critical mind. If he continued doing it, he would probably become as critical as Josh. Well that was my theory and the only acceptable reason I could find. It was the first time he had gotten in trouble and didn’t get away with it. He was nine and I was six.

After that memory, which wasn’t exactly a good one, or a bad one, just a mere memory, I felt my eyelids grow heavy and my tired body giving into its resting desires. I put my cell phone on the floor, so I wouldn’t damage it as I slept, because I moved a lot when I was sleeping. In a couple of minutes, I was completely swept off my feet into dream world.