Jeremiah Walk

A couple years back, I lived with my older brother, Ronan. I'm only able to tell you he's the best sibling in all the land because, after all, he's been put through too much shit for me to say otherwise. And I'm the one who put him through that shit, if it ever felt ambiguous.

     It started when my parents kicked me out of the house after my eighteenth birthday. They said it was because I'm an adult now, but I knew the truth. I had been outed as homosexual and they finally had a somewhat logical excuse to get rid of me. I did not want to be on the streets, so I listened to those military recruiters and enlisted in the army. 

     That was short-lived, since after some months they found out I was cutting again. Ron decided I could live with him while I got my stuff together. I was holed up in his one bedroom apartment, wasting. He'd ask me when and if I was applying for jobs, and I just lied that I was. I wasn't ready for one. I was up to my chest in depression too stubborn to hide. Ronan was the only person who treated me as a human despite how far I spiraled and how much I hated everything. While he was at work, I'd watch movies nearly all day. Some months became me being twenty, and at that point he needed me out of there, too. He'd got himself a girlfriend, and she was going to move in. Well, at the expense of me being kicked out, but I'm a useless freeloader and she's everything to him.

     That brings me to the night I utterly betrayed my dearest patron. It was a normal day before Ronan came home, even though I didn't spend any time packing up the few things I had. He already gave me an extra week to do so. I grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry and walked over to the couch so I could catch up on the latest season of my favorite reality TV show. I know just about everything on screen is fake, but something about it is impossible for me to not enjoy. The concept of not having to worry about things like money, or having another public crash out, is appealing; or maybe it was the shirtless guys.

     But Ronan was coming back from his smart-guy-tech-job, and I knew because I was quite used to hearing his keys jigging in the lock. I wanted to pretend that I wasn't simply wasting time and was maybe doing something more productive like watching the news, so I was going to pick up the remote. He walked in just as I reached for it. 

     "Hey, Jeremy," he makes his presence known. "Are we ready to put your mattress in the car?"

     And the thing is... hell no we weren't! He was still deluded into thinking I had anywhere left to go. Maybe it was my fault I wasn't trying hard enough for a damn job I wouldn't be able to keep, but I was not going back to our parents. I tried to tell them whatever Ron and his friends "accidentally" revealed was fake—but they knew everything. Absolutely everything. So, then I opened my mouth.

     "Nope."

     "Okay," Ron said, "but we should really do that soon. You know my girlfriend signed the lease? I told you that?"

He was saying this in the placating voice he usually has when he gets frustrated. I roll my eyes around my big-ass head. Ronan gently puts a hand on my shoulder as he begins to get more stern.

     "You know, sometimes you've gotta 'man up'," he says before sighing. "Like, 'grow up', Jeremiah. I love you, but you can't stay here forever."

     He pissed me off, and before I could grasp the weight of what I was doing, I was punching him in the face. He turned around and tripped when he attempted to get away. I stomped him, and he started trying to get up. Of course, I did it again.

     My mind was coming to some version of clarity, which instead of helping made me understand every reason on God's green earth why I hate him so much. I walked over to the dining/kitchen area and hefted a fucking chair.

     I beat him with the chair. There was a distinct crACKing sound in one of his legs. This was not enough. I opened the front door, dragged Ron out a bit, and pushed him down the stairs. The painful noise of his screams carried through the street. I finally felt remorse after seeing his broken nose and how he couldn't fight back if he wanted to; it wasn't like he wanted to.

     I said, "Ronny...? You alright?"

     "Just... do something," Ronan responded with defeat.

     "Sure," and I called 911. He said he fell down the stairs and I was a witness. We both know how to keep our lies straight when we put our minds to it. It's a brotherly superpower. It's how I know he wasn't lying when he said he loved me.