Reaching for the glass, he knocks it over and he spills hisheart out on the floor. Six or seven nights that seem longer than they reallyneed to be. He looks for faith in a drawer. He finds a note, written on theback of an old shopping list. It reads, “I’ve been lying to myself. I’ve beenlying to you. I think it’s best we move on. Don’t you?”
He says, “I’ve never met a girl I couldn’t fall in lovewith, if I close my eyes and try real hard.” I try to say it’ll be alright, buthe cuts me off like he used to do when he was just sixteen to his arms. Hesings real low, like he’s scared that someone’s listening in on this secret ofhis. He says, “I’ve been embarrassing myself. I’ve been embarrassing you. NowI’m terrified of what I might do. All my days are spent sleeping off all thenights I spend drinking alone.”
“Well, then pack your clothes. I’m taking you back to thehospital. I never should have left you alone. I know all of the shit you’vebeen through.”
“I’mdisappointed in myself. I’ve always disappointed you. You’d think I’dunderstand what I’m doing to all my friends and my family. They’re all sick andtired of watching me struggle to keep above water. I’m not sure that I canstill float on my own.
“You told me every time that I cried you’d be there forme—that that’s what brothers are for. Is that still what you’re here for? Youtold me that every time I fucked up you’d be at my side. Is that still whatbrothers are for? Is that still what you’re here for?”