Work Text:
Wait, what? How am I?
Oh, you know, just peachy. Sorry, uh, I was just… I was just sitting here when this random thought popped into my head of this one time when we were kids. Sam was five years old? Yeah, he was, ‘cause I had just had my birthday and he was almost six. Anyway, we were watching some TV show on public access. On this old ass Magnavox, had to keep smacking the top of it to get the image to settle. In a moldy old room at the Cozy Time Motel, with empty bellies and no heat. Did I mention, in Wisconsin, in January? Fuckin’ freezing.
So we’re watching this show about abandoned bunnies in need or some shit. And Sam’s face, that is burned into my memory like, like a negative image on the back of my eyelids. Like when you stare at the sun for too long and you get that little dark spot everywhere you look.
Sam, my softy little brother, so worried about the goddamn bunnies. So concerned about these animals, which were apparently important enough they got their own show, with prizes an’ everything. Donate twenty bucks, get a stupid t-shirt. What a racket. Anyway, so here’s Sammy, shivering under the blankets from both beds, still hungry after he ate what we had left of our rations, Funyuns and Red Vines. Couldn’t even get Twizzlers at the sad excuse for a corner store, can you fuckin’ believe it? Where was I? Right. That was the first time I saw them: those two little lines he gets between his eyebrows, like a sideways equal sign, or somethin’.
So he’s pleading with me, right? Begging me to donate money to save the bunnies, and I don’t know how to tell him. How do I say, we don’t have it, Sammy? I don’t know how I’m even gonna feed you tomorrow. How I’m gonna keep the motel manager off our backs for another day. I mean, where was his show? Where was the telethon or whatever to send money to Sam? For food, for those micro machines he kept going on and on about. For new shoes where the soles weren’t peeling back in the front, makin’ him trip all the time…I mean…you ever get like you just wanna scream at the top of your lungs, but you can’t? I couldn’t. Had to keep it together for both of us.
And man, was he pissed at me. He musta thought I was a heartless bastard. Told him, Dude, they’re rabbits, there are literally thousands of them. They multiply like, well, rabbits. He cried, like these big fat tears rolling down his face, but he didn’t make a sound. It was my fault. And those little lines on his forehead just got deeper. Didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night. But the next morning, he just woke up and started rambling at me like nothing. The whole ordeal forgotten. Because Sam, he’s good like that, so forgiving. To a fault sometimes. Well, most of the time.
You know, I think about that all the time, because it feels like I hardly see Sam without those wrinkles anymore. I always wanna reach out and push my thumb into them, like I can smear ‘em away. Rub away the worry and concern and fear for the world that has carved itself into him. And I know one day, he’s gonna smile and I’ll still be able to see them. A permanent part of his expression, forever.
But you’re probably thinking that’s good, right? A reminder of all the struggles we’ve been though, he’s been through, so we can really appreciate the good things in life. The little moments of relief, of rest or possibly even happiness. But fuck that. I know. I never, ever, stop thinking about all that Sam has been through. My brother, my responsibility, and I failed him. He’s a goddamn hero, you best remember that.
Anyway, yeah. Sam’s okay, at least for now. He’s strong, stronger than me, that’s for sure. And we’re gonna get past this. Keep moving and kick it in the ass like we always do. So… yeah.
Sorry, I think I lost track of what we were talking about.
What was the question?