I sat on the road waiting for day to break so we could go.
My little brother sat next to me. The gravel stuck in our legs. We had dirty hands and scraped up knees. The country air was cool and sweet and damp and in that moment, we were all we had. He was young and I was sick.
“It just feels really special with him,” I said.
“You’re just like me,” he said. “You think everything’s special. You sleep with someone, it’s special. You lie in bed with someone, it’s special. I’m a big special guy. I think everything’s so fucking special.”
“Well, maybe some things are special.”
"Its an easy way out, man."
"What do you mean?"
He was the only person on earth who held the keys to my most unfettered and fundamental self. I don't believe an accident of birth made us brother and sister.
“Things aren’t special if they treat you like shit.”
As day came, he jumped through fields screaming, "Lord, have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways!"
The morning moved slowly with nothing in front of us but a lot to be left behind.
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