Page 17 of Am I the Only One

“Can you just go ahead and do it now?”

“But I’m not ready to go to bed.”

“I know, but you’ll forget. I don’t want you to fall asleep in your clothes.”

Frustration tangles his words when he argues, “I won’t forget. I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were dumb, but youwillforget, buddy. You always do.”

“Ugh,” he grumbles, tossing the covers off his legs. “Fine.”

When he’s back in bed, I turn off my lamp and roll over as he continues watching airplane videos.

“Em?”

“Yeah?”

“What about presents?”

His childlike dreams for Christmas morning tear at the wound on my heart, and my throat grows thick. How do I reason with him without disappointing him? How do I explain the amount of debt I’ve racked up just to ensure he has a decent place to call home? That I’m shacking up with a friend because I lost my dorm and my scholarship? That I’m drowning in his living expenses and housing? That I’m barely hanging on?

“We’ll figure it out in the morning.” I brush off his question before closing my eyes and drifting away into a fit of sleep.

The following morning, I wake before Matthew does and make the decision to take him to Five Below, which is basically like an upscale dollar store.

When we arrive, I explain again, “Remember, you have to stick to the forty-dollar spending limit.”

He smiles, taking this pathetic excuse for gift shopping as a challenge. “Got it.”

We each grab a cart and split in opposite directions. I grab him some candy, a T-shirt, a couple of games, a new case for his tablet, and some new headphones. I toss a few more things into the cart, and when I hit my spending limit, I head to the registers, check out, and wait for Matthew to finish his shopping.

“Don’t look!” he exclaims when he makes his way to the front of the store.

Covering my eyes with one hand, I say, “I’m not,” as I hold out the credit card with my other hand to give to him.

Once back at the hotel, Matthew wraps the gifts in the room while I wrap in the bathroom so our presents will be a surprise for each other. Once they’re under the tree, I notice a small box with a tag that says: To Mom and Dad. Pressure mounts from under my ribs as my eyes heat with unshed tears.

“Are you trying to guess what I bought you?”

Blinking back the pain, I swallow hard. “Do you remember that time you snuck into the living room in the middle of the night and pulled back the tape on the presents to see what all you got?”

He chuckles. “How could I forget? You narked on me! I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you.”

“Whatever. You got caught because you did a crappy job taping them back up.”

“What about when you snuck into the advent calendars and ate all the chocolate, including mine?”

I bust out laughing. “What can I say, I have no self-control when it comes to chocolate.” As our smiles fade, I look at my brother as he stares into the tree. “I saw you bought them a gift.” He looks at me, and I clarify, “A gift for Mom and Dad.”

His shoulders slacken, and after a stretch of silence, he asks, “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

Death isn’t a concept he’s ever been able to fully grasp.

“That isn’t how it works, buddy. It isn’t like the video games you play. In this world, you only get one life, and when it’s over ... it’s over.”

His chin trembles as my words sink in. I’ve told him this before, many times, but he still doesn’t fully understand.

“You still have me,” I tell him, straining to get the words out without crying.

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