It's been the longest time apart

As you check your mail, you notice a letter that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“What is it, Dad?” asks your daughter. Her eyebrows furrow in concern.

You give her a small smile. “Nothing, love. Go grab your things, or you’ll be late for the bus.”

She frowns, but doesn’t question it.

When you hear the front door shut behind her, you allow yourself to shed tears that you’ve been holding in for a quarter century.

To Brother Bear with love.

You remember the day well. You’ve been reliving it in your mind for years, wishing you’d done something differently.

When you made the school basketball team at the age of thirteen, you were certain you’d become the next LeBron James. You wore your jersey with pride, and didn’t let anyone touch it, lest they suck the magic out of it.

Your brother was excited for you, of course he was. He worshipped you rather than God, and in his shining ten-year-old eyes, you could do no wrong. And while you usually didn’t mind him following you around like a golden retriever, this was one part of your life that you didn’t want him to get his grubby little hands on.

On game nights, he insisted on sitting in the stands with the rest of the spectators, but on days when you had practice, you made sure he was nowhere in sight. You didn’t want your precious time with the ball to be tainted by his demands for attention.

On the day in question, he was being more annoying than usual.

“Come on, Jamie, I need to record the process for your future biography! I won’t say anything, I promise! You won’t even know I’m there!”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth turning upwards. “Fine.”

“Really?” His eyes widened.

“Yeah, if it keeps you from getting on my nerves all day.”

He jumped in excitement, promising you that he wouldn’t let you down.

During practice, just as he said, you barely noticed that your brother was in the gymnasium, until you looked up between drills and he wasn’t there.

Your heart stopped, just for a second. Then, adrenaline coursing through your limbs, you sprinted out of the court, scanning your surroundings.

Where could he have gotten to? Shit. Your mom was going to kill both of you when she found out you lost him, even for a second. No way you’d stay on the basketball team.

Suddenly, you caught a glimpse of his maroon hoodie turning the corner, and you followed it, just in time to see the wearer, accompanied by a taller person in a dark trench coat, slip outside and into a white sedan.

You ran after it, but the driver slammed the gas, and the car took off.

Shaking, you pulled out your phone and called 911.

In the time that it took them to get to you though, the car was long gone. By then, the whole team was outside, encircling you, offering words of comfort.

Your coach helped you describe what you saw to the police officers, or at least that’s what your teammates told you afterwards. You went numb as soon as the car left the parking lot.

When three days passed and nothing turned up in the investigation, both the police and your parents presumed your brother dead. Eventually, your family allowed themselves to grieve, and time started moving again.

However, you never forgave yourself for choosing a sport over his safety. You gave up basketball, and started spending an increasing amount of time in solitude. You threw yourself into school instead, so that you could block out all the thoughts that tended to invade your mind.

You knock on your brother’s door. “Eddie?” you say. “Mom says to come downstairs for dinner.” You hear a sob, followed by a sniffle.

“Coming,” he mumbles.

You push the door open, and find that he’s sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. Tears streak his reddened face.

“What’s wrong?” You force the annoyance out of your voice.

“I lost my teddy bear,” he whispers, his grip on his legs tightening.

You sigh and slip next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Eventually, he leans into you.

“You don’t need it, mate,” you say after a moment.

He looks up, panic-stricken. “Yes I do! I-” He pauses, as if unsure whether to admit the next part. “I tell him all my secrets.”

“Well, how about you tell them to me?”

  “Really?”

You shrug one shoulder. “Sure. I’ll be your human teddy bear.”

He contemplates this for a moment before nodding in agreement. “I now pronounce you Brother Bear,” he says.

You chuckle. “Sure, kid. Brother Bear it is.”

Exhausting your supply of tears, you finally muster up the courage to open the envelope. The package so thin that you’re afraid it’s empty. But two pieces of paper fall out. A phone number, and a ticket to tonight’s Lakers game.

Hands shaking, you dial.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end is deep, much deeper than you anticipated.

“Uh- hello, could I talk to Edward? This is James.”

“Hey, Brother Bear,” says the voice, and it’s softer now, more familiar.

You laugh in relief. “Eddie, how are you, mate?”

Although you’re desperate to know, you don’t ask about what happened that day, or where he’s been all these years. Instead, you make plans to meet up, and reluctantly hang up when you realize you’re going to be late for work.

All day, your gaze keeps wandering to the clock, counting away the seconds until the game.

“What’s on your mind, James?” your boss asks in passing. “You’re never this distracted.”

You shrug her off with a smile, but you still can’t channel the same level of single-minded focus in your work as you usually do.

When the hour hand finally stretches to six o’clock, you bolt out of the building. As you catch your breath in the car, you realize something. You haven’t run so hard since that fateful day at school.

You leave your daughter a message that you’ll be home late, and go straight to the arena.

You’re early, but there’s already cars in the parking lot, overeager fans who didn’t want to risk missing even a second.

You get out of the car, not sure whether Eddie is already here, and terrified that you’ll seem overeager if you call again.

Then, you see a familiar mop of hair coming towards you, the same crooked smile playing at his lips. 

“How’s it going, mate?”

Instead of responding, you pull him in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Good to see you,” you murmur in his ear.

“You too.”

You hesitate a second before asking, “Where have you been?”

Eddie tenses up. “Let’s talk somewhere more private,” he says.

You gesture towards your car, and he gives you a tight nod.

Once settled, he clears his throat. “That day, the people who forced me into their van – they were a psychotic couple. They wanted children, so they went around looking for one they could kidnap.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Out of all the things you braced yourself for, this is not one of them.

“Did they hurt you?” you ask finally.

He shakes his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking,” he says. “Although they always hinted that there would be fatal consequences if I ever tried to escape. Most of their torture involved mind control.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, and a single tear escapes. “I’m so sorry, mate,” you say. “I should’ve kept a better watch on you. I’m the reason that this all happened.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Jamie. I was a curious kid with no impulse control. I had it coming.”

You don’t agree, but instead of arguing, you ask, “How did you escape?”

He lets out a wry laugh. “I didn’t,” he says. “I couldn’t get out till both my parents – uh, I mean – kidnappers, died. They were murdered last week.”

“That’s gotta be rough.”

He shrugs. “It was a win-win situation for me. I’ve been in their clutches for long enough. Their deaths ended my suffering, mate. I’m okay.”

You share a glance, and he gives you a small smile. “Let’s head inside.”

“So, what do you do nowadays?” you ask, trying to shove your guilt back into the dark place in your mind.

“I’m a marketing analyst for Google’s Boulder office,” he replies. “Or at least, I was, until I quit my job to come here.”

I stop in my tracks. “I’m a market analyst.”

“I know. I found out when I was tracking down your address.”

Chuckling, you lead him to your seats. “You always did want to follow in my footsteps.”

“That I did,” he smiles.

As the teams make their ways on court, Eddie turns to you. “Mate, I wanted to tell you-”

The game begins, and whatever he was about to say fades into the crowd’s cheer. The Raptors waste no time in monopolizing the game, and the Lakers work up a sweat trying to keep the score even. When he first quarter ends, it’s 33-25 in favour of Toronto.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and look up to see Eddie teary-eyed. “That should’ve been you defending that title, Jamie,” he says. “You were the best basketball player our school had ever seen. If it wasn’t for my stupid curious mind-”

  “I don’t think so, mate.” He looks up at you in disbelief. Grinning, you sling an arm around him, and say, “I think that my place is here, next to you.”

Fin.