An Issue Between Two Bros

John stood there for five seconds and watched as jeff tossed it all away. He ripped the comforter off the bed. He tore old magazines­­, books, and papers―even the ones John cherished the most. Puddles of beer soaked into the hardwood floor. The room was a chaotic wasteland filled with feathers, cotton, and alcohol fumes. Yet, John wasn't surprised by Jeff's tantrum. It reminded John about the first time he entered this room, ten years ago.  A little boy was tossing shirts, underwear, and socks; stuff animals, action figures, and game consoles screaming, "THIS IS ALL MINE, THIS IS ALL MINE!” But it wasn’t his anymore.

"Are you done?" he said.

"It all must go," Jeff said, sobbing while searching through John's clothes.

"Are you done?"

"What do you want," he stops. "This isn't yours anymore. All this stuff from the floor to the bed to the walls isn't yours. Your name isn't on it, and as far as I know, it's…trash!"

"But those things are still considered my possessions, and you have no right to toss anything away," John said, moving closer to Jeff.

"Don't…touch…me."

"Are you done?"

Jeff moves further away from John. He hates feeling sympathy from people he cares for the most. It's like medicine, a horrible taste but a rewarding cure. A cure he doesn't need right now. "Where's my beer," he said, slurring his words. "Where’s my beer… John. Help me find it.” The drunkard tossing clothes and kicking feathers searching the area to find where he last put his beer. “OW,” a splinter pricks his finger.

“Jeff, your drunk.”

“No…I’m…not.”

“Then why are you tossing my stuff away,” John said, searching through beer-soaked clothes to find Jeff’s beer.

“because your stupid”―wiping his face― “now hurry up and give me my beer… you jerk.”

“Jeff, your drunk.”

“Why did you decide to leave,” he said, falling into a puddle of muddy water. His hands are searching for a garbage bag to put stuff into it, forgetting all about his beer and focusing on the main cause. This wasn’t about Jeff; this was about John. John was the center of attention. “You don’t need this anymore,” Jeff said, tossing a Duke University shirt into the garbage. “Oh, and the trophies,” as he reaches for a silver piece of metal that reads “1^st place” and slamming it to the ground. “It’s not fair that you get to leave, and I get to stay here.”

“I graduated and got a job. It’s time for me to move―.”

 “No, It’s not! You can’t leave if you have no clothes to take. And if you leave, then you have no clothes to take with you.”

“Jeff, your drunk!”

“Whose to say you're going to come back!”, Jeff said grabbing a beer bottle from under a pile of clothes and tossing it near John’s head.

“You missed,” John said, flinching. “I’m still going to be here for you. Just not as often.”

“I know,” he said, putting down an “IOU” shirt. John walks closer to Jeff ―close enough to touch him and said, “are you done now?”

“No…no,” Jeff reply crawling backward, furthering the distance between him and John. Each was on different sides of the room. One is afraid and the other is trying to mend the gap. It’s a situation similar to when they were kids. When Jeff has done something bad, he will distance himself from John. Like a defense mechanism he picked up from his father, it came naturally. But it scared John because it wasn’t a trait; it was a virus. The virus spread from his father to his mother, and Jeff was sickening as a result. Eventually, their parents both left without a letter, call or postcard. John is all that Jeff has left that's a family member. Correction, John was all that Jeff had left that's a family. In Jeff’s eyes, John is a snake that burrowed into Jeff’s property and is waiting for its opportunity to strike the homeowner.

“Don’t be like that,” John said while taking a step backward. “Besides, we’re bros.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Jeff says, “no, we’re not.”

“If we’re not bros, then what is a bro then?” he said with a smirk.

“What is a bro?”

“Yeah, what is a bro?”

Jeff lets out a small sigh and utters the words he can never forget. “You asking me ‘what is a bro’ is like me asking you ‘what is a man.’” Standing, he puts one arm on his side while waving the other like a philosopher. “What is a dude? What is a guy? When you find the answer, that’s is a bro. No matter what, always remember a bro is better than a dude.”   

“So am I a dude or a bro?”

“You seem more like a guy to me.”

“What is a guy?”

“Not…a…bro!”

They both laughed. Yet, the laughter didn’t solve the problem between them; it only delayed the outcome. Something is coming to the surface. It was always there. The bro and the guy just never realized it. It was eating from Jeff’s fear and fueling John’s desire. It was draining the laughter they were sharing until it was all gone.

“ I have to leave, Jeff.”

“Shhh, get me my beer.”

“I have to―.”

“No. No. No”― shaking his head and weeping―“ you’re leaving like mom and dad.”

“And you're leaving me,” he said, looking at cutter of clothes, trash bags, puddles of beer, and broken items. “ Jeff, all you do is drink. You leave, go to the bar, and drink. When you come home, you sleep.”―tears flooded his eyes― “ the hours you spend at the bar are getting longer and longer. There were weeks I would return home from college, and you’re not here!”

“Is it the beer that’s the problem? If it is, then we can evict it. John…the problem can be solved.”

“I’m leaving, Jeff.”

“why!”

John said it calmly, “ What month did I graduate?” Jeff paused and let the silences flow as John continues. “When’s my birthday… When did mom and dad leave… What kind of job did I get?” John looks at the confused look on Jeff’s face. “It seems like one of us has already left,” John said, turning around and walking to the door.

“John…wait,” he says, running to him, slipping on a torn shirt and landing into a solution of liquid.  “Wait!”

John didn’t stop walking. He made his way to the car while the words “John wait” echoed in the background.  Even on the road, he could still hear the words of his brother yelling, “ John wait!

A year later, John sits at the dining room table reading a letter while his wife is in the other room ordering takeout. The letter was sent from Jeff. He sent a letter to John explaining the events that happened after leaving. He stopped drinking and gotten a job. Having enough money, Jeff decided to fix the room and get the house ready to be sold in a month. “Whose the letter from, dear,” his wife says entering the room. “It’s my bro,” he replies, “He’s doing fine. He’s doing fine!”