A Light of His Own

The clinking of silverware against his parents’ best china was the soundtrack to Tommy’s life. It was a pleasant, rhythmic sound, but tonight it felt like a metronome counting down the seconds until he could gracefully disappear. He pushed a stray pea around his plate with his fork, crafting a lazy green spiral. Across the table, his older brother, Mark, was holding court.

Mark had a way of commanding a room without ever raising his voice. He leaned forward, elbows on the lace tablecloth, his smile catching the light from the dining room chandelier. He was recounting a story about a disastrous-but-ultimately-hilarious business trip to Tokyo, complete with gestures and perfectly timed pauses for laughter. Their parents, their aunt, even Mark’s new, impossibly chic girlfriend, Chloe, were captivated.

Tommy had heard a version of this story before, but it seemed to get better with each telling, the details sharpening, the punchlines landing with more force. Mark was a born storyteller. Tommy, by contrast, was a quiet observer, a collector of details that rarely saw the light of day.

It had always been this way. Mark was the sun; Tommy was the planet in a comfortable, predictable orbit around him. Mark was the varsity quarterback; Tommy was the team manager who made sure the footballs were properly inflated. Mark got the lead in the school play; Tommy built the sets, his hands covered in paint and splinters. Mark went to a prestigious university on a full scholarship; Tommy attended the state school two towns over, his acceptance letter arriving a week after Mark’s had been framed and hung in their father’s study.

He wasn’t resentful. Not really. It was hard to resent someone as genuinely charming and kind as Mark. His brother never lorded his successes over him. He didn’t have to. The world did it for him. Tommy had long ago made peace with his supporting role. He was the reliable one, the steady hand, the best man, but never the groom.

“...and so the CEO looks at me,” Mark was saying, his eyes twinkling, “and says, ‘Well, son, anyone who can survive a night in a capsule hotel after losing his luggage is someone I want negotiating my next merger.’”

The table erupted in appreciative laughter. His father clapped Mark on the back. “That’s my boy! Always turning lemons into lemonade.”

His mother beamed. “We’re just so proud of you, honey. And Chloe, you must be, too.”

Chloe, who looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine, reached over and squeezed Mark’s hand. “He’s one of a kind.”

Tommy took a slow sip of his water. He had news of his own tonight, something he’d been holding onto for weeks, waiting for the right moment. He’d finally gotten the promotion he’d been working towards for three years. He was now the head librarian for the city’s downtown branch, a position that came with a corner office (albeit a small one) and the responsibility of overseeing the entire archival department. It was the biggest achievement of his professional life.

He cleared his throat. The sound was small, easily swallowed by the lingering laughter. He tried again, a little louder this time. “That’s great, Mark. Really great. I actually have some good news to share, too.”

All eyes turned to him. The sudden focus was jarring, like a floodlight snapping on in a dark room. He felt a flush creep up his neck.

“I, uh, I got the promotion,” he said, his voice feeling thin. “The head librarian position. It’s official as of Monday.”

His mother’s face lit up. “Oh, Tommy, that’s wonderful! We’re so proud of you.”

His father nodded, a genuine smile on his face. “Head librarian, huh? That’s a big deal. Well done, son.”

Mark raised his glass. “To Tommy! The king of the Dewey Decimal System. Seriously, bro, that’s awesome. We have to celebrate.”

A warm feeling spread through Tommy’s chest. For a moment, the spotlight was his. It was a novel, slightly uncomfortable sensation, but not an unpleasant one. He felt seen.

And then, in the space of five seconds, it was gone.

Chloe, still holding Mark’s hand, leaned forward with an air of conspiratorial excitement. “Well, since we’re sharing good news…” She looked at Mark, her eyes sparkling. Mark’s smile widened, shifting from brotherly pride to something bigger, something radiant.

“We were going to wait,” Mark said, his voice dropping to a theatrical hush, “but this feels like the right moment.” He stood up, pulling a slightly startled Chloe to her feet beside him. He looked around the table, at his family, his audience.

“We’re engaged,” he announced.

The words detonated in the quiet dining room. His mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. His aunt shrieked with delight. His father let out a booming laugh and was the first to his feet, engulfing Mark in a bear hug.

In the ensuing chaos of congratulations, happy tears, and demands to see the ring, Tommy’s promotion evaporated like a puff of smoke. The corner office, the archival department, the years of quiet, diligent work—all of it was forgotten, an insignificant footnote in the glorious history of the day Mark got engaged.

Tommy sat frozen, a polite smile plastered on his face. He watched as Chloe held out her hand, a diamond the size of a small planet flashing under the chandelier. He watched his mother weep with joy and his father pour champagne, his earlier toast to Tommy a distant echo.

He felt nothing. And then he felt everything. A hot, bitter tide of emotion rose in his throat. It was a feeling he’d been tamping down his whole life, a lifetime of being the afterthought, the second-place finisher in a one-man race. It wasn’t Mark’s fault. It was just the way the universe was tilted.

But tonight, for the first time, it felt unbearable.

He stood up. The movement was so abrupt it silenced the room. Six pairs of eyes swiveled back to him.

“Excuse me,” he said, the words tight and clipped. “I need some air.”

He turned and walked out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and onto the back porch, the screen door slapping shut behind him. The cool night air was a shock to his heated skin. He gripped the wooden railing, his knuckles white, and stared out at the dark, manicured lawn of his childhood home.

He could hear their muffled voices from inside, a confusing mix of concern and lingering excitement. He knew what they were thinking. That he was being moody. That he couldn’t handle sharing the spotlight. But it wasn’t about the spotlight. It was about having his own light, however small, acknowledged for more than a fleeting moment before being extinguished by the glare of his brother’s sun.

The porch door creaked open behind him. It was Mark. Of course, it was Mark.

“Hey, man,” Mark said, his voice soft. “You okay?”

Tommy didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You just bolted out of there. Is it about the… you know.” Mark gestured vaguely back towards the house. “The engagement. I’m sorry if we stole your thunder. We just got caught up in the moment.”

That was it. That was the phrase that finally broke him. Stole your thunder. It implied he had thunder to begin with.

He turned slowly, his hands dropping from the railing. “You didn't steal my thunder, Mark. You are the thunder. You’re the whole damn storm.”

Mark looked taken aback, his easy smile faltering. “Whoa. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means my entire life has been a before-and-after picture of you,” Tommy said, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered. “Remember my eighth-grade science fair? I spent a month building that model volcano. I was so proud of it. Then you came home and announced you’d been named valedictorian. No one even looked at my volcano after that.”

“Tommy, that was years ago—”

“Or what about when I got my driver’s license? The same day you drove home in the used convertible Dad bought you for getting into college. My license was a piece of laminated paper. Your car was a parade.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping but gaining intensity. “Tonight, for maybe five minutes, I had something. Something that was just mine. And then, poof. Gone. Because you got engaged. And nothing I ever do will be as big or as bright as the things that just… happen to you.”

Mark was silent, his face a mask of confusion and hurt. For the first time, Tommy saw a crack in his brother’s perfect composure.

“I never knew you felt that way,” Mark said quietly.

“Of course you didn’t,” Tommy shot back, the bitterness sharp on his tongue. “You never had to. You were too busy winning.”

He deflated then, the anger rushing out of him, leaving behind a hollow ache. He sank onto the top step of the porch, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said all that. Congratulations on your engagement.”

Mark sat down next to him, the silence stretching between them, thick with thirty years of unspoken things.

“You know,” Mark said, staring out at the same dark lawn. “That convertible? The transmission blew two months after I got it. Dad and I spent a whole weekend trying to fix it in the garage. It was the most time he and I had spent together in years.” He paused. “And that valedictorian speech? I had a panic attack right before I went on stage. Threw up in a trash can. You were the only one who noticed something was wrong. You brought me a bottle of water.”

Tommy looked up, surprised. He remembered that day, but he’d never known about the panic attack.

“My life isn’t as easy as it looks, Tommy,” Mark said, his voice heavy. “Sometimes, I look at you… and I’m jealous.”

Tommy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Jealous of what? My extensive knowledge of card catalog systems?”

“Jealous that you know who you are,” Mark said, turning to face him. “You’ve always known. You love books. You love quiet. You build things. You’re steady. You’re the anchor. Me? I just play the part everyone expects me to play. The quarterback, the deal-maker, the golden boy. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am when the applause stops.”

Tommy stared at his brother, truly seeing him, perhaps for the first time. The perfect, polished exterior had fallen away, revealing someone just as uncertain and flawed as he was.

“I guess the grass is always greener,” Tommy said softly.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He clapped a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “But for what it’s worth… a head librarian with a corner office is a pretty big deal. And I’m really, really proud of you.”

The words were simple, but they landed in Tommy’s hollow chest and filled it with a warmth that had nothing to do with reflected glory. It was a light all his own.

He nodded, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “Thanks.”

They sat there for a long time, two brothers on a dark porch, the sounds of their family’s celebration filtering through the door. The clinking of glasses, the laughter, the joy—it was all still there. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a competition. It just felt like life. And Tommy finally understood that there was more than one way to be the main character in your own story.