Late Night Findings

New Year’s resolutions were always Stevie’s thing.  His younger brother loved anything to do with planning or making lists; the simple pleasure of holding a pen and paper made him content as a child.  Brad could still remember him at six years old, running around with an old clipboard their mother had gifted him from the supply closet at the office she used to work at.  He’d write down everything, each step of his day, and make note of everything he saw from the mailman to the birds.  Naturally, Stevie made a list every year of everything he wanted to accomplish. Learn a foreign language. Check. Rent a new apartment.  Check.  Graduate from College. Almost Check.  Brad was the opposite, maybe that’s why he was the one that was destined to drop out.

The only goal Brad ever had, the same one every year, was to change.  It wasn’t even a goal for himself, it was something to say if anyone ever asked.  Stevie was the only one who ever pestered him about it.  Brad figured it was not possible to go through an entire year without making even a small change, like a haircut.  It made it seem almost simple, any small, minute change could constitute a pass for the goal.  However, Stevie was quick to tell him that was not a real goal.  They compromised by Brad letting Stevie be the judge if he’d changed enough for the year.  He was a tough grader, and every year up to that point had resulted in a failure.  “You still live at home,” he’d said one year.  Another, “You don’t even have a real job.”  Or, last year’s, “You haven’t had a serious relationship since high school.  So, it wasn’t even that serious.”

He wondered what Stevie would say if he could see him now, New Year’s Eve, still sitting alone at the same bar in the same town he went to high school, the only difference being his ID was legit and he could only drink so much before he got a headache.  He tapped his fingers on the counter next to the empty glass. It’s not like he could move out if he wanted to, someone needed to stay home and take care of their mother.  He worked at a restaurant in the city, the same one he’d worked at in high school.  He'd quit for a time to attend college, but went back after his father left, his mother’s health deteriorated, and he had to drop out.  It wasn’t fulfilling, but he was able to move up to a management position, and it was enough to support himself, his mother, and, for a time, Stevie.

Instead of spending more time lamenting over his life, Brad wondered where Stevie would be now.  Surely, he’d have a whole party planned with his girlfriend, Sarah.  Their apartment would be perfectly decorated, sophisticated, and attended by his small group of mature, college friends. He would have made a list beforehand, this time on his phone, making sure everything was planned to perfection.  

Brad’s stomach twisted, and a headache was threateningly close.  He threw some bills on the counter and nearly knocked over another patron, who could’ve been someone from his high school biology class, on the way out.  He inhaled deeply as soon as he got outside, the cold air immediately shocking his nerves, freezing them in their tracks that were certainly heading into haywire.  He should not be thinking about Stevie.

He walked to the nearest convenience store, on the corner of Maple and Hamilton, the same familiar fluorescent lights and grumpy cashier. Brad asked for cigarettes to smoke on his way home, as usual.  This time, he stopped on the corner outside, unable to light it. Stevie often argued about his smoking, which to Brad was not an addiction but a predilection inherited from their father. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, it seemed like anything and everything could remind him of his brother.  On the walk home, he was pummeled by memories at every turn.  There was the corner where Stevie nearly crashed his bike and got run over by a car, there was the corner where they'd found a stray dog their dad wouldn’t let them keep.  It was like he’d walked backwards through time, the scene could’ve been identical to the way it was nearly twenty years ago, except this time there were no kids, it was dark, and he felt empty. 

       He tried to distract himself the rest of the walk home from falling into any other slipstreams of memory, but as he neared his home, his thoughts uncontrollably shifted towards his brother again.  What would Stevie have said about the past year?  Would he have given him a passing grade?  

     Surely not.  Everything was the same as last year, except someone was missing now, the only person that was actually trying to help him improve his life.  He slipped the key into the door.  He could see the lights were off, his mother had gone to bed early.  He felt guilty as he made his way quietly inside.  Shouldn’t he have spent New Year’s with his mother?  How many more would they be able to have together?  He slumped on the couch, the silence pressing on him from all sides.

He should get up and check on his mother, make sure she is okay.  Ever since Stevie had gone, she’d only gotten weaker.  He bounced up, preparing himself to put on a show in case his mother was awake.  He practiced smiling on his way down the hall, thought of the jokes he’d tell, the stories he'd make up about the bar.  He paused in front of the closed door, putting on the smile that he’d perfected since childhood, one that was not too big, but just enough that it showed the tips of his teeth, and enough to push up his cheeks to squint his eyes.  He eased the door open, and luckily, his mother asleep in bed, facing away from the doorl. Relief flooded through him and the smile vanished from his face. He felt too exhausted to put on that performance tonight.  

He noticed something next to her, and he shuffled in quietly, the blurry faces from the photograph becoming clearer.  There he was, ten-year-old Stevie, dark hair, glasses, and a permanently worried look on his face.  Next to him, Brad himself at 14 years old, blond hair, smile almost perfected, but cartoonishly big.

He felt a sudden rage bubble inside of him, the rage that came quickly and often since his brother had passed away.  He quietly grabbed the photo album, trying his best not to wake his mother as he made his way out and stumbled down the hall, fuming.  

Brad couldn’t understand why his brother had done it.  His life was perfect, he had everything: a girlfriend, his own place, and on track to graduate at the top of his class.  Brad was the one saddled with taking care of their mother.  He was the one who’d had to make sacrifices for his family after their father left, so his brother wouldn’t have to.  Instead of his brother being grateful for the sacrifice, Stevie decided he didn’t want it.  He’d just thrown away the life that Brad had fought so hard to make possible for him.  

He made his way to the attic, where he’d shoved most of his brother’s belongings.  He did not want his mother to have the constant reminder, and she’d done the same thing for him after his father left, shoved his belongings out of sight.  He could see his father’s old jacket thrown haphazardly over a box.

He threw the album on one of the other boxes, feeling content with the way it slammed against the box, the temporary disruption soothing something inside of him.  The force of the landing popped the photo album open to a different picture of an early family vacation to the beach.  He was carefully holding Stevie’s hand as he led him into the water, always the protective older brother.  He sighed suddenly feeling guilty, he decided he could at least put the album away carefully.  He gingerly picked it up, careful not to look at the pictures too closely. He didn’t want to get lost in those memories again.

He opened the box underneath, rummaging around to make room, when he bumped his hand on something rough.  He saw the edge of the brown hardboard and pulled it out.  Stevie’s old clipboard was dinged up from use and storage, with stray pen marks and indentations.  The name on the back in sharpie was still legible: Steven Summers.  There was a piece of paper in the clip, nestled neatly as if it was just placed five minutes ago.  Written on the top in a childish scrawl and underlined: New Year’s Resolutions.  Then below that:

1. Get good grades
2. Don’t be so nervous
3. Give mom lots of hugs and kisses
4. Don’t make dad angry
5. Help Brad be happy

Brad gently unclipped the paper from the holder, a genuine smile forming and warmth spreading in his chest. He made his way back downstairs, and rummaged for a pen in one of the kitchen drawers. He didn’t know when or if he would ever speak to his brother again, but if he did, he wanted to make sure he could tell him he succeeded in his goal. He placed a check mark next to item five and flipped the paper over, ready to make his own list for a new beginning, a promise to his brother to find the happiness he couldn’t in this life.  He might not be able to change completely before the year ended, but he could make a start.