the prince and the thief

The truck idles, and the sound of the parking brake reminds me why we’re here. His house sits in the fading sun, anonymous amongst its sisters, each sibling side by side, sharing the same suburban genetics. The lawn has just been mowed and the stray grass lies in the driveway. Gasoline hangs faintly in the summer air. I love these smells combined.

Up the steps, my brother stands with his usual pompous air, his legs an upside-down “V.” The nicotine on his finger has rubbed off on the doorbell. I can see myself in the glass of the door. She waits behind me, always supportive, even in reflections. The door opens and I am genuinely surprised. Black, dead eyes do not gaze into my soul. A crooked, evil smile does not mock my existence. The dark crimson blood of children does not drip from his walls. I am genuinely surprised. When I cross the threshold, he appears by my side. We hug. I am taller than him. Awkward and unsure, the pressure of his arms around my body feels genuine. I am still uneasy.

In the house, the surroundings are plain. Picture frames seem lonely, isolated from each other by huge spans of wall. We sit on the couch and a large television set spits out the news. Images flicker on and off while he tries to talk to me. I don’t know what to concentrate on. My sentences are short, full of caution and distrust; his are imploring and inquisitive, full of hope and desire. His eyes sparkle when he speaks to me and I sense his happiness. I can also sense my brother’s jealousy. When the conversation turns to his family, I find myself being the jealous one. Strange. For the first time in my life, I begin to question the truth, who I am, and who I thought these people were.

Before long, the time has come for us to leave. As we rise from the couch, my girlfriend’s hand, delicate and reassuring, pauses on the small of my back. He walks us to the door, stopping to embrace me one last time. The pressure from this hug feels like apologies and longing. Anger becomes shame. Hatred becomes sympathy. I can feel the sun comforting me, rays of light patting my back, stroking my neck, reaching around me. The light envelops me. And there, at that moment, he was no longer a specter. My father stood before me, finally in my shadow.