Fishing Trip: May 29, 2007

     Tyler is close to twice my size, standing on that grimy old boat, holding the day’s catch. We almost look like twins, except my height and Tyler’s haunted look of age. In fact, Aunts and Uncles usually say we look identical but that I was the twin that shrunk in the wash. Looking up at my eighteen-year-old brother his shoulders are broad, manly and his chest is thrust out, proud of the large bass he holds. But his face betrays him, unshaven and rigid, the smile is unnatural. His hair unkempt, falls over his forlorn, shadowed eyes. The ups and downs of the night have left him exhausted.
     We pose on the small deck of that terribly kept boat, held together by duct tape and luck. Old netting is strewn across the sides and catches our feet at a final attempt of their forgotten job. A mixture of bait and sea water sits in the corners staining the white paint. Rust has begun to encroach, no longer fought off by the boat’s captain. Tyler has given up on it, and the boat now shows what his smile tries to hide.
     As the camera shutter snaps shut Tyler sighs and his shoulder slump. He knows the shutter is not all closed off to him. The day is over and it is time to go home. A tear rolls down his face, cutting a line through the dirt of his unwashed face. Mom and Dad will be waiting, I will go home, but Tyler already is. I’m to young to know why; all I know is my brother no longer lives with me. And for that last moment we stand beside each other, as two brothers always will.