Ask Him Why

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

light breeze carried it right into my face and I waved it away violently, and probably more dramatically than necessary. Hey, I was fifteen. Drama was my contribution to the world. His eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he asked around the filter of the cigarette.

My brother Joseph’s gaze flickered up to me one more time. He had a look in his eyes as if he were staring up at me from the bottom of a very deep well. I’d say it was desperate, except desperation usually means you’re trying to save yourself. Joseph was not trying to save himself. He had accepted his fate.

He looked up at me and smiled. It was a genuine smile. It spread out in my gut like a hot drink on a snowy day. It glowed inside my chest and low belly.

My view on life in general, I think, was that anything would have been better than not enough.

Anything that lifts responsibility for our actions is addictive, I’ve found.