Below is the result of the writing prompt “What are you looking at?” from a recent writers’ group meeting. My friend Kim decided to be brave and post hers. (Which by the way wasn’t that brave because it’s so good. You really need to read it.)

So I’m being brave and posting mine. I always intend to write fiction during our prompts, but almost never do. The event below never happened, but it’s also not exactly fiction.

“What are you looking at?” Dickie said.

“Nothing,” I answer, but we both know it’s not true.

“Liar,” he says.

“Fuck off!” I tell him and his eyes go big.

“I’m telling mom,” he says and we both laugh because that’s how it used to be. Except I never told my brother to fuck off. I don’t think. If I had I’d have gotten my mouth washed out with soap. That’s how it was back then. Mouth washed out with soap for bad language. The wooden spoon for… I honestly can’t remember for what. Lying. Defiance. Kicking in the bathroom door because I locked myself in when we were fighting. We did that. Kicked the door in. Twice.

(Side note: I tried washing Marley’s mouth out with soap once. But liquid soap doesn’t work quite as well as that bar.)

We fought a lot. We weren’t close.

But we are now. Or at least close-ish. We’re different. So different. I mean he voted for Trump. But I forgive him. Almost.

But we have each other’s backs.

Always.

“I’m looking at you,” I decide to tell him. “I’m glad you’re my brother.”

*My brother says he didn’t vote for Trump. But he also didn’t vote for Hillary. I forgive him. (Almost.)

Also, you’re not allowed to call him Dickie.