Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

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The combination of excessive sunlight and humming from the next room woke me up the following morning. My eyes felt gritty from sleep. I rubbed them as I stretched before slowly sitting up and looking around the childhood bedroom I’d shared with Rory. It was like a time warp from the late nineties peppered with teenage mementos from the next decade. Power Rangers figurines and old board games were stuffed into bookshelves and posters from our favorite rock bands adorned the walls. Green Day, Foo Fighters, The Strokes, Arctic Monkeys.

The chambray comforters on the twin beds matched, though Rory’s had faded more from sun exposure. His bed was under the window, mine against the wall opposite. I remember talking all night when Mom turned the lights off and made her way to her own room next door. Stupid stuff that seemed important at the time…kids we liked and loathed at school, our chances of getting Nintendo for Christmas, Cartoon Network’s lineup. The conversations changed as we got older. We talked about sports and cute girls. But one night, I told him I’d kissed a guy. I wasn’t going to say anything ever to anyone, but my secret had been eating me alive for months. I’d braced myself for the worst before blurting it out, then waiting for my little brother’s disgust or concern or a sign he no longer thought I was the coolest guy he knew.

He went quiet in the dark and, after what felt like five minutes, whispered, “Did you like it?”

“Yeah. I did. But don’t be weird about it. I’m not queer or anything. And whatever you do, don’t tell Mom.”

I wished I could take those words back. Not for myself, but because I had a feeling my desire for anonymity had been mistaken as advice. Rory and I eventually came out to each other a few years later when he was in college. Even then, our conversation was laced with anxiety and a desire not to share our news with our mother. She hadn’t navigated our teen years well. She fought her own demons and I wasn’t so sure she’d won when she put the bottle down and joined a conservative church. But when Rory said he was done keeping secrets, I told him I was too. We came out to her together and it was a mega disaster. She hadn’t spoken to Rory in almost two years now.

And yet this room hadn’t changed. She hadn’t erased him from her life. She’d preserved him. Kept him small and knowable.

“Justin, honey, do you want pancakes? I have to leave for work in half an hour. I whipped up a batch. Oh, and the coffee is fresh. Come get some!”

“I’ll be right out,” I called through the closed door.

I got my ass out of bed and used the bathroom before meeting my mom in the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

“ ’Mornin’. Smells good,” I mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

“Bacon always does,” she chirped happily. “I always keep some on hand in case you or Ror—you stop by. And here you are. Patience pays off. Take a seat. This will be ready in a minute. You can tell me what’s going on with you while you wait. You scared the heck out of me last night!”

I studied my mom over the rim of my Harry Potter mug. Another remnant of my youth, I mused, noting the new lines at the corners of her mouth. They made her look older than fifty. Melanie Germaine was still pretty, but at one time, she’d been beautiful. She was tall and thin with long blonde hair and a killer smile. Time and alcohol had taken a toll. She was too skinny, too pale, and her once lustrous, long hair had a strawlike texture that seemed to suck the life from her face. The nondescript brown uniform she wore for her job as a checkout girl at the local grocery market didn’t help. Somewhere in the last ten years, my mom had given up. Maybe she forgot who she was, or maybe she didn’t care anymore.

She set a plate piled high with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon in front of me, then patted my shoulder before taking the chair beside me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Are you all right?” She squinted as though it might help her see without having to ask twenty questions.

“I’m fine. I started a new band,” I said as I picked up my fork.

“Oh.” She sipped her coffee, cradling the mug in both hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but aren’t you getting little old for this band business? Maybe you should go back to school and get a college degree, eh?”

“Hmph. Yeah, maybe. But I’m doing this instead. And this is where you’re supposed to wish me luck or tell me to break a leg or something,” I said around a mouthful of eggs.