Problem Child
It probably started on our road trip to Devon. Craig would have been, I don't know, eight? For most of the journey, my Mum, Dad and I listened to Craig talk to his imaginary friend Henry.
Henry was very supportive. There was never any tension between the two. Craig would laugh and nod, and minutes would go by in silence, and you'd hope that Henry had fallen asleep, but then Craig would burst out with a "yeah!" followed by a bellowing laugh unbefitting of a little boy.
At school, we were all bombarded with posters informing us of how many famous celebrities/actors had dyslexia. Did you know that Matt Damon has dyslexia? Well, he does and look at him! He's rich! Similarly, we would come across all these "did you know?" facts. One, in particular, gave me hope. "Did you know those who talk to themselves tend to be more creative?" This would always throw Craig into my mind. I'd dream that my little brother would become a famous artist or writer. Sadly, talking to yourself is entirely different from talking with Henry.
By the time Craig hit puberty, our relationship had changed. I was gearing up for university, which meant I was gearing up to leave. I confess I stopped looking out for him as much. Once he was allowed to stay in the house alone, I thought my brotherly obligations had dissolved. God, I was young, and routines are heartless.
It was my high school graduation. I am torn on how I feel about high school graduations. On the one hand, it strikes me as more of a participatory trophy. On the other, university felt the same, but not everyone is privileged enough to reach that stage. Dad was the designated driver, but on the way to the church, he was already contemplating where he could leave the car overnight. It could be pride, or it is just that minor celebrations become major once you get to that age.
"It is free parking at Tron Gate isn't it?" asked my Dad.
Before we could answer, as if I would have known, Craig started screaming. And I mean screaming. Nightmarish, tears breaking out and blood leaking from his nose. I was later told that Craig used to have horrific nightmares as a child, but I was too young to remember.
"What is it!" Mum spoke the words that our eyes sought.
"There is a tiger outside!"
It is funny the things you remember. See, I know I dissociated a lot that day. But I distinctly remember us not looking outside the car. In moments of panic, irrational sensibilities are expected but not with us that day. It was as if we knew three digits of a four-digit password. We had the 9, the 4, and the 7; Craig had just given us the 1. The rest of that day is gone, but I know Craig eventually calmed down. I got my diploma in the post.
The next day we had a family meeting without Craig. We each took turns presenting our evidence to the table.
"I remember once he said the clouds were staring at him."
"I remember he wouldn't go on the trampoline because the trees wouldn't let him."
My little brother was fourteen when he finally got the diagnosis. The teachers that had previously given him shit and labelled him a problem child didn't alter their behaviour much. An apology wasn't warranted; how could they have known? But their faces pissed me off. They had a self-righteous look as if they felt, "Yea, he has something wrong with him, but still, he was misbehaving!" I could fucking smack Mrs Holloway. It's all in my head, I bet.
Now, today? It has been 418 days since I saw him, my little brother, Craig. He had been doing well, and with every 'successful' month came more sovereignty: a later curfew, no curfew, fewer check-ins, and a job. He had gone missing before, which would reset his human meter, but never for this long. We would find him on some street corner a town over working for some merchant. Helping load trucks and getting tossed a few pounds every now and then. We all asked him how he survived and what he was doing, but he couldn't remember. The reunions fucking killed me. Knowing the look in his eye when he saw me. We often wish we could rewatch our favourite tv shows for the first time again. Meet our lovers for the first time again and savour it. Well, Craig witnessed the rebirth of his big brother more times than I can count, and it was soul-destroying to see. You struggle to stomach the concoction whenever fear is mixed in with jubilation.
I'm here, Craig. I'm alive, I'm your big brother, and I am here. We will hug again, and I'll give Henry a handshake (he doesn't like hugs). We will double lock the door, we will fight off the tigers, and we will finish that game of monopoly.
I believe so.