hold

"Hold your ground" he said to me. "Your mother didn't work two jobs so you could run away from this." I just looked over at him. Staring strait forward, emotionless except for a small scowl on his lip. "You're no brother to me" I say. He spits on the ground. We're in our old childhood park. The man made stream that used to have little waterfalls built in, has been turned off. "They stopped running the stream a long time ago" I said. He doesn't know that, nor does he care. He's been off in some city far away, doing drugs, and becoming more and more closed off and alone. "Remember when we used to spend an afternoon building little boats, and our parents would take us here to float them down, running alongside, to see whose would make it to the bottom?" I get no response, but he lights a cigarette. "I don't remember anything from my childhood" he says. I know he's lying. He'd just rather focus on whatever problems he has. "I think I'm going to go" I say. He looks over at me, and I can see the sadness in his face. Something that says "I won't stop you, but I need someone here." "I'm not the one running away" I say to him. He stares ahead of him again, and is quiet, thinking. "Do you think they'll ever turn the stream on again?" he finally asks. "I don't know," I say. "Maybe in the summer." He looks up at me, "I won't be around that long."