“Didn’t get that much sleep, huh?” I wink at him, turning on the cheese, elbowing him in the ribs, trying to keep the smile momentum going. “Let’s stop at home so I can grab a blanket and a book.”
It’s the perfect September day, a rare humidity-free one in Brooklyn, seventy-five degrees, sporadic clouds providing shady punctuations to our walk over.
We argue as soon as we step foot in the park about which direction to head. To the main lawn in the northern tip (too crowded), towards the Picnic House (if we need the bathroom), towards the Dog Beach (but they’re so cute/but we could contract Giardia). We end up walking quite a ways, meandering through the carved pathways that cut through the trees, and end up somewhere near the lake in the southernmost part of the park. We argue next about where to put the blanket down: sun or shade. I get sunburned if I even think about the sun, but Elias’s naturally tan skin embraces it like a dear friend. We compromised by finding a massive weeping willow. We sat at the edge of its shadow, so that I could sit in the shade and read, and he could nap in the sun.
I look over at where Elias is sleeping, his skin illuminated gold. The sun emphasizes the sharp features of his face, the strong lines bright, the hollows carved out and hidden in shadow. The harshness of the angles at odds with the softness of his full mouth, a mouth meant for smiling, corners permanently tipped up and ready to charm your pants off.
I remember a time when his face was much softer. Those were the times he would hide around the corner so he could trip me on my walk into the den, or when he would shove me into the pool. The time he gave me a black eye by throwing a football in my face, expecting me to catch it. The time he cried with panic after doing so, running to get me a bag of frozen corn from the kitchen. The time the girl he was seeing in high school called me a bitch, and he broke up with her in under fifteen minutes. I’ve seen this face run the gamut of most of the emotions known to man. I’ve seen it hold horror, mischief, grief, glee, rage, anxiety. Slack with ecstasy is another one I can add to the list now, after Bathroom Incident.
I’m really lucky, I think, to know someone so well, like the back of my hand. I notice new lines near his eyes. I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to watch the crow’s feet grow in someone’s, anyone’s eyes. To be able to trust someone, with mylife, to know that someone will always have my back, no matter how fucking insane we drive one another. But, in a way that’s a bit different than a sibling, because you don’t have much of a choice with a big brother. Of course your big brother is going to protect you, look out for you; you’re his little sister. But with Elias, it’s as if I’ve been chosen, deemed worthy, but in a way that’s come as naturally as breathing, because he’s always been there.
As if he can hear me thinking, his eyes open slowly, the green of them unfocused yet bright and glowing. His eyes find mine immediately, growing warm when they exit dreamland and focus on me. A soft smile, small like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, takes over his face. I have the inexplicable urge to touch it with my hand.
“Hey, sleepyhead. That was a good nap,” I say to him instead.
“How long was I out for?” Elias asks in a hoarse, wake-uppy voice.
“Maybe an hour.” I maneuver myself so I can lay my head on his belly, which feels like a ridged flesh table. Our bodies make a capital “T” as we both look up at the leaves of the tree rustling in the slight breeze. He runs his fingers through my hair as my head rises and falls with his breaths. I feel like a contented cat.
We lay in companionable silence for a while.
“What did you do while I was out?” he murmurs, still sounding on the verge of sleep, still combing my hair with his fingers.
“Read a little. Thought about all the work I need to do tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” he says, and I can hear the frown in his voice.
“You know that Sundays are my grading and planning days.”
“There have only been two days of school. What the hell do you need to grade?”
“I want to read their ‘Getting to Know Me’ essays. Also, I need to get the sub plans ready for the day we’ll be gone. Don’t you need to do the same thing?”
He hums noncommittally.
An idea strikes me. I sit up and look down at him.
“Elias. I wanna pay you back for what you’re doing for me. What if…” I cut my eyes to the side, thinking. “You’re coaching me in like, dating or whatever. What if I coached you for teaching?”
His previously relaxed face pulls into one of annoyance. “What makes you think I need teaching help? And what makes you think I want to be good at it? I don’t even want to be a teacher.”
“Come on, Elias. You told me Lina was on your case last year, when Oliver was still around. You consistently tell me that all you want to do is just have the gym be a free for all.”
“And?”
“Think about the kids, Elias. What did half my class do in the gym with you yesterday? What did Sean do, my two hundred pound student?”
“He sat in the corner,” he mumbles.
“And what should someone like Seanreallybe doing? What all eight-year-olds need to be doing?” I push him.
“Moving,” he grumbles.
“I can help you with that.” I’m getting excited. I live for this stuff. “We can start small, with just my class. You only see them twice a week.”
He watches me for a long moment. I can practically hear him thinking. He looks away and shakes his head, as if he’s annoyed with himself.
“Come on, Elias! It’ll make you feel better about teaching, too. I promise. It’ll be good.”
