the ring

My brother has bought a ring. He tells me his plan, and it is all there, everything pretty and earnest and perfect. I know our mother overhears our conversation; I can hear her crying in the background.

I remember my brother: When he was 3, he re-named himself Fat, hid in the closet and called it Fat's House. Once, he threw my doll in the toilet. Another time, he put Vic's Vaporub on everyone's toothbrush and wrote on the walls with red pen.

Now, he lives in Chicago. He owns his apartment. He goes to medical school. He has been saving for this ring for months.

Later that evening, my father calls. He is home from work, finally. He leaves a message. He pauses a lot. "I'm sure you've talked to your brother today," he says. "I am happy and sad. This means he is a man now."

And just like that, we become 10 years older.