During a hair commercial, I stand.

Though I don't love sitcoms, "Friends," is not bad and the three of us have had a good evening so I'm not sure why I'm standing. It just seems like it's time. My sister runs a hand over her husband Matt's goatee.

"Getting gray, honey," she says to him, winking at me.

"Screw you," he says and tickles her foot.

I walk out, head for the guest room.

"Jeff, it's about to come back on," she says but I keep walking. I sit on the twin bed and look at my packed suitcase. My sister yells, "It's on!"

I'm leaving for the airport in fewer than eleven hours. I take a big breath and lean my head against the wall. Now that I've given in, it feels natural to be apart again. Alone on a plane going to a new city, no job, and no looking back. What kind of reality is this then? Painful.

Three, two, one, I think, but don't get up. I know I should, but it's odd knowing I won't. If I flush the toilet and go back into the living room, this will be quickly forgotten. Then, I'll be on the plane. When Mom calls, my sister won't have anything bad to report.

Footsteps clomp in the hall. Matt stands in the doorway, staring at me. I look at the floor. "Rock on," he says, shrugs and leaves.

Eventually, the show ends. They turn off the TV and talk quietly. In the next few minutes she'll come sit by me and ask what's going on.

There's nothing going on, that's the problem. They know. Mom knows. It's just this thing we have to do as a family so we need to play it out.

I bounce on the bed, creating momentum to get up. A small jab of pain registers in my lower back, enough to provide a haven.

My face set in a grimace, I limp into the living room and point to my back. "Have any Tylenol?"

§ § §

David Erlewine began writing fiction in March 2002. He has work appearing or forthcoming in 29 literary journals, including The Absinthe Literary Review and Outsider Ink. Much of his work can be viewed at www.daviderlewine.com. He is an attorney who lives outside of Washington, D.C.

This piece was first published in INK POT #1 - 2003, a literary journal.

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