The Pretend Darkness

Since my brother Zane bailed on school, he had been holed up at home, glued to video games.

Every day when I walked through the door, his gaming would blast through the house, peppered with shouts and curses that I would not believe could come from a 15-year-old.

I crank up the language lessons in my earbuds to block out the noise, pretending to be nothing more than a clock-punching worker bee.

Once the cooking and cleaning were done, it was a mad dash back to campus.

My roommates got the picture. They felt for me, but there was not much they could do. Still, my desk mysteriously collected little snacks and essentials, courtesy of their quiet support.

I made a mental note of every act of kindness, promising myself that when I finally broke free, I would pay it back double.

Mom, however, totally bought into the idea that her son was battling some heavy-duty depression.

She could not fathom that he might have been blinding her with lies. After all, why would her precious baby boy lash out with such toxic words if he were not truly ill?

"I'm at my wit's end, Mom! Do you even care if I'm alive, or are you actually my mom? What's the big deal with me playing games? It's the only thing I'm into right now. Do you want me to just stop caring about everything and give up on life?"

Every time Mom told Zane to take a break and get some fresh air, he lashed out with curse words and trashed the house like a tornado.

Mom blamed all of that on the medication not being good enough.