[ RF ] Sometimes we only need someone to listen to our problems , not solve it .

“ I ’ ve only cried three times since going to college, ” he said. “ The first time was when I broke up with my ex—the long distance just won ’ t work. Second time was when I got drunk at a family dinner. ” 
 
 A pair of drunk girls brushed by our table, one of them tripping and almost knocking over our vodka fishbowl. The crowd buzzed louder yet and someone yelled at the bartender to “ give me my fucking beer ”. 
 
 “ What about the third time? ” 
 
 “ They were here last Tuesday too, remember? ” 
 
 “ Who? ” 
 
 He tilted his head and I caught a glimpse of the drunk pair disappearing behind the single-person bathroom around the corner. 
 
 “ College, ” he said. 
 
 “ That ’ s why you didn ’ t want scotch? ” I lost my train of thought and fished around for a random question. 
 
 “ Yeah, ” he chuckled. “ One of my uncles just left the table half-way through dinner and came back with two bottles of Macallen 12. And I was already four beers in. Now every time I see whiskey I just gag a little. ” 
 
 “ Damn. What happened? ” 
 
 “ I honestly don ’ t remember. I guess I got pretty drunk, and then my dad said something to me—just the tiniest, most random compliment—and I just couldn ’ t take it anymore. I cried like a little bitch. ” 
 
 “ Oh boy, ” I leaned back and laughed. The lights above me swirled and his laughter echoed back. 
 
 “ So yeah, no whiskey, ” he said as he got up and stretched. “ Come on, we ’ re drinking too slowly. ” 
 
 He cupped the sides of the giant fishbowl with both hands and lifted it up. Just when his arms flung to the air, the glass cracked and the bottom landed squarely on the table along with a gush of blue vodka. 
 
 That was the Sunday before final week began. Right after his last final on Friday, he texted us: “ Let ’ s finish that fishbowl ”. But instead, we picked up two bottles of cheap wine and a box of 18 Stella ’ s from Safeway and sat on his balcony. 
 
 “ So this is what it feels like? ” 
 
 “ What? ” I asked. 
 
 “ To be old, but not really. Happy, but not really. ” 
 
 “ Sad, but not really. ” 
 
 “ Right. ” 
 
 “ I hope we don ’ t miss the commencement tomorrow. ” 
 
 “ We ’ ll be fine. There ’ ll be so many people, even if we got there at 9:30 we ’ ll probably still have to wait, ” he waved nonchalantly. “ Even if we missed it, what ’ s the big fucking deal? ” 
 
 “ Just call and wake me if I sleep through my alarm. ” 
 
 “ Fuck, I just feel like smoking every time I get drunk now. ” 
 
 “ Do you smoke? ” I never knew he smoked, but I suppose I never really knew him until that party last month when everyone else had passed out by 3am. We stayed up and finished the warm beer left. And we talked. 
 
 “ I used to. But not so much anymore, not after my dad. ” 
 
 “ Oh, ” I said, but I didn ’ t say I was sorry. We had a safe space here when we drank, we there was no need for apologies, sympathy or even understanding. We talked with the aloofness ( and I like to think, dark humor ) of mere acquaintances, about to part ways to different continents after graduation. Just drinking buddies getting the most out of the time left, conveniently keeping each other company in our own intoxication. 
 
 “ What did he do? ” 
 
 “ He was a bum, ” he said bluntly. “ Worked at some power company. I don ’ t know, I honestly never really knew what he did. ” 
 
 “ Oh, ” I said again. 
 
 “ But he was always very proud of John. I guess he saw in my brother all the things he could ’ ve been. Oh well, and then there ’ s me. ” 
 
 “ You ’ re fine, ” I said. “ We ’ re graduating from fucking Berkeley! ” 
 
 He took a long drag from his bottle and continued, ignoring me, “ That ’ s why that one time he said something approving—and I can ’ t even remember what it is—I just couldn ’ t stop crying. In front of all my relatives. Like a fucking baby. ” 
 
 I couldn ’ t quite wrap my head around his logic, why he sought his father ’ s approval so desperately yet refused to acknowledge any of his achievements. My head was swimming and 
 I felt tired and confused. This was more trouble than I signed up for. 
 
 “ I ’ m sure he was proud of you too. ” 
 
 “ I mean, John ’ s got it all together. Graduated First Honor, got a great job, girl friend— “ 
 
 “ You ’ re not your brother, and you ’ re good the way you are. Fuck John, you ’ re fine. ” 
 
 Suddenly, I felt a spout of anger surge in me, beckoning to that fear of being an older child, destined to be both the model and shadow over a younger sibling. And I hated seeing him weak. He was always funny, distant and appropriately mean at socials, and I liked it that way. A stranger from beginning to end. 
 
 “ Yeah, fuck John, ” he echoed, but his eyes narrowed and we both fell silent. 
 
 “ But you know, ” he started and I jumped a little at something in his voice, “ I heard from a cousin once, that he told our relatives ‘ my youngest goes to Berkeley now, he ’ s becoming an engineer ’. ” 
 
 I thought I saw one side of his lip twitch, and his eyes darting more than usual. I stared at him, blinking hard to double-check the tiny contortions. Then without warning, a tear rolled down his cheek, and then another. 
 
 “ Exactly how he said it, ” his voice trembling. “ I guess it meant something to him too. I mean, at least that ’ s exactly what my cousin told me. ” 
 
 I handed him some paper napkins but he only held them. “ Can you believe it, I only heard it from a distant cousin—we don ’ t even see each other that often! ” 
 
 My eyes were welling up against my will. I grabbed the napkins from his hand and buried my face in them. 
 
 “ Hey, you know what I really want, ” but his now voice was calm and almost genuinely curious, “ I just want him to be there tomorrow. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m sorry, ” I said, forcing an embarrassed laugh through my sobs. “ I ’ m so sorry. ” 
 
 By the time the last Stella was gone, it was getting light out. 
 
 “ I ’ ll see you…in three hours, ” he smirked as he shut the door. 
 
 Again, he had retracted into his shell, and so would I. In three hours, we would collect ourselves and shut away our respective fears, or the embarrassment and secret joy of confiding in a new friend. And we would wear our caps and gowns like trophies of conquer, refusing to ever look back from there. 

