Dust gathers. Collects. Discarded remnants of times well-spent. In imagination and creation. Days in our invention. Running down the hall to play, spending hours setting up and organizing, giddy excitement at new characters, new worlds to explore. Library card system. American Girl Dolls. Barbie. Playmobile. On the Wii, I’m always Player One. We wrote a fantasy story together. Every now and then I look at the map we drew. Shouting. Arguing. Calling Mom in. Holding you, protecting you. Shared experiences, understanding. We’re in this together. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. I use video games to connect. It’s no fun playing them without. Nathan Drake. Spider-Man. Aloy. These moments I hold close. How is it that we’ve lived the most we’ll ever live together? The days of waking up under the same roof, of scurrying downstairs on Christmas morning, tearing open gifts, slamming doors and boring chores, of afterschool debriefs, nights on our own, are slowly slipping away? Soon, I’ll move out, then you, and we’ll each live separate lives, we already do. And the house will be empty except for holidays. Fuck, what are you getting them for Christmas? Remember when we switched classes and fooled our teachers into thinking we were each other? That short film in the snow, us singing, acting out to “Let it Go.” Our Avengers Age of Ultron Lego stop-motion i-movie trailer. Feeding the neighborhood ducks. Cleaning the stables and grooming horses. Long soccer games. Did you hear what Nonna said? You got in, congrats!!! Buzz Buzz. Look it’s Mickey and Iron Man and Luigi! Come back. I’m sorry. How are you 19 already? I can’t understand, can’t comprehend, this growing distance. We go to the same college yet rarely converse. And even when you’re home, I hardly see you. You have a boyfriend, and that’s all the time you spend. I reach out but I’m met with static. Can you help me with this math? I don’t truly know you anymore. I can’t get past this level, you try. I’ll always be there for you. I’m stealing your sweater. You were there for everything and now only some things. Papa’s being unreasonable again. Mom says dinner is ready.
