Life do be bitchin‘

Yeah, aaaaaaaaah. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Seven and a half hours ago, there were three brothers. Each of them had their own space that they called home, where they would spend their mornings basking in the sun. “Life do be bitchin’” thought one of them to himself, and it was a rare moment everyone collectively felt the same, and there was really no need for the brother to disturb the peace describing it, because he knew that once he explained his feelings, they would take shape. In that moment, however, he felt like having no shape at all. The sun would rise to his left and part ways on his right at noon, which did not discourage them from staying. As long as they had each other, it did not really matter whether the sun was there to warm them up – being cold was another way to experience the other half of the day.

“Life do be bitchin’!” exhaled the one in the middle. “That’s what I am saying!!” said the first brother. And they sat in silence. The third one didn’t react, as he was contemplating life. “Is there more to it?” he thought. There is this huge ball of fire we center our life around, and it’s so hot and millions of miles away, but it expectedly and punctually shows up on our horizon every day and fares well to leave us in darkness. “Why doesn’t it stay with us?” he felt, accompanied by frustration and anger. Even if he shouted from the top of his lungs, jumped and cried like a little child, the sun would spend no matter to his existence – it would be on and about with or without him.

Seven hours ago - when they were all sleeping - their father came home late at night. It wasn’t unusual to hear him quietly enter the apartment at midnight, since spending his money outside was one way for him to either start, celebrate the middle of, or end his work week. And you know, it goes without saying, well, there are plenty of sayings about it. He was inebriated. But not the unpredictable kind or the crash-out type of drunk. The kind that made him not forget about the three brothers. He brushed his teeth, folded his outside clothes on one of the chairs in the kitchen, walked up to them, grabbed one after the other, and placed all three into the sink. He watered brother one, brother two, but with brother three, his oblivion made him push the faucet open a bit too much, and a beam of water gushed at the thoughtful one.

“AM I DROWNING?!”, he exclaimed. And this time, he wasn’t poetic about it. Instead, he was fighting for his life in that very moment. The unnatural amount of water the soil was soaking up made him lose his footing, and the roots he worked so hard on expanding were uplifted in a matter of seconds. The water passed through, though, as it always does, and father made sure to gently press soil against his stem to salvage the damage he caused. The brothers were placed back in their spot and woke up the next morning, when the same brother again stated: “Life do be bitchin’!”. “Tell me about it...” responded the tired one attentively. Why did he spend his whole life questioning, inquiring, doubting, hoping, fearing – just to have his hard work jeopardized by one drunk?