meringue

brothers fighting wars together and what happens, they lose their minds on the range and begin thinking about each others loyalty. day in, day out, all they think about is what if the bullet proof vest has a glitch, or they didn't eat enough protein or fiber. they sleep in cots next to each other and they pray together for the same mother and father, but they haven't heard from either in 4 years. abandoned.. little sister sends cookies, burnt, charcoal. they speak the same language and they both have the same colour eyes but they can't relate anymore because they saw each other's pain on the battlefield.

what used to be, was nice. Momma making lemonade and daddy cutting firewood. baby sister and the wet nurse. running in the corn fields, playing hide and go seek. smiling and friendship and love.

now, they can't close their eyes when they sleep. too much of a risk. cheep hooch at the next truckstop might settle it, but who knows. the alcohol might take away the tension, but for how long. they begin to open their mouths, but no words come out. and they stare. before they started, it wasn't great but it was okay. a pat on the back and a beer. target practice on the range. girlfriends and pet dogs and apple crumble. momma made a mean meringue. and now they stare at the ceiling of a tent.
standard issue. an arsenal of weapons. close your eyes and find happiness. but they've changed.  eyes can't shut, mouths don't speak. they've become the product of unknown virtues.

they can feel the enemy approaching. but the real enemy is laying down parallel to both men. if they were spies, they would have cyanide pills, but they don't. they have reality. a weird sort of reality but their minds can still change.

the battle is over and both men hitch a ride back home to the hen house. a smile, timed awkwardly but maybe they can become brothers again. they sell their gear at a gas station and have some money for a chocolate bar. Kit Kat and Twix. they share. they ride up to the house. a narrow dirt road. get back to plucking chickens and milking cows. daddy making bread, momma making miracles, and little sis reading literature on the porch.

But it wasn't like that, it was the last thought of  a brother who was bleeding profusely in his brother's arms.

I won't leave you

but, no words, a blank stare and tears of anger looking up to the heavens. it all could have changed. they didn't have to be there, or was it just bad luck? determinism? fate? cause and effect? nothing could change what had happened. the shrapnel zigged and zagged and ended up in his throat. he would die in his brother's arms, never shooting his gun in the battle.

and the brother would return home. to a grieved family. a question mark in each others eyes.

and mom's homemade lemon meringue, cooling off on the windowsill. his favourite.