I remember when my brother started changing. At first it was so gradual, just staying out a little later or sleeping in more on weekends. But soon he stopped joining us for dinner, stopped responding when I knocked on our bedroom door. He missed school constantly and ignored my parents’ lectures. His eyes lost their usual mischievous glint, instead turning dull and vacant. I would wake at night to find his bed empty, only to hear the front door quietly click shut near sunrise, the stench of cigarettes lingering behind him. He grew more and more distant, a ghost haunting our home. I missed my partner-in-crime, the big brother who used to make me laugh hysterically at his antics. Now it seemed like that person had died, leaving this imposter in his place. I didn’t understand what was happening to the brother I once idolized. I only knew I wanted him back. So late at night, I would creep to his side of our bedroom and quietly pray to God to bring him home again. To rekindle that light within him that seemed to have gone out.
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