Sunshine and a Gale

There’s no weather-sealing on the windows in the new place.
When the wind blows, lukewarm and insistent over the carefully-planned Californian town, it keens past the windows fierce enough to belie the weather outside. Which is sunny and seventy, like always, and not a hint of rain for days or weeks or months to come.
But the wind blows, and with the blinds drawn, it sounds like a tempest.

Inside, my brother’s face is sad and tired and his beard isn’t trimmed and his t-shirt is wrinkled.
And my sister’s face is too pale and that makes her lipstick stand out as if to mock the picture of health.

It’s her first glass of wine in five months. And I could wish desperately that she was still sipping sparkling cider with dinner and afterward. But I know it wouldn’t change anything.

And my brother turns the television to Animal Planet and turns the volume down to an indistinguishable buzz. It’s just for company. And I worry that he’s doing this all the time now, just for lack of everything he left at home. I can’t pinpoint what’s sad about this. I’m broken.

My brother’s hands are always the same, sure and cautiously gentle. He uses his pocket knife to open a bottle, and busies himself with keeping everyone’s glass topped off.

My glass of red never gets shallower.Outside, the storm rages.