Tequila

Eighty five miles an hour bottle of tequila resting between his legs, one hand on the wheel the other taping out a beat against his knee. Fast; Dean has driven like that since his legs were long enough for his feet to touch the Peddles. Fast; always just a bit above the legal. Dad let him take over driving during the day when he was 13. He's been drinking since he was 14. He found a bottle of dad's stuff something strong and foul. The first time I saw him get drunk he was almost 15. He thought I was asleep; dad had been gone 2 days. He sat at the foot of my bed and tossed back shots till the bottle was empty than he curled up next to me. His breath reeked but he was Dean and warm so I shifted till my head was lodged under his chin and followed him into sleep. He taught me how to throw back shots when I was 13. I hated the sting of the whisky going down, the foul taste that came after. I did it for Dean, back than I did everything for Dean.

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I watch him disappear after we get settled down for the night. He leaves his bag by the bed, pats his jacket for his key tosses me a shallow smile and heads for the door. He'll be gone for a while, an hour maybe longer. He'll come back with more money in his pocket and something warm and greasy in a bag. We'll eat and drink warm beer. He'll fall asleep hazardously sprawled across the old motel bed. I'll watch infomercials till I drown in them. When I was young we use to stay in towns longer, a few months, once even a whole year. Dean use to take me with him to investigate the creepy parts of town. He was always looking for something. He never told me what. The older I got the less he brought me with him. I never knew if that was because he out grew me or I pulled back.

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He was my world for years; dad and Dean that's all I had. It was Dean who talked dad into staying put for two years so I could finish high school in one place. We moved over the summer to a quite town in Wyoming. When we where settled Dean took dad out somewhere. When dad came back he told me we would be staying put for two years. Dean didn't come back for two weeks. They disappear a lot over the next two years, sometimes days, sometimes weeks. That's when I lost him. I learned to live for myself, by myself. I pulled away. When I left for college I broke Dean's heart. Shattered it in a way I didn't think was possible for a heart to break. I watched him walk out the door and knew I couldn't ask him to let me go quietly. So I left before he got back from the bar. Packed a bag and hitched a ride to California.

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He came to visit me twice the first year. Three times the second. The last time I saw him, he was angry, I was angry, we fucked hard and fast in the backseat of the Impala. He left angry, mumbling under his breath, eyes flashing, bruises on my hips, empty tequila bottle on the floor. I didn't see him again till he threw me on my ass and asked me to help find dad.

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We have slipped into something like familiarity. It's not the same, can never be the same. It will never go back to the easy way it was between us; him, my sun, me his planet.

We're moving fast almost out of Cheyenne. Dean has been singing along to the same AC/DC tape since the last state line. The tequila is almost done, it rest easy between his long legs. I watch his fingers drum out a beat on the wheel, "Highway to Hell" blasting for the tenth time today. His right hand drops off the wheel fingers warping around the neck of the tequila bottle. I reach out grab the bottle, he glances over at me, eyebrow lifted, I raise the bottle to my lips, rim still warm and wet from his mouth. I swallow the remaining liquid. My fingers go slack letting the bottle tumble to the floor in the space between us. He smirks at me, eyes moving back to the road. I slip back in my seat, resting against the passenger side door, watch my big brother between half closed eyes.