A Holiday Without Phil

I turned to my right, eyes misty, and watched Mommy carry my older brother's bag outside and returned for the last one.  I was seated on the couch, pretending to be glued to the large plasma TV before me. The volume was down, yet I felt okay in a way. Or was I hiding from the piercing reality that the moment was finally here? That Phil was leaving? I knew deep down, the eight-year-old me wasn't interested in Mickey Mouse. I was angry at my parents... that my appeals fell on deaf ears after all. I heard the jingling of Daddy's car keys before I even saw him. “Aha! It's time to go!” He announced eagerly. I turned a tear-smeared face to my parents, lips pouted, my arms folded. But Mommy and Daddy did not have any more seconds left for the cliché I called an appeal. I didn't move. I didn't want to. I only remained pinned to my seat, letting my quivering lips take the lead. “I don't want Phil to go because I won't have anyone to play with,” I said for the umpteenth time that day. I was sure even the couches could recite that anthem by now. I glanced at Mommy, my pleading eyes willing her to rescue the situation, but Mommy was busy arranging Phil's collar. And Phil? His expression was something I couldn't decipher. A part of him looked anxious, and another part happy. That made me even angrier. I didn't realize it when I burst into fresh tears. Daddy and Mommy exchanged perplexed looks. “This one is serious oh!” Daddy said, chuckling in a rather mocking manner. And just like that, without a second look, he led Phil out of the house. Mommy squatted beside me, wiping my eyes with the edge of my vest. “Sweetheart,” she said calmly. “Phil will only be away for a few weeks. I promise, he will be back soon.” I sniffed, tired of the same story. “But why, Mommy? Don't you and Daddy love him anymore?” I asked the one question in my head. Mommy held my tender hands and pulled me closer to her chest. “We love Phil.” She paused for a smile. “And we love you too. But Phil has to stay with Uncle TJ so he could concentrate on his computer skills.” I frowned. “But Phil always plays games on the computer.” “That's why Uncle TJ will help him focus on the exact thing he's supposed to learn.” ***** Phil's absence was stronger than I ever expected. With Phil, my best buddy, it had been us against the world. But now? Gradually, the house had begun to feel too big and quiet. The cartoons no longer fascinated me, since Phil was not there to take up the roles of Mickey Mouse or SpongeBob SquarePants. Daddy was away most of the time. And Mommy found an escape route for me — a lesson tutor. Miss Celine only came thrice a week. The rest of the days, it was just me and the cartoon series that felt uninteresting without my perfect character — Phil. Our bedroom felt too big to contain only two bunks the walls of the computer room echoed the voice of Phil. Whether Mommy was not at home or not, I was always at home. By all means, every single day reminded me that I was home alone. Sometimes, it was when I dug my fork into my pasta — the sudden realization that Phil was not there to laugh at how I spilled some onto that table mat. Other times, it was when I landed playfully on my bed and was greeted with silence, not the voice of Phil from the upper bunk that came with caution. When we spoke on the phone and Phil announced that he would be back in a few days, I did not know what rest meant anymore. I would stay by the window every day, peeping to see my handsome ten-year-old brother walk in through the gate. Or rather, eager to hear the sound of a car horn — either Dad's or Uncle TJ's. But days soon passed by without a trace of him, leaving me with a new-found hobby. It started with my flip-flops, then my teddy bear, and Phil's shoes. I became the teacher while the objects were my students. Phil's shoes were my stubborn students.  One evening, I gathered them on the floor in my bedroom. “Phil, why did you come late today?” I asked, pointing fingers at Phil's shoes. Grabbing a stick, I whipped Phil's shoes mercilessly, and transferred the aggression to Phil's bosom friend, my teddy bear, which I believed was taking Phil's sides. Suddenly, I heard the door creak open and before I could lift my head, Phil dropped his backpack and rushed into my arms. No — not the shoes now, my Phil was back. I just stood there in his embrace, blankly staring into the space. Was it just me or had my brother suddenly become a stranger? _______________________________ **Image Source: ChatGPT**