Even The Papers Confused Us

I am the kind of friend who leaves school to follow you home, as you run to share devastating news of your brother. The one you keep half the dorm awake with recycled stories of his adventures- and my, were they thrilling! A new girl once asked after you had completed one round of your story-time, which country your brother fought for? I didn’t blame her. I remember thinking the same thing, certain the new girl and I had the same surprised face when you proudly declared ‘he’s a journalist. A photojournalist.’ Diving from planes, following actual soldiers through the jungle, participating in rescue missions, just to snap pictures? Yes. You were proud. We would often be unwilling participants in your video calls, watching you be loud and excited to hear from him. So when you saw his face in the newspaper. Felicitions! I couldn’t console you so I did the next best thing and followed you home. I watched you tell your parents about his passing and how you hadn’t heard from him in days. They didn’t have to communicate their confusion because he walked out of the house to meet you. I was the first to scream, you followed suit. We showed him the paper and his photo, and he pointed out it was a commendation with dates for his time of service with the newspaper. He had retired, not died. I am the kind of friend who keeps her mouth shut as we return to school with the full measure of your parents’ insults and your brother’s amusement.