Just Sleeping

It wasn’t like him to be late or not call, so we called and called again. Finally my father need to see if something was wrong because he lived alone, and if we didn’t check on him, who would? I said to wait because he was probably just sleeping after working the late shift. He sleeps a lot, and seems to have no other ambition in his life but to sleep as much as he can when he’s not working. I’ve never known anyone to sleep so much, as if he were trying to escape into another reality, one where he was like those characters in all the video games he played. He was the shyest out of all the brothers, and I don’t think he has ever been on a date despite being 24 years old.
The thought was there that maybe he wasn’t there anymore. He was the most prone to depression out of all of us, like our mother, but unlike her he wasn’t taking 20 different drugs to “work it out.” My theory was that he was the smartest out of the 4 of us, but the least able to handle life because he was always looking for some escape.
My father left with the last 2 burgers and the “fixings.” I wondered what I would say at a funeral, if I would be able to speak. No, I was sure I’d be able to. I’d always thought of him as one of those lost people who never find their way. I’d tried to help him but the distance 10 years of custody battle had created was too much for me to cross to reach him, and like all of us he didn’t like someone else trying to tell him what he should do. I’d say something about the loss of such a unique and talented person because the world wasn’t friendly to people like him. He’s part of the reason I hate psychiatrists because they try to fix people with drugs where most of the problem is our inability to accept people who are different than us, which is why I hide those parts of me people won’t understand because I’d be like him living apart because I’m not willing to take the drugs to change who I am so people can accept me. Instead I stand in their midst a counterfeit of a normal person.
Two hours later my father came back saying he’d only been sleeping from 10am to 10pm. I was a bit relieved, but I wasn’t surprised because the other person he reminded me of was my grandfather on my mother’s side who was the most utilitarian person I have ever known. All his shirts had to have 2 pockets so he could have a place for his pens and his glasses, this necessity had made it difficult for me as a child trying to buy him shirts for Christmas, but he had designed the diagnostic computer program to test if the space shuttles were ok for flight. Yes, he was good at seeing if something was fully functional or not, though don’t ever ask him to change anything. That was my little brother too, set in his ways at 24 like an old man of 70. He also wore the 2 pocket shirts, though his were unbuttoned with and orange t-shirt underneath, and I’d given up on trying to find him clothes that were stylish and functional because he wouldn’t wear them.
I should have known he wouldn’t be the one. He lacked to creativity for it because though he sought to escape, he didn’t know how to live in a nonutilitarian manner. If anyone was to be the one, it was me, and I was mad at the thought that he might have taken my place and denied me my right. You can’t be the second one, that would be unoriginal. And my reasons weren’t merely for escape, but so abstract that most people would stop me before I even began to explain my reasoning, though the idea wasn’t fully formed yet, so I couldn’t put it in action yet. I had to finish my views on life before I could end it, and that was a life’s work, though I like the thought of ending things on my terms instead of waiting for nature to dictate the terms. No one likes being told what to do, though most would allow it for an extra few years.