Page 37 - Demo

before I manually overrode it and began counting out the inhales and exhales. One, two, breathe. One, two breathe. After recentering myself as best I could, I looked up to meet Dad’s distant gaze. He could sometimes feel so far away, despite standing right in front of you. I imagined his mind rapidly boxing up all the thoughts he’d keep to himself and process later, if ever. How could someone ever appear that calm when their gears were turning a mile a minute? Or had he fashioned himself some sort of deep emergency shutdown button, one that would eject him from a given catastrophe with a billowing parachute of apathy? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I did not appear nearly as calm as I wanted to. I couldn’t replicate his stoicism. My inability to do so felt so childish. As the oldest sibling, I needed to be able to handle these things.
A few weeks ago in late September, I had an early scrimmage for the JV basketball team in the neighboring town of Canton. It had been a mess; basketball would go on to be the sport that brought me arguably the most trouble at school. Still, my family had come to show their support. No one person could be there for every game—though my parents certainly did their best—yet regardless of the event, some assembly of relatives would arrive to holler on my behalf. When I was younger, I found this embarrassing. By that point though, I was always excited to see who could make it. That day, my mom was only able to make it for the first half. She brought Quinn with her though, and they were cheering as loud as anyone in the crowd. With them was my paternal Grandma Ann, who had agreed to give me a ride home. With all the admiration I held and still hold for my father, Quinn may have held even more for me. I was their