night owls by tim frank
I’ve been close to my brother from the moment he was born—a bond stronger than most other siblings I knew growing up in the neighborhood. Family is an oddity, a mysterious stain, and no one really knows how it works. When we were kids our parents were irresponsible: they let us stay up deep into the night in front of the box, watching horror flicks, drinking full fat Coke, never needing to brush. Our milk teeth rotted with cysts on our gums, and our minds were lost in a manic world of uneasy freedom. Staying up late became our main fix, our drug, while our parents did everything to avoid the mundane hardship of disciplining us. I realise now, they were pretty much kids themselves, and had no clue how to raise well-adjusted children.
In our thirties my brother and I became responsible for our own little broods, under different roofs, but we still kept on living our lives as night owls. It was a habit we weren’t going to let go of without a fight. It was all we knew.
We would call each other in the small hours with nothing really to say, just wanting to touch base, to know there was someone else alive, a friendly voice to contain the darkness. We would drink and smoke and watch whatever rerun of a sitcom we could find. Sometimes we just laughed together at the pretentious perfume adverts, or drooled over the slick and shiny girls in the Victoria’s Secret ads. Sometimes we would just listen to the jagged crackle of the telephone line. One night I called and my brother didn’t answer. This was highly unusual and I immediately began to worry. I called again, but still no response. After a third call that didn’t go through, I flung a coat over my pyjamas and took the short drive to his house. I found him sitting on his veranda chewing a wet cigar, his phone nestling in his lap.
“What the fuck, man? Why didn’t you pick up?”
“I’m tired, Tim,”
“What does that mean?”
“I need a break.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I thought you’d killed yourself or something.”
“There’s no need to worry, just know that from now on I’ll be getting to bed early.”
“Okay,” I said, completely bemused.
“I’m going to start eating breakfast with my kids, then go for a run. I’m going to stop smoking, start eating salads, buy flowers for my wife. What I’m saying is stop calling me at night because I won’t answer, I’ll be asleep.”
“Right. Well, I think you’re being really shitty and I have no idea what I’ve done to offend you. But fine, if this is how you want it, I’ll leave you be. I’ve got a family of my own, you know.”
On my drive home I thought about how my brother and I had been night owls for as long as I could remember. I didn’t understand his U-turn, but thought it meant I didn’t really know someone I considered my closest friend. Surely, I must be to blame. The night posed different questions to the day—more complex and interesting questions, but they meant nothing without my brother by my side. We’d been through so much—eating delivery pizza every weekend from the only dive that was open past midnight, drinking the bottles of rum he’d gathered from his clients as gifts, discussing obscure nineties ambient musicians—wondering if Aphex Twin would ever release some new material. These events might seem insignificant to an outsider’s gaze, but they sustained me. Now, all that had to change. It was possible my brother was simply doing the right thing, putting his family first, and making up for all our parents’ mistakes.
Whatever the reason, it hurt so bad.
But what was I to do?
He’d given me no other choice. Was I, too, ready to let go of the night and embrace the dawn? Maybe the dawn was just another aspect of life I had to adjust to, even if it meant calling him as the first morning rays appeared. Maybe I’d have to find stolen moments on the phone while he hustled around with his family routine. Maybe I would show up at his door with my own wife and kids. It could be a blessing. A way to bring us all together, whether I liked it or not.
And yet the lure of the night still remained, and who knows, going it alone might not be so bad, I’d just have to drink for two, smoke until my lungs turned black, and turn the TV up extra loud.
Tim Frank’s work has been published in Bending Genres, X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, Maudlin House, The Forge Literary Magazine, New World Writing and elsewhere. He has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and 3x Best of the Net. His debut chapbook is, An Advert Can Be Beautiful in the Right Shade of Death (C22 Press ’24) His sophomore effort is, Delusions to Live By (Alien Buddha Press ’25)
Twitter: @TimFrankquill
Author website https://linktr.ee/TimFrank
