comity

We don't know each other anymore. It stopped when I turned 16, found a car and time to waste. He was 11 and decided to disappear into the computer. Since then our relationship has been strained. We never talk unless it's in passing to relay messages from our parents.

A couple times though, we've broken this silent contract when we play games. Sometimes when I see him crouched on the floor cushions, eyes intently on the TV, I decide to join. I'll grab a controller and, if he chooses to allow it, start playing next to him. For this moment "we" actually exist, we actually laugh. Blurred distinctions of age, gender, brother and sister. There's cries of admiration of beating a boss. A shriek of anguish from accidentally running into a wall. Curse words challenging the other, "You think you're better?" "Oh yeah, bring it on!" We're playing to win, to prove our worth, to show each other this is what you've missed these past three years. This is what you've done. This is what I've done.

When one of us gets tired or the game is over, we must retreat. In the end, it doesn't matter who wins or loses, or if the game was beaten. We return to our lives and live the nonverbal agreement, hoping for the next chance at civility.