Superfluous Feelings

Not again!

                  These are the words that run though my mind every time my brother wakes up 20 minutes early to take a shower. It is not the fact that he wakes up earlier than I do, but it is his journey from his room to the bathroom that infuriates me. It all starts with his alarm clock beeping at 6:20 with the beating bass of rap music. Then, he violently bounces from his bed, rudely complementing the sound that so politely woke me up in the first place. Silence rules for a few seconds when I try to go back to sleep. That silence is once again broken by the sudden sliding of his closet doors. Finally he gets out of his room, goes to the bathroom and closes the door with such force that it seems as though he had a nightmare and it was still haunting him. I wake up from my troubled attempts to sleep and get changed (one can only imagine my mood as I do so). As I stumble out of my room, I meet face to face with “The Sleep Disturber.” He looks at my face, and with his eyes I can tell he knows what I am thinking. However, he keeps on walking as if nothing had happened. At this point I can just feel my blood rushing to my brain. I can no longer keep my feelings to myself. As I comment on his attitude, I realize we are already having an argument.

                  We both walk downstairs to eat breakfast. It is incredible how much the constant hitting of the spoon to the cereal bowl racks my nerves. Our mouths are jails to our words. We finally get into his car where he plays one of his obnoxious CDs with the loudest volume possible. I can just feel the bass constantly hitting the side of my leg, as if it was my brother's weapon with my agony as its mission. In some ways I am glad the music overcomes my thoughts (which are contradicting my title as brother). Arriving at the school, my brother desperately drives into the parking lot. Has he forgotten the fact that he has senior parking and no longer has to find the closest spot? Automatically, he parks his car so unevenly that if he wasn't the one driving, he would have said with a sneer of arrogance, “How can people be such bad drivers?” I look at the car to my right and just as I am ready to complain that I can't even let my breath escape if I open my door, he too notices the lack of space. Silently, he puts his car in reverse with his hands evenly opened to the gear knob. He parks the car without one single sign of mistake, leaving enough space for both of us to get out. As he does so, I thank him, open my door, and walk over the once frozen ice melting beneath my feet.