I knelt, feeling the summer heat rising from the pavement against my legs. I examined my bike's chain - It hung limp on the gear, again. Perhaps I strained it again going uphill? I could only scratch my sun-scorched hair in frustration. I took the greasy chain in my fingers and attempted to jam it back in place on the gear. Slowly I hooked each groove in the chain against the gear teeth and turned the bike pedal after each successful hook. Suddenly the whole chain slipped off violently again and hung limp once more. I put my hand to my forehead, accidentally wiping some of the green-black grease on me.

Suddenly I felt something burning hotter than the heat of the sun on my nape - the glare of my younger brother, Rennard. He stood straight and stiff like a shadowy stone pillar, his arms crossed tightly and a frown scrawled across his face. I knew why he was not in a good mood; this was about the third time this problem happened this week, inconveniently happening in the middle of the road. I decided not to mind him and try again with the chain, but I could feel Ren’s patience wearing thin. He probably had half a mind to start biking away by himself.

Ten minutes later, I still had yet to fix the chain. In frustration, we decided to take a moment to rest under the cover of a nearby fig tree to escape the sun. I put my heavy backpack and violin case to my side carefully, forgetting that I still had grease on my hands and getting them dirty. I then looked over my right shoulder to see Ren reading one of his favorite books, A Confounding Undertaking. I tried to keep count of how many times he completed it, but I resigned after his 87th reading last year. This time, however, I noticed that his eyes were not even scanning the pages, but staring straight into them. I shook my head, knowing that he was probably more frustrated now than earlier.

I turned to ask him if he was alright - but he sharply exhaled to stop me. “I’d prefer if you just don’t. You’re being very distracting.”

Honestly, this kid was this close to being told on. Patience, Reisender. Patience for your brother. I wiped my palms on the long, scratchy grass, grabbed Ren’s book from his hold, and set it down beside him. I noticed he was still staring forward.

“Hey, Ren,” I said, trying to coax him into a conversation. “I know you’re not having a good time right now, especially because we’re kind of stuck here for the time being. Sorry that I broke the bike again, by the way-”

“If you’re sorry you should be back working on the bike,” Rennard muttered loudly, not even looking at me. “If we took the time to find a quicker way around here, our bikes wouldn't always break down.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. What was his problem? “Look, it’s not my fault you had to come with me to violin practice. Besides, Mom said to stick with this route because it was the safest. And for the record: if I had things my way, I would have left you at home instead. Do I have to keep bringing this up?”

Ren tilted his head back, gazing upwards in exasperation. “I’m 10 years old. I can take care of myself at home without the parents there.”

“After your last stunt in the kitchen? I don’t think so.”

Ren then snapped his eyes in my direction, brimming with anger. He opened his mouth as if he were going to retaliate - but slowly closed it. Looking away, he snatched his book from the ground and opened it by flicking his wrist forward. I shook my head; perhaps I pushed too hard this time.

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We sat in an irritated silence, trying to avoid each other mentally. I wanted to say something to him, I genuinely did. But Ren’s mind and heart were always as unbreakable as nails, and he often only wanted to hear what he wanted to. I clenched my fists, trying to think how I could correct him. Was correction what he needed? No, there was something deeper. Maybe some words of comfort? Perhaps, but he often hated those more. Besides, what could have put him in such a mood in the first place?

I looked back at Ren, though he completely changed - he clutched his book tighter and closer to his face, his nails digging into the leather covering. There was a faint sound of sniffling from behind the pages as well. There must be something that was hurting him then, and it must be horrendously terrible if he was hurting this badly. But what should I say to him?

No, you can’t leave him hanging here, said my quiet inside voice. Just be there for him.

I shuffled slowly beside Rennard, careful not to look at him. I was still unsure what to say, but I knew he needed to hear something. I took a deep breath - and I mustered up the courage to speak.

“Ren-”

“I didn’t ask for you to speak,” Renna stammered, glancing in my direction. “Can you just get back to fixing the bike-”

Gently, I put my hand on his shoulder, quieting him. “Listen, please. I don’t know what you’re going through, or what is making you hurt. But I know you’re hurting, and I feel you. I know you feel angry about it. And yes, you don’t want to be here at this moment. And right now that’s ok.”

I look at him intently, seeing the pain in his eyes. I put my arm around his shoulder, offering some comfort. He was as stiff as a rock, though I felt him tilt slightly into my hug. We stayed like this for a long while, for as long as he needed it.

After a while, he pulled away and picked up his book. He still looked sullen, however. “Do you want to talk about it, Ren?” I asked him quietly.

Ren looked down at the book, stained with tears. He wiped the pages carefully with his palm, then slammed the cover shut. “I don’t want to talk about it right now if that’s okay,” he said with a wavering but more confident voice. “It’s just complicated right now.”

I nodded, giving him some space. At least we were back on good terms - for now.

We slowly began packing our bags again and slinging them over our shoulders when we realized my bike chain wasn’t fixed yet. Scratching my hair, I threw my backpack off again and made ready to make another attempt at it. Before I could even touch the chain, Rennard walked over and held the bike upright and the pedals still for me. He looked at me and gave me a small nod. Was he trying to repay the favor? Or is he trying to get this over with? I was not certain, but I was glad for the assistance.

A good fifteen minutes later full of sweat and greasy fingers, we finally slipped the chain back on the gear. In a show of satisfaction, Rennard slapped the pedal down, making it spin with a melody of satisfying clicking and creaking.

“Fixed for now,” muttered Ren quietly. I could tell from his tone that he was happier, at least.

We then hopped back on our bikes and began pushing uphill once more above the roasting pavement and under the unrelenting blasting sun. Ren and I did not exchange words, focusing only on pumping our legs up and down and maintaining our breath. I could tell he was still frustrated with what happened earlier, but I think we had the same thoughts running through our minds: we were somewhat glad that I was with him, and he was with me. Besides, I would not want him anywhere else - especially not in the kitchen again.