The Best things in Life are free.

When my brother was young he went into treatment. It seemed as though our house was a revolving door that included a short stay until my mom found the next batch of pigs eye beer hidden in the crawl space underneath our stairs or bottles that were stuffed inside the holes of his couch. I always helped since I was a young girl that dreamed of one day exploring the world to find rare and rich treasures but now settled for the satisfaction of finding the one bottle of pigs eye that was hiding behind a hidden door inside one of his bedroom walls. Every once in a while I would come across a bottle of hard liquor to which I would declare my victory as though it were a wild animal I had strung up on a rod to parade it around the living room.

It never seemed like my mom was a firm believer in treatment but she was always desperate which is why I think as children we ended up in various counseling sessions. It takes a certain type of person to be a psychologist and even a certain type of person to listen to peoples problems who have no money. To make barely nothing while enduring the deepest amount
of shit, I would almost consider these type of people saints. As I'm watching her pace back around the room, passionate and at times boring I realize that maybe it is just the fact that these type of people are close to border line insanity.
She is explaining the reason for my brothers alcohol addiction. I'm uncomfortable in a hard plastic chair that makes my body fall forward and my belly stick out. Everyone in the room has the same expression, a mixture of confusion and sadness of being forced to be there. When these two emotions are combined your facial expression falls to a flat tone. Nothing moves or winces to the point that you closely now resemble a zombie film.
She turns to me "Your brother has a hard time learning from things. " She lays her hand out palm down while she turns to my mother, "When we put our hand on a hot stove top burner, we get burned. It hurts and we know not to ever touch it again. Your brother when he places his hand on a stove top burner, he gets burned but he still wants to keep on touching it. He doesn't learn the way we do."
My mother shakes her head in confirmation and I want to crawl all over the seats. I'm antsy and all I want to do is build a gigantic jungle gym. I imagine skipping across each seat and climbing the balding mans head who sits across the room using my brother for a hurdle and maybe having the counselor being a phone to which I would say swear words through one of
her ears that would reach my friend on the other side to make us giggle and fall to the ground. While we are on our way home in our small red geo metro which is almost equivalent to driving a go-cart everywhere you go I make it a point to watch my brother while he is around all stove top burners from then on.
Needless to say, we all grow up and learn from our lessons.
This weekend has been weird, but over all good considering somethings have finally sunk in and I feel like certain things have finally caught on.