Two brothers give their mother a unique holiday present

Two brothers give their mother a unique holiday present. “This town hasn’t changed a bit,” Tyler said.

Curt took his eyes from the road to glance at his brother, who lounged in the passenger seat of the car, looking out the window at their hometown. Tyler had a point. Time had not been kind to North Meadows. The outskirts of the city were still mostly dank industrial wasteland; the downtown area, gentrified and slowly decaying. The house where they had both grown up lay between the two extremes, in a narrow belt of mostly-abandoned suburban housing. Since the closing of the mills and the moving of the army base, North Meadows had slowly been inching toward its death throes.

Not that Curt felt any less nostalgic because of it. As they drove toward the center of town, he had begun to recognize the streets he’d explored as a kid, the playground where he’d sprained his ankle falling from the jungle gym. Even if his hometown was going to pot, Curt felt good to be home again.

“Maybe it’s just the Christmas holiday,” Curt said. It was, after all, Christmas Eve, and the roads were slick with snow and ice. Most of the businesses they’d passed had been closed; a few were outright shuttered.

“I friggin’ doubt it,” Tyler said. Of the two of them, he had always been the more cynical, the more rebellious, and the more daring. In the years since they’d graduated from high school, Curt had taken the stable route, getting a degree in engineering and an office job out of state, while Tyler had moved to Clark Hill and started a pop band. Tyler’s arms and wrists crawled with expensive tattoos; Curt had considered getting one, but refrained for fear of repercussions at his job. Curt had had one relationship all through college that had ended badly, while Tyler’s string of one-night stands was a mile long, each more extreme and perverse than the last. Tyler enjoyed relating the stories of his conquests to Curt in great detail, knowing that it made him uncomfortable.

In short, they were about as different as brothers could be, but had always remained close despite their differences.

“No,” Tyler said, “this place is a shithole. I wish Mom would move the hell out of here. The whole town’s in its death throes.”

“Where would she go?” Curt asked. Their father had disappeared when both the boys were only fifteen, leaving behind only a garage full of junk and a mountain of debt. Their mother, Donna, worked as a night manager at a supermarket, and her income barely covered the mortgage and bills, let alone room to move. “And how would she get there?”

“Yeah, well,” Tyler said, lighting a cigarette. He blew out smoke, scratching the stubbly growth of his five o’clock shadow. “I’ve got a plan to take care of that.”

Curt raised his eyebrows. “Care to tell me what it is?”

“It’s too early to talk about it,” Tyler said. “But when our new album drops, I’m going to have come money coming in. Enough to get Mom out of debt, maybe get her out of this dead-end burg.”

“I see,” Curt said. He had his doubts. Tyler was rather famous for diving into things without thinking through the repercussions, of forming plans that didn’t seem to have a clear end in mind. His heart was in the right place, but he was, in Curt’s opinion, far too impulsive. It was a trait he usually frowned on, but occasionally envied.