Free Remember My Name by Chase Potter

long.
How different will he look?
    Jeff taps the button for the
cruise control and lets his foot off the gas. “Jackson is doing good. He was
going to come along, but he was still out when I left. He’ll be home before we
are though, don’t worry.”
    “I wasn’t,” I say.
    “You weren’t what?”
    “Worrying.”
    “Oh,” he says, pausing. “I
see.”
    Thirty minutes of silence
pass before we pull off the highway onto a dirt road. I haven’t even seen a
dirt road in… actually I’m not sure when the last time was. Tall grasses
growing alongside the road blow in the wind, and only the occasional tree
punctuates the landscape. Otherwise there’s only farmland, everywhere. A lot of
corn, but other stuff too. Wheat, maybe. The land is too open and empty here,
like it might swallow me up whole if it had half a chance.
    Up ahead on the left is a
white house that stirs faded memories within me. In the yard surrounding it are
weeping willow trees, their wiry branches conducting an invisible orchestra in
the diminishing light of evening. Beyond the willows is a swath of woods
extending back from the yard, providing a stark contrast to the rolling
cropland that covers everything else.
     “Here we are.” He turns into
the driveway, bringing the truck to a stop in front of the house at the center
of the tree-sheltered yard. It’s been years since I was here. So long that I
almost don’t remember it. Almost. The house is a two-story with red trim and a
lot of windows. It’s quaint and seems kind of small, at least compared to when
I was ten.
    I jump as the driver’s door
slams. Closing my fingers on the door handle, I give it a sharp pull and hop to
the ground.
    “Go on in. I’ll get your
bag,” Jeff says as he walks around the truck and grabs my duffel bag out of the
back, dusting the dirt off it.
    I take a breath and my first
step toward the front door. He said Jackson would be home. Is he waiting just
inside the door? Or in his room?
    The screen door is light and
opens with a noise that makes me cringe. Jeff catches the door behind me before
it can slam shut, following me in. Kicking my shoes off next to the row of
boots and shoes in the entryway, I step gingerly into the next room. A couch
runs along the far wall directly across from a TV, which is off. Beside the
couch is a worn leather recliner, and curled up in it, reading a book, is my
brother.
    He sets the book down in his
lap. Our eyes dig into each other, searching, examining. His hair is blond and
a little shorter than mine. Slightly rounded cleft chin, bright blue eyes, and
a smattering of light freckles across the top of his cheeks. We stare at each
other for a full minute. In the back of my mind, I’m aware that Jeff is just
watching us, but that’s not where my focus is.
    I thought Jackson would look
different after the years, but we still appear almost exactly alike. It’s like
looking in a mirror except there’s no glass here. It catches me by surprise,
because we haven’t seen each other in so long. But looking at him now, it’s
impossible to miss it. My brother and I share more than a set of parents. We
also share a genetic code.
    “Hi, Jackson,” I say
quietly.
    He flips down the footrest
on the recliner and stands up. “Ben.” The word feels empty. Almost as empty as
our relationship over the last eight years. “Good to see you.”
    Tensing my shoulders to
force away the shiver dragging its frosty fingers over my skin, I stare at him.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, because we hardly know each other anymore. I
guess I was hoping for more from him than coolness. It seems weird to think of
him trying to give me a hug, but I wouldn’t have stopped him.
    Jeff walks between us and
into the next room through a rounded archway. I hear him pull a chair out, so I
follow with Jackson bringing up the rear. Jeff is sitting at the kitchen table.
“Have a seat,” he says.
    I sit down as Jackson opens
the fridge, reaching for one of