Free Cannibals in Love by Mike Roberts Page A

across the buzzing traffic at this simple cursive sign.
    â€œOkay, here. This is our exit.”
    My brother sighed and turned off the Beltway. We were spit out onto an arterial road that funneled us down through an enclave of box stores and strip malls. The night sky was a wash of neon signs and corporate logos. We could’ve been anywhere in America right then. It was my brother who saw it first, though: the big glowing lights of a Michaels Craft Store. This bloodless hobby chain; the infamous setting of a half-dozen shootings in the spree.
    â€œWhat the fuck?” my brother said.
    â€œTurn.”
    â€œNo,” he answered as we passed the first entrance.
    â€œWhat are you doing? I told you to turn!” We were coming up on the second driveway and he was shaking his head. “Park the fucking car!”
    â€œNo.”
    I reached out and grabbed the steering wheel recklessly.
    â€œStop, stop! All right!” he yelled, and something snapped. As I let go of the wheel my brother made the turn into the craft store parking lot. He eased his foot off the pedal, letting the Camry coast.
    â€œJust stop,” I said, and he did then. Turning off the engine.
    We sat there in silence, staring out at nothing. I uncapped the whiskey and brought it to my mouth with a wince. “Drink this,” I said, pushing the bottle on him. But he wouldn’t take it. Leaning his elbow against the window, he looked angry enough to start crying.
    â€œJesus Christ,” he finally whimpered. “Why would you do this to me?”
    â€œWill you relax? I told you to drink this.” And, after a minute, he did. Flinching with the first sip. My brother eased back against the headrest and stared out over the blank and empty lot. This was good, I thought. This was what I wanted.
    â€œWhat are we doing here?”
    â€œWe’re being brothers.”
    We sat there in the dark, with no reason and no plan. And in this moment my brother finally stopped asking why. He stopped expecting to get an answer out of me that would make any sense, at all, out of everything that was happening. And in this way the quiet here became infinite.
    â€œWhy did you get kicked out of the dorms?” I asked, for the one-thousandth time. But he didn’t answer. Taking a sip off the whiskey, he seemed to smile into the bottle.
    â€œDo you trust me?” I asked him.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAre you afraid?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œDoes this feel like your home?”
    â€œIn what way?”
    â€œDo you believe in God?”
    â€œWhat?” he said, losing patience.
    â€œHave you ever been in love?”
    â€œFuck you,” he scowled.
    â€œHave you ever even had sex?”
    There was a long pause here as he opened his mouth to answer me. But he looked away instead. What did that mean?
    â€œI’m going to keep this car, you know.”
    He didn’t answer.
    â€œAre you listening to me? It’s mine now. No sense in being mad about it.”
    When he didn’t answer again, I took his necktie in my hand. Turning it over gently. “And take off this fucking tie!” I said, ripping down on it.
    My brother came uncoiled in an instant. Shoving my head against the window, hard. I laughed and smiled at him with wet lips as he seethed at me. We sat there, the two of us, trapped in this car. In this parking lot. In this suburb. In a war zone. This had been my idea all along, I supposed.
    â€œI love you,” I said, with a sickening smile. “Do you love me?”
    He clenched his jaw, not answering.
    â€œI’m your older brother,” I barked at him. “You’re supposed to worship me the way that Jeb worships George.”
    â€œJeb hates George!”
    â€œEverybody fucking hates George, asshole! You’re my brother.”
    â€œFuck you.”
    There was a long silence again before I took the bottle away from him.
    â€œWhy