Standing As A Man
1306 Words
It finally came to my attention
after a few days passed
without a single sign of Onnie.
His silence was loud.
His absence felt wrong.
I asked Joshua,
“What’s happening… where is he?”
Joshua shrugged,
but the way he looked down before answering
already told me he knew something.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“I always hear his door opening early in the morning…
and when you’re at Rebecca’s place, he’s here.
But when you come home…
he disappears.”
Something in my chest tightened.
Not anger.
Not disappointment.
Just… worry.
Joshua’s voice lowered.
“He acts different lately,” he added.
“Like he’s avoiding something.”
Or someone.
Me.
As Joshua spoke,
I glanced toward the kitchen window.
The curtain moved — just a little.
Not enough for someone spying,
but enough for someone listening.
Edward.
He thought I didn’t notice,
but I saw the shadow of his shoulder behind the curtain.
The moment Joshua finished talking,
Edward slipped away,
quietly,
like someone retreating before you ask the next question.
It was clear:
something was happening between the brothers
that they didn’t want me to know.
Something shifting under the surface.
And for the first time since we rebuilt our peace,
I felt a familiar feeling…
A warning.
A whisper.
Pay attention.
The next morning
I woke up earlier than usual,
hoping maybe—just maybe—
I’d catch Onnie before he disappeared again.
But from a distance,
I already knew something was off.
His door was locked
from the outside.
Chain.
Padlock.
Like someone trying to keep the truth inside…
or trying to keep me out.
It was clear:
someone told him
I was looking for him.
My chest felt heavy.
I turned to Edward’s room instead.
The gate was open.
“Ntwana… Ntwana…” I called.
A tired voice answered from the bed.
“Bhuti??”
“Open up,” I said.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t panic.
Just slowly pulled the door open,
eyes half-awake
but heart fully aware
why I was there.
“What’s going on with your brother Onnie?” I asked.
The moment the words left my mouth,
his eyes shifted—
not far, just enough.
Avoiding mine.
Pretending.
Trying.
“What do you mean?” he asked,
but his tone was weak,
like someone caught off guard.
“Don’t act like you don’t notice,” I said.
I stepped closer,
not threatening,
just tired…
and honest.
“I think he’s avoiding me.”
Edward swallowed hard.
I continued.
“Onnie doesn’t come into the main house anymore.
And the worst part—
he doesn’t even come to get his food.”
I held his gaze.
This time, he didn’t look away.
There was fear in his eyes.
Not of me—
but of the truth.
Something was going on,
and whatever it was,
I was finally close to it.
Close enough
that they couldn’t hide it much longer.
Edward came from behind
as I stood at the gate,
watching people move up and down the street—
laughing, busy, living…
while I carried a house on my shoulders.
He stood quietly beside me for a second,
then said:
“Onnie is complaining about you.”
I turned sharply.
“Wait… what??”
He looked down,
hands in his pockets,
kicking a small stone with his shoe.
“I overheard him,” Edward continued.
“We share the same wall.
He was talking to his friend…
angry… saying you’re always bossing us around.”
The words hit me harder
than any blade ever did.
My own brother.
A child I protected.
A boy I carried.
Calling me a boss.
“He always goes to his friend’s place,” Edward added softly.
I took a breath.
Calm.
Controlled.
But inside, something cracked.
“Am I bossing you around, ntwana yam?” I asked quietly.
Edward swallowed.
“No… bhuti. No. You’re just trying.”
I nodded.
The lump in my throat grew.
“He just doesn’t want to be reprimanded,” I said.
My voice trembled—just a little.
“But I’m trying my best for this family not to fall apart
like it almost did.”
I looked away,
trying to blink fast enough
to hide the pain.
“I just…
I just can’t let this family fall
because of a child who wants to do as he pleases.”
My voice cracked at the end.
Not in anger.
In exhaustion.
In heartbreak.
Then I turned,
hands behind my back,
and slowly walked back toward the house—
each step heavier than the last.
Because being a brother is easy.
Being the pillar is not.
And being misunderstood
by the very people you’re protecting…
that is a different kind of wound.
Onnie froze the moment our mother stepped in. His lips trembled, and the confidence he had outside with his friends disappeared right in front of us.
He kept rubbing his hands together, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Answer your brother!” Mom raised her voice slightly—firm, but hurt more than angry.
Onnie swallowed hard. “Ma… it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” I asked gently, keeping my tone calm even though my chest was burning. “Because disappearing for days, avoiding home, avoiding food—what’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head, still not looking at any of us.
“Cha, bhuti… you always shouting,” he said in a low voice. “You always telling us what to do.”
I leaned back, letting his words land, even though they felt unfair.
“Shouting?” I repeated softly. “Onnie, when last did I shout at you? I talk. I correct. I guide. That’s not shouting.”
Mom stepped closer to him. “Who taught you that listening to your older brother is a bad thing? Who made you think you can just leave this house like you don’t have people who worry about you?”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, voice cracking.
“I’m tired of being told I’m wrong all the time,” he whispered. “When I’m with my friends, I don’t feel… suffocated.”
That hurt.
Not because he said it—but because he really felt it.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, speaking calmly.
“Onnie… I’m not your enemy. I’m not here to make your life hard. I’m fighting for this family. I’m trying to give us structure because we almost lost everything before.”
I paused, letting the silence speak.
“You think it’s easy for me?” I continued. “You think I WANT to be the one reminding everyone to clean, behave, communicate, stay together? I do it because someone has to.”
Joshua shifted uncomfortably. Edward kept glancing between us, clearly wanting things to settle.
Mom finally exhaled, long and heavy.
“Onnie… your brother is trying. We all are. Running away won’t help you. Avoiding the house won’t fix anything.”
Onnie looked up at me for the first time. Just for a second. His eyes were red—guilt, fear, and something like regret swirling together.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The room softened a little. Not fully healed… but softened.
“We’re not fighting you,” I told him. “We’re trying to pull you closer. But you keep running.”
He nodded, sniffling.
“I’ll stop. I’ll come home. I… I’ll try.”
Mom placed her hand on his shoulder.
“That’s all we ask.”
For the first time in days, all three boys were in the same room with us—no running, no avoiding, no excuses. Just truth.
And even though the pain still lingered… something in the house shifted back into place.
- Writer
