My Brother Is Moving Out

My name is Alma, and I am nine. Today is the last day of August. My brother Bruno is moving out. He is eighteen, and he is going to study in another city. We share a room. Today I am going to help him pack.

His side of the room is almost empty now. His bed has no sheets. His books are in three big boxes. Next week, I am going to wake up alone. Nobody is going to snore. Nobody is going to turn on the light at midnight.

I put his things in the boxes, but I am slow. I am very slow. Mom laughs at the door. "Alma, Dad's in the car." Bruno looks at me, and he doesn't say anything. He knows. I don't want the boxes to close.

At the front door, Bruno gives me a big hug. "I'm going to call you every Sunday," he says. "And you're going to have the room all to yourself." I don't want the room. I want my brother. But I don't say it. I wave from the window until the car turns the corner.

Then I go back to our room. My room. There is something on my bed. It is his football shirt, number ten, folded in a perfect square. Bruno never folds anything.