As I listened to the rain, I wondered why I still had this photograph.  It was taken on one of those old Polaroid cameras in the middle of a rainstorm.  My mother took it.  I was drenched in water, staring up at the sky with my mouth wide open.  I wanted to taste the rain.  Twirling in the downpour, my arms away from my sides like a propeller, and my tongue capturing the rain drops brought me joy.

            In the corner of the picture, behind me was my brother, the only thing that made me more joyful than playing in the rain.  He was looking at me with a smile on his face from cheek to cheek.  He had his hands in his pocket and his hood on, but he still looked lively.  The sparkle in his eyes and the smile across his face made him look genuinely grateful to be there, in that moment, and watch his little sister dance with the raindrops.   

            A couple of years ago, on one of the worst days, I took out the picture and wrote on the bottom of it: The Last Happy Day.  Every day, I carry the picture in my bag hoping that it’s presence will bring the same feeling that devoured me in that picture.  So far, it hasn’t.

            He would have been 20 years old today.  Sam would have been 20 today, and it rained.  If he was still here I would have pulled him by the arm and danced with him in the rain.  We would twirl and jump and laugh and enjoy life.  We would celebrate that he made it to 20 years old.  That’s what birthdays are about, right? Celebrating that you endured that year.  Not anymore.  My parents don’t even speak of his birthday now.  They separated after the suicide.

            My mom moved to California where it doesn’t rain on Sam’s birthday.  The only person I still have with me is my dad, but most of the time it still feels like I’m alone.  My dad escapes to his room when he gets home.  He seems to forget that he has another child, but I’m not like Sam.  I’m not his pride.   

            Sam was the star quarter-back for his high school football team.  When I was younger I looked up to him because he had glory and friends.  His life seemed perfect.  But that image shattered when he came out.

            Two years ago, at the height of Sam’s high school career he told everyone his biggest secret.  My parents and I were fine with it: he was still our Sam.  He was still the star quarter-back.  He was still getting looked at by colleges for recruitment.  He was still the older brother that watched me dance in the rain.  Even his teammates were supportive; besides Devin Jenkins.

            Devin Jenkins claimed that he always knew Sam was “checking him out” in the locker room.  My brother fired back by telling Devin that he was “not his type.”  This made all of the other teammates laugh and say things like, “Yeah, dude, if I was gay I definitely wouldn’t have my eyes on you!” Sam was relived, to say the least.  The guys supported him, it was his last year of high school, and he didn’t have to live in secret anymore.  He had nothing to worry about…except for Devin.

            As it turns out, Devin was keeping a little secret of his own that he had been denying all his life.  Devin pulled Sam aside in the locker room one day and asked him, “How did you know?” When Sam showed his confusion, Devin clarified, “How did you know you were gay?” Sam told him that the way Devin or the other team mates looked at girls, was the same way that Sam looked at guys.  Plain and simple answer.  Then, Devin asked another question, “What if you look at guys and girls the same way?”  This took Sam off guard.  He answered, “I guess they would have to be bi.”  Devin continued to press Sam about the issue: was bisexuality even a thing? How could someone like both genders?  Sam just replied with, “Crazier things have happened.”

            The next week, Devin and Sam were the only ones left in the locker room.  Sam could not hold back his burning question anymore.  “So when we were talking the other day were you referring to yourself?”

            Devin looked down at his feet, probably wondering if he should tell Sam or not, but he was confident that Sam already knew.  Devin slammed his locker shut and charged at Sam.  He slammed Sam’s body against the locker, and pinned him there pushing his forearm against Sam’s throat.  My brother explained that the look in Devin’s eyes somehow combined with pain and determination.  Right then, right there, Devin kissed Sam.  It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it wasn’t even passionate.  Sam described it as Devin smashing his lips against his mouth.  Sam quickly pushed Devin off.  He did not want to kiss Devin.  Just because Sam was attracted to guys did not mean that he would give in to any male that acted like they wanted him.

            Sam wiped his lips and yelled, “What the hell, man?”

            Devin just whispered, “If you tell anyone, I will kill you.”  He grabbed his bag and left the locker room with nothing else to say.  All that was left was Sam and the threat from Devin floating in the air.

            From then on, the harassment from Devin to Sam only worsened.  Devin took out all of his frustration about his confusion on my brother.  He would grope Sam’s butt, kiss him on the neck, and more without Sam’s consent and when no one else was around.   

            Thinking of what my brother suffered through sends a sharp knife through my heart and an earthquake in my throat.  My face becomes stained with the tears that resemble the raindrops on my window.

            When Sam would stay up with me late into the night and tell me the stories I did not know what to do.  I was only thirteen.  A tiny bit of me resents him to for putting all of his baggage on me, but that doesn’t mean that I no longer love him.  I still love him more than anything in the world.  And I told him that I loved him, every single night, but I guess that wasn’t enough to make him stay.