7:30am on Eid

my brother is a mystery, almost a ghost.

Image: red sky, sunset. Photo by Henk Mul on Unsplash

after seeing my sister get our two nieces ready for their first Eid at grandma’s house — our house— my brother agrees to join. this is the first time in twelve years he’s gone back to our childhood mosque. the last time was his freshman year of college. he prayed two rakats before grabbing plates of jollof & going back to his dorm. filling his third styrofoam container, he was paparazzied by questions like “what’s your major?” & “is your roommate muslim?” & “you’re not drinking, are you?” evading details & without saying goodbye, he slips out.

my brother is a mystery, almost a ghost. talked about like he’s dead but he’s probably at a bar.

this morning, he puts on slacks & a saint laurent shirt because he is my brother & what’s a button up shirt to saint laurent? it’s Eid & its sunnah to wear something untouched & his saint laurent came in the mail last week. since starting & stopping & starting & stopping aa, my brother has been working in his free time instead of drinking. he’d saved enough money to stunt, an Eid tradition.

i hear my mother yell at him to change because “that is not how a muslim man should dress.” after some back & forth my mom yells “don’t even come, you never do anyways.” for the first time that weekend — with bumbling toddlers & their still-figuring-it-out parents & millennial aunties — the house is quiet. we leave & my brother is a seated statue, stuck at the corner of his bed.

we go to the mosque & do the Eid thing. we’re taking pictures, eating jollof, watching the kids play. my sister, with her two new daughters, is a celebrity. hugs, back pats, hot-potato baby passing, camera flashes, whatsapp exchanges, shoe exchanges from heels to flip-flops. i imagine my brother, the celebrity, the things he could have been asked, like “why haven’t you been back?” & “where did you get the saint laurent?” & “can you get me a discount?” & “do you have a girlfriend?” & “you’re not drinking, right?” trapped in weird hugs just like my sister.

i get back home & my brother isn’t there. i assume he’s at work. routine cures most things. he changed his route home & gave himself a curfew. he spends money on food & clothes so he won’t have any left to go out.

i take a nap, an Eid tradition after being social with aunties who have seen me before i saw me. waking up, i know it’s mahgrib because the sun has gone down. i’m fully rested & ready for leftover jollof — another Eid tradition.

my brother stumbles through the door, drunk out of his saint laurent. asking if i brought home any food from the mosque.

Image: Mariam Coker sits with her head turned towards the camera. She has long, black hair. Her long-sleeved dress has a textured floral front with black fabric for the arms and back.

Mariam Coker is a birth and postpartum doula who specializes in the birth of the most vulnerable populations. She graduated with a degree in English and Social Work from the University of Wisconsin in 2018. Her work has previously appeared in Orange Tangerine and Hood by Alison Kinney. You can read some of her work at signedco.tumblr.com.