“What is one factor that affects the Blood Alcohol Level and is an extremely important factor (in order to ‘sober up’)?”

I stare at the question on the computer screen. The hum of conversation in the DMV provides constant background noise. My driving permit is just one more correct answer away, but an ache in my heart makes it feel like 20. I can’t do this. I begin to stand up, but when I turn around I see my mom on the phone. She catches my eye and gives me a weak thumbs-up.

I lower myself back into my seat. No, I have to do this. 

I swallow what feels like a rock in my throat.

Turning back to the screen, I read the question again. 

“What is one factor that affects the Blood Alcohol Level and is an extremely important factor (in order to ‘sober up’)?”

I know the answer. It’s Time. 

My brother called his car the “Red Beast.” 

We got the old red jeep for his 16th birthday. It was everything he’d wanted.

I still remember him screaming like a little girl when we revealed the car. 

Now it just sits in some junkyard, rotting away, probably with dried blood clinging to the broken windshield that my brother flew through. 

My brother’s first sip of alcohol was at church.

He sipped “the blood of Christ” at his First Communion out of the wine glass. 

That makes me laugh now.

If only God had looked after him just for another moment, maybe he would still be alive today. 

Same with that girl he hit. 

I focus back on the question in front of me.

Time. Time. Time. 

This question and answer are both engraved inside my head because I understand it. 

An important factor that affects the Blood Alcohol Level and is an extremely important factor (in order to sober up) is Time. 

I memorized the exact times of my brother’s faulty death so well that I can map it out in my head. I can present it as a historical event and get an A+. 

Not sure my parents would be proud of that one. 

23 minutes after my brother downed 3 beers, he got into the Red Beast.

15 minutes after he got into the Red Beast, he hit her. 

38 minutes after trying compressions three times on both my brother and the girl, 

The doctors stopped trying. 

12:07 AM was the time of his death. 

For five weeks after, I stayed up every night until 12:07.

I saw the clock change, and I pictured my brother taking his last breath. 

His breath probably smelled like beer. 

I hate him for it. 

I hate him for getting in that stupid red car that I always thought was ugly. 

After all of the lessons in school, he still did it.

Sometimes I wake up and forget he’s gone, because this stuff just doesn’t happen to us.

Not to me, and not to him.

No one is supposed to die drunk driving. 

I reach out my finger.

Click.

The answer was Time.

It will always be Time. 

I never knew how much Time I had left with my brother.

And when he disappeared, I wanted all of that time back.

I still do.