Asher absentmindedly plucked at the steel guitar strings as the gentle breeze flew through the green leaves just above his head. It was a long seven years ago he had received this wooden guitar from his mother, and it had been five since he had played. Five years since she had died…

Asher cringed as a sour note escaped from the instrument. He sighed and set it down on the damp grass as the green blades scratched at his ankles. Once familiar, the strings now felt as though they were strangers. It had been his younger brother that had finally convinced him to play again. It happened one cold winter morning while they were eating a warm breakfast. The silence that had been a dark cloud hanging over them since her laughter left their home for the last time was once again a welcome guest at the old table.

“I miss your playing,” his little brother had stated. A simple sentence that would eventually become the cure to their problems. It still took Asher many months to pick up his guitar again, but soon his music began to dispel the silence.

Asher smiled fondly at the recollection. Adrian had seemed so much younger then, even if it was only a few years ago. As if called forth by the remembering, Asher noticed a small boy with messy blonde hair making his way down the steep hill towards him. Asher watched as he lost his footing and slid down a few feet, before finding it again and jumping across the last of the slick rocks and grassy hill onto solid, flat ground.

“Adrian!” Asher shouted. “I almost didn’t recognize you, you're so tall.” Of course, he was lying. His brother was still quite short for a boy now ten, as he hadn’t grown much in the past years. Still, Asher enjoyed humoring his brother and watching his face light up at the compliment.

“You really think so?” Adrian beamed. “Ooh ooh ooh let’s go measure again!” Asher smiled again and got up, grabbing his guitar as they made their way back up the hill. Adrian ran ahead of him, scrambling up and waiting for him at the top, tapping his foot. Asher finally reached the small house and made his way inside, where his brother was already waiting, standing as tall as he could, against the wooden post that had markings all up it.

Asher’s fingers gently traced the light wood, looking at where his height markings were. He grabbed a pencil and went to mark Adrian’s height. He was about to make the line but noticed there was already one there: Adrian’s from six months ago.

“He still hasn’t grown,” Asher thought sadly. He quickly took his pencil and marked just above his brother’s head. Adrian excitedly turned around and cheered when he saw the marking that Asher was now labeling “Adrian’s Tenth Birthday.”

Adrian ran off yelling for his dad to come look. Asher stood at the post for another minute and found his tenth birthday marking from four years ago, then looked down at Adrian’s. He knew he shouldn’t worry; he was sure Adrian would be fine. But still, Asher was his older brother. He had a right to worry!

He thought back to that crisp autumn day when he had turned ten. He remembered his dad carefully marking his height. He remembered turning to look at it, then hurriedly running off, just as Adrian had, but Asher had been looking for his mom instead. Adrian didn’t have that luxury. He had only been five when she died; Asher doubted he even remembered her that well. Asher began to reminisce fondly on a warm summer day when Adrian had only been two. He was sitting on the cool floor in front of his mom, who was painting another beautiful picture. He held his newly-received guitar in his hands, afraid to touch it. It seemed so fragile, and it was far too big for him.

“Why aren’t you playing?” His mother had asked him sweetly.

“I’m afraid I’ll break it.” He had confessed quietly. “It seems so fragile.”

“You weren’t afraid to hold Adrian when he was born. He was fragile then, and yet you still took him in your arms. And Adrian is irreplaceable, but a guitar isn’t.” His mother had replied, smiling down at her eldest son.

He had then looked back at the guitar and had gently pulled on one of the strings. It didn’t break. But it did make a lovely sound. Excitedly, he had begun to experiment with the strings, rejoicing in the different sound each one made.

Asher was pulled back to reality as Adrian and his dad came into the room. Cedric applauded Adrian for his height as he stood proudly before the post. Asher smiled and shook away the memory. He made his way into the next room and sat down at the table, where Adrian’s favorite breakfast had been set. Adrian came bounding into the room after him and sat down in a carved chair at the head of the table. Their father’s chair. Asher drew in a sharp breath as his father came happily into the room and saw Adrian seated in his chair. But Cedric only smiled and sat down across from Asher, his golden hair blowing slightly in the warm breeze coming in through the open window.

Asher brushed his brown hair out of his face as a memory began to form in his mind, of a time long ago, but he forced himself to stay in the moment and celebrate with his family. He longed to mention it, however awkward it may be, just so he could be told that it hadn’t happened, or that it had all been a silly misunderstanding. But this memory, like many other things, Asher feared. He feared that it did happen, that it was not a misunderstanding. He feared what young, innocent Adrian would think.

“Well, what if he already knows?” a voice hissed inside Asher’s head. “What if he thinks less of you because of it?”

“No, there’s no way he could know. It’s impossible.” Asher replied.

“Is it?” the voice teased. Asher began to ponder over this, trying to remember exactly how old Adrian was when it happened. He was mulling over the words that voice had said when he suddenly realized something that shook him to the core.

That voice was not his. It was not his father’s. It was not his brother’s. Nor any of his friends. The voice knew him, but Asher did not know the voice.