" David watched Sol finish the can of beans. Sol always ate fast. He overate. Since he was eight.
Sol leaned back in the wooden chair against the wall, under the window. Baby brother. Sol could have been anything he wanted to be. Nothing mathematical, nothing quantitative, of course, but anything else. A beautiful boy, a wonderful brother, they got along well.
Then when Sol turned eight years old, age of a new beginning, their mother obsessed over him, ignoring David.
Obsessed over Sol and his underwear. Over and over, a regeneration, a newness. Changed his clothes constantly, had him on her lap every minute possible. She put him in bed and tucked the covers in every night. She refused to let their father do it, so he always took care of David.
But, of course, David needed no help and Sol always needed Ruth to take care of him.
Sol was still being breast fed even when he finally went to kindergarten. Then Ruth slowly increased regular, solid food. But before bed, Sol had a nightcap, mother’s milk. Their special time. Their unique closeness took a turn from breastfeeding to something else. By the time Sol was in third grade, he was one of the fattest kids in class. Then the brothers became a real team.
Now here he was. David and Sol still together, on a mission given by the Creator. It was perfect. "

― , Segment of One