Now was definitely not the time to say that I wished I could’ve gone to the awards banquet. I hadn’t even needed them to go with me.

Wait. They hadn’t offered that. . . . They hadn’t offered to go with me.

They only said it was my choice which one I wanted to go to. How come I hadn’t realized that before this moment? I looked down at my hands resting in my lap.

Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. She probably thought I was sad about the video. I probably should’ve been sad about the video. About my brother. Crap. Here I was again having a one-track mind. Only thinking about something related to swimming. I’d made the choice to be here; now I needed to be all here.

I refocused my energy up front, where a speaker was now talking about how important donations were and where the money from these donations went.

After the ceremony our table was bombarded with people. My mom was somewhat famous in this little community. People loved her. Last year she had gotten some award for how much money she had helped raise for the cause over the years.

A hand grabbed mine and shook it. I met the eyes of a kind older gentleman. “You must be so proud of your mother,” he said.

“Always.” And that was true.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

It took me too long to realize he was talking about my brother. “Right. Thank you,” I replied.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” Mom whispered when he walked away.

“I don’t know. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “Can you be present tonight? It’s important. Today’s Eric’s day.”

Every day seemed to be Eric’s day. “I’m trying.”

“Thank you.”

“We can get Froyo after this, right?” Dad asked, coming up behind us.

“Don’t call it that,” Mom and I said at the same time.

He laughed. “It’s so much easier, though.”

When my mom turned to greet more people, Dad nudged my shoulder with his. “You okay, kid?”

“Yes, I think. Tired. You?”

“Hungry. That chicken was dry. I think I’m going to suggest a different menu for next year. I have some pull with one of the organizers.” He winked at me.

“Next year . . .” A future of endless charity events stretched out before me. If I couldn’t get out of it this year with a legitimate excuse, it was hopeless.