FALL:- BEFORE

Sometimes it's the little things we remember the most. Like the way Jasmine never finishes a book because she's afraid of the ending. Or the way she saves those paper fortunes from the restaurant when she wants them to come true. Or how she never brings an umbrella when she knows it's going to rain. Even the way she borrows my things and always forgets to give them back.

"Isn't this my jacket?"

I'm sitting on the floor of her room, watching her pack up her clothes for college. It's the beginning of fall. In a few hours, she'll be heading to the University of Michigan to start her next chapter. It's a five-hour drive from our house in Skokie, Illinois. I'm supposed to be helping her move the boxes into the car. Instead I'm going through them, wondering what she's taking with her.

Jasmine turns her head. "You said I could borrow that."

"How long are you borrowing it for?"

"If you want it back, then just take it," she says, flipping her long hair at me. As the younger brother, you would think my clothes would be safe from her hands. But Jasmine always finds her way into my closet, taking anything she likes.

The smell of lemongrass fills the house. Mom is cooking dinner in the kitchen while Dad watches television in the living room. Once everything's, packed and ready, the three of them will be driving to Ann Arbor for the weekend. I wish I could go with them, see where she's spending the next four years of her life, but there's not enough room in the car. I stare at the jacket for a moment. It's a blue plaid button-up I thrifted a few years ago. Honestly, Jasmine wears it more than I do. "No, you can keep it," I say, putting it back for her. It's colder in Michigan, anyway.

I open another box and find a photo of us. We're standing on the front steps of the house, dressed as Lilo and Stitch for Halloween. Jasmine has her arms around me, our cheeks pressed together, her grass skirt brushing against my blue fur. It's hard to believe this was taken seven years ago, Sometimes I wish we could be kids again. Life was so much simpler back then. It's hard to pull my eyes away from the photo, but when I do, Jasmine appears on the floor beside me.

"I went through them yesterday," she says, smiling over my shoulder. Then she reaches into the box, pulling out another photo. "Look at this one

The photo is overexposed from the flash. I'm sleeping on one side of the sofa while Jasmine snuggles up with Gracie, our black Lab who passed away three years ago. Her big brown eyes are staring right at the camera.

"Aw, I miss Gracie," I say.

"I miss her, too."

The thought of her always makes me smile. I still keep her favorite tennis ball on top of my dresser. Sometimes I find myself tossing it against the wall when I'm feeling down. I could never get myself to throw it away.

"Here's another one"

Jasmine hands me the next photo. We're around nine and ten years old, playing on Jasmine's toy piano in our matching pajamas.

The sight of that piano brings back memories. "Oh my god," I say, widening my eyes. "You used to make me sit for hours, listening to you play that thing."

"You got a free concert. Be grateful."

"For what, the trauma?"

Jasmine pushes my shoulder as we laugh. The truth is she's great at the piano. She's been playing since she was seven and even writes some of her own music. Sometimes I'll lie down in her room while she's practicing one of her songs. "How come you're not taking your keyboard with you?" I finally ask her.

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