The radio’s static voice pushed through the wire mesh, forecasting an overcast day. Pale gray skies hung high above coils of wire, their barbs stark at the apex of the gates. Leaning against the car door, deep cobalt marred by the teeth of indignant keys, the attorney dragged the rubber sole of his shoe against the wet pavement, which was gleaming from the morning shower. The creak of rusty hinges echoed through the air, and his sore neck lifted slowly. He squinted his eyes, vignetting and blurring his vision as a somber silhouette stalked up the pathway, his steps hesitant, yet focused.

Lifting his head properly through the ache of a poor posture, the two men blinked at each other. The attorney inhaled the damp smell of rain as he studied his younger brother without the glare of glass or the dull orange hue.

“Abi,” Noyan breathed. Brother. His voice was clear, free from the transmission buffer of a telephone, the silver cord hanging limp from the wall. His voice held a foreign octave, low and quiet in nature. Dressed in a plain long-sleeve shirt, medium-washed jeans, Noyan held a duffle bag over broad shoulders. He eyed the tailored suit his brother wore. The gray fabric and purple tie were a little antiquated for someone in their prime, but the neat hemmings and perfect fitting could only be perfected by the point of one particular needle.

“Anne has the flu,” Sami responded, pushing himself off the car door. Mother. He wordlessly took the bag from Noyan, placing it in the trunk. Closing the lid with a loud thud, Sami observed as Noyan stood aimless, his hands grasping at empty space. “Do you want to stay here? Get in the car,” he instructed, rounding for the driver’s side.

Reversing away from the penitentiary, Sami kept his eyes trained on the rear windshield. He could hear Noyan toying with the radio, turning the FM knobs. Scratchy static cut between pockets of choruses and advertisements. He settled on the jingle for a local plumbing company.

Merging onto the main road, Sami asked, “Have you had breakfast?” It was only a quarter past 10. Noyan didn’t answer, his head tilted to the backseats of the old car. Sami glanced in the rearview mirror, catching sight of the pristine car seat strapped in the middle of stained, beige upholstery.

“No,” Noyan replied, turning his head away. He stared at the gold band wrapped around his brother’s finger, unable to look away from its mocking shine. He twisted the signet ring hanging loosely on his pointer, their father’s initials carved neatly into it.

They ducked their heads beneath a low archway and after passing through a beaded curtain, the duo was led to a battered booth along the windows. The clouds had significantly darkened, a low hum of music playing alongside the drone of the news anchor. The small TV was too high in the corner and the picture too saturated to provide a genuine viewing experience, the volume equally inadequate.

Seated across from each other, Sami paid no heed to the laminated menu, its corners peeling and folded. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know. There’s so much.” Noyan had one flipping in his hands, squinting at the cluttered graphics and serif font. Anything legible felt of a distant era, one where he sat in a plastic chair in a dim, one-bedroom Queens apartment, his short legs swinging back and forth as his mother paced over cold kitchen vinyl.

Motioning over a tall girl, youth still rounding her cheeks, Sami leaned forward as he ordered, “Two çay and menemen.” She nodded, attention focused on Sami before disappearing quickly into the kitchen, pen cap caught between her teeth.

Neither one said a word as they waited. Sami readjusted his watch, twisting the small knob as he watched the brass hand spin. Noyan watched his brother, unmoving as though he was still on the other side of glass. Many times the phones would remain pressed to their ears as neither spoke, simply waiting in comforting silence until a guard ended the tranquility. It was always his brother during visitation — him alone. Their mother could not bear to see the child she once dressed for school, to now be dressed in metal cuffs. She had fainted when his seven-year sentence was read, the 19-year-old stuck in a catatonic daze while chaos swarmed around him.

“Kolay gelsin,” Sami thanked as the girl placed down two cups, steam circling above deep amber tea. She then placed the dish in front of Noyan, looking him in the eye for the first time, but only for a second. She left a ring of bread at the edge of the table.

Noyan just stared at the dish of scrambled eggs and tomatoes, the familiar smell of fried peppers enveloping him. “Aren’t you hungry?” Sami questioned, placing down his cup.

“Starving,” Noyan confirmed, but he still made no move. Sami sighed inaudibly, tearing off a piece of bread as he pushed it into Noyan’s hand. Finally dipping the bread into the egg, Noyan chewed slowly as a forgotten warmth touched his tongue.

Watching as he tore another piece of bread, Sami asked, “When are you coming home?”

Pausing in his bite, Noyan swallowed as he glanced at the dish. “Not today,” he answered after a moment, resuming chewing.

“Haven’t you been gone long enough?” Sami argued, neglecting his tea as it slowly cooled.

“But where have I been?” Noyan reasoned merely. Taking a sip of his tea, he wished for the sweetness of a sugar cube. “Someday,” he offered.

“Where will you go?” Sami wondered, contemplating how after watching him sit behind glass for the better part of a decade, Noyan was only now beginning to look less like a boy; the line of his jaw had hardened, his brows thickened, brown eyes sunken in. He appeared so tired, yet a certain need glowed behind his gaze. A hunger no fried peppers and egg could satisfy.

“That’s for me to find out, abi,” he smiled, reminiscent of a once fat-cheeked and restless juvenile. Cheeks now hollow, only restlessness was leftover.

“Someday,” Sami repeated, reluctance heavy in his tone. “Söz?” he pleaded. Promise?

Noyan didn’t answer, indulging another fragrant bite. His eyes were trained on the window, watching as rain droplets stuck to the pane. He tracked as one drop traveled down the glass, pulled into bigger drops before continuing to trickle down, and down. He took another drink from his cup, tongue curling at the bitter aftertaste as he still yearned for a little more sugar.