It's 11:00 by the time the concert is over, but my family still came to pick me up. Once home I'm too tired to subject them to the wealth of photos and videos I snagged, so I save them for later. I crash on my bed and flip through a few of them, discarding the fuzziest photos and the shakiest videos. My mom stops in the doorway, arms folded and staring incredulously at the calendar above my brother's bed. It's one of those whimsical beach calendars you might see in an Antarctic research station, or in a Matrix-styled office cubicle.
"Don't you think it's about time you changed that?" she asks.
My brother just grins and ignores her, aware of the fact that it's nearly the end of January and he still has last year's calendar set to December. I wouldn't even be surprised if it was the 2017 calendar at this point. Mom gave us a 2019 calendar for Christmas like she does every year; it's probably still waiting for us by the artificial Christmas tree downstairs.
