It was late again when the noise from the cellar ceased. 11.30 p.m. My brother often practiced with his band late into the night. If they would at least practice quietly ... Our neighbors had even reported us before. The late evening rehearsals not only bother our neighbors, but also me. If it wasn't Friday today, I would kill him tomorrow. And then he always comes in to say "good night" to me. Especially when I'm about to fall asleep. Here he comes again.
"Good night, Jasmin. Sleep well !!!", that's exactly what he said ... like every evening.
As always, I replied: "Yeah, you too, Moritz."
"Hey, why so sarcastic?"
"Why? You still ask that ?!"
"Sorry, but we have to rehearse longer than usual. Because of a concert and such. You have to understand that ..."
"Yeah, okay, now you can go !! - Come on, get out of here - go away !!! I WANT TO SLEEP !!!"
With these words he finally left the room.I still couldn't sleep ...

11.00 a.m. It was that late when I woke up the next morning. I stumbled down the stairs, drunk with sleep. My brother was already wide awake through the house. How can he be so awake now? Doesn't he need any sleep at all ?! Cheerfully he whistled a happy "Good morning !!" opposite. I just muttered a tired "............... morning .................." back. Then I disappeared into the bathroom, still stumbling asleep.
A few minutes later I went into the kitchen, where Moritz was already waiting at the table. It took me a few seconds to realize that mom wasn't there. "Is mom working on the weekend again?" I asked, "That was already done last week and the penultimate week and all the other weeks before." My brother nodded. "It was also a big blow for mom that dad is now in a coma. She's just trying to change her mind with all the work." "But not on the weekend," I replied."So she can't come to visit him again."
"It doesn't matter now, Mini. Let's have breakfast now."
"All right, but only if you stop calling me mini."

"The bun didn't hurt you !!" said Moritz when I brutally smeared my bun with butter. It apparently looked like I was trying to cause him physical pain. Actually I do too. I left the bun, which was now looking pretty battered, and looked at my brother. "I have to vent my anger on someone who scolds our mother. If you really want to, I can torture you too."
"No, stop it. Go on tormenting the lovingly prepared, nice, dear, sweet pastries, which, however, didn't hurt you at all." Then I turned back to the 'lovingly prepared, nice, loving, sweet pastries' to. Moritz rolled his eyes in annoyance.

After breakfast we drove to the hospital on Moritz '"hot sledge", a 50 km / h moped.We did that every weekend. Though it didn't make much sense, Papa was in a coma anyway. Above all, I thought it was stupid that we went with the "hot sledge" and not with our bicycles. Probably because cycling sounds like an effort. And exertion wasn't really Moritz's thing. He was a real professional couch potato. I often wondered how my couch potato brother managed to be so athletic anyway. Then we stopped. "Shit, we have a flat tire. You are too heavy, Jasmin!", Moritz got upset.
"Hey, if one of these is too heavy, then I guess it's hardly me !!" I replied. So a fierce argument broke out as to who was the harder one. Unfortunately, my stupid brother won the argument after 15 minutes. Then we pushed the lame box with the sheet the rest of the way to the hospital.

Once there, we went straight to Papa's room. We stayed there for two hours and talked to him and hoped that at any moment he would open his eyes and say: "Uah, a nap like that is something nice."But after two hours we pretty much agreed that that probably wouldn't happen again today.

We got home around three. From that moment we went our separate ways. Moritz went down to the basement to tune his guitar for rehearsals today, and I went upstairs and passed my time leafing through children's magazines from ten years ago (and I'm only 14). At some point, many hours later, I wanted to write in my diary, but I just couldn't find it ... I ran all over the house. The last thing I came to was Moritz's room. And there it was. So I didn't just dream that my brother was in my room that morning. "Oh God, then he knows that I think his boyfriend is so cute. I hope he hasn't told him," I thought to myself. But then I thought, even Moritz couldn't be that mean. I hoped anyway.

Mom finally came home around 10 p.m. I went downstairs to talk to her."Well, was the work fun?" I asked so that even mom should have heard the sarcastic undertone.
"Work is never fun," she simply replied.
"Then why are you doing it at the weekend?" "Now I've got her hooked. She probably doesn't know any more arguments," I thought.
But mom simply said: "That's why."
And exactly at that moment, Moritz came out of the cellar as if called. Now I was torn back and forth. Who should I be angry with now? On Moritz because he had read my diary or on mom? To work around this problem, I just went into the kitchen and served dinner.

"Food is ready!" I yelled. Immediately the other two came into the room and sat down at the table. We didn't say a word to each other while we ate.