The bus driver dropped me off at my childhood home. She was a drunk so I offered her a beer through the window as she waited outside. No one was home yet. It had been so long since I had been here. The air hung stiff, with a calm ominous flickering glow. Uninviting, I felt I wasn't supposed to be here as if we were suspended in time. This was a place the doesn't exist inside reality, yet remained a part of something so raw and unencumbered by ego, so true it would make Freud quiver with excitement if he could just touch it, taste it, be here. I didn't pick the place. I would've preferred the woods or a submarine like before. But there was something sweet about being here, unknowingly waiting for him. As if to say, "I still remember you and being in this place with you. Please don't forget me either." At this point, I don't know why I'm here. The bus driver is standing on the porch finishing her beer and hears someone coming. I don't know what to do. I'm a child again. Waiting for someone to make my choices for me. No one does. I'm scared and yet fully accepted by my environment as I pour my fear out in the corner of the room. My fear turns into curiosity as a man, tall dark, and barrel-chested walks into the room. His black combat boots emanate his intention with every slow step into the room. He doesn't look at me, or maybe he doesn't have a face. I didn't check. I didn't care. I saw who he was with, who he brought. It was a little boy about 3 years old with golden curly locks coiled as tight as springs. He had a huge grin on his face which made his chubby rosy cheeks fold over into dimples. His eyes just like I remember. They gleamed like a glass bead, glossed over and polished. His sea-green irises were cascading with rivulets of dark teals, forest greens and turquoise elegantly forming a tortoise shell pattern which now beamed in my direction, into the corner of the room where I stared in disbelief as my former 2-year-old body. It was him, at least it really felt like him. I walked over to him. My fear begins to fade. We embrace as if he had just gotten back from fighting the axis powers in WWII. We keep hugging but I know I'm not a child anymore. I'm 28 but he remains ageless despite how grown up he looks now. He smiles softly and comments on how much time has passed. I had to think for a second, this place has me detached from time as is its nature. I saw eight years more than him. So unfair. For him, I can't imagine time has much of an influence on his experiences anymore. Maybe it does, hell what do I know. I'm just glad I get to look at him again. Hug him. I forget how much I need him sometimes. This isn't much but I'll take what I can get. I know I can't stay here much longer. We exchange a few sentences knowing that he can't come back with me. The tone is melancholy. He picked the place but I brought the mood lighting and my dreary damp soul decorated the room with "O poor misery!" shades of fuck. Today is Jordan's birthday I say. He says I love you. I say it too. And like that, he was gone. I still remain for a second. My head hangs as I prepare myself for the rude reality I have to face when I wake up. My brother has been dead for 10 years. Hits me like an ice cold shower on days like today. I hate losing him over and over again. You'd think I'd be numb by now. Even though I know that wasn't really him, it was all of my memories of him. Memories that I cherish and memories I don't cognitively remember. Memories that are threaded through every single cell of mine. I still feel him alive when I move and breathe. I stare off as my lantern flickered, the flashes returning dimmer and slower until I'm consumed by the dark. The sun not yet peeking through my window, the moon left hours ago suspended in the sky for someone else. What a lovely dream about such lovely man.
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[–] Intheknow 0 points 1 point 1 point (+1|-0) ago
Great...twin?
[–] HalfMastBlast [S] ago
16 months older. We were very close though. Thanks for reading :-)
[–] Intheknow 0 points 1 point 1 point (+1|-0) ago
A heartfelt memorial, glad to have read it. Sorry for your loss.