My brother is dying. Several years ago he called us all together to our mother's home in Florida, he was sick and wanted to say goodbye. All except the missing one were present. She, the other with dark hair and eyes like myself. The one that ran so far, so fast that no one ever saw the contrails evaporate, remained veiled in her own mists.
I'm possessive of him. He's mine. And so, when they touched him I would flinch, wanting to go to him and move their arms away. He's mine, please don't. I'm arrogantly convinced they are far less intelligent than I, these siblings that go through mates like underwear. They never graduated from high school as he and I did, much less attend college as we did. I am superior to you, my sisters and other, spare brother. I hear what is behind his words, know their prophecy, feel their vibration deep within my heart. He is mine to love. Mine to mourn.
But this incarnation wasn't finished with him then, it wasn't time to leave. And years passed. He grew stronger, weaker, stronger. Every safeguard must be taken to stay away from germs, viruses. He must avoid injuries, emotional upsets, and life in general.
He's sick again. A heart attack this time. A telephone call to him in the hospital. Watching stars form behind eyelids shut too tightly. Remembering secrets shared, Motown sounds, our laughter bourne up into an infinite, purple desert night sky. Tears escape and a billion tiny points of light disintegrate. I've forgotten how to breathe. Yes, I'm still here. I'm listening. He's making me promise now. Yes, I will keep going. I will be brave. Yes, I will forgive her. I know she was doing what she thought was right...
How still and quiet, the hours between 2 AM and dawn. How impossibly slow time passes, waiting for that little bit of light to bleed into the eastern sky.
1:49 p.m. - 2006-08-27
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