Alone

Everyone here says I will love my brother once I get to meet him.

"He's a great kid!"

"So smart for his age!"

"He is so funny. Seriously."

It's strange to hear people talk this way about him when all my life it was, "Don't mention Timothy around your mother" or "Be thankful you didn't end up like Timothy" or "Let's all say a prayer for Timothy." You see, my brother died when he was four. He was hit by a school bus or fell out of tree or tried to jump down the stairs or got lost and was found floating face down in the river south of town or was standing behind a horse and got kicked or swallowed too much toothpaste and was poisoned or had a brain tumor or leukemia or a snake bite or a dog bite or an enlarged heart or a heart too small. I'll ask him once I get through this line.

It's not unlike when I was drafted and I had to take off all my clothes and get measured. They stuck a wooden stick down my throat there and a thermometer up my butt. Here they just strip off all the bullshit of your life, categorize your existence on Earth not by what you did, but what you did to others. And man, these white-robed freaks can remember it all.

The first line is for Violent Offenses. "It was the fucking Army" is no excuse. The second line is for Hurtful Lies, Shameful Untruths and Fabricated Tales About Oneself That Benefited Only Oneself. I spent maybe a week there. The third line is for Self-Harm, Cruelty to Nature and Other Such Nonsense. And the last line is for Petty Misconduct, Poor Sportsmanship, Mean Thoughts and Et-cetera.

I am in the last line, wondering how long it takes a four year old to get through all this. My toes and fingers are cold, and when I think about it, I'm very surprised I have toes and fingers up here. I wonder what Timothy looks like, and if he'll love me back.