A LETTER NOT SENT

A simple memory of brothers, a simple thought of what was

A LETTER NOT SENT

 

      Many years ago, and the last time I looked into your tired eyes I realized my uniqueness had abandoned me.  I was saddened by the look on your face as you searched for secret words only brothers knew so your brother was not offended by you.  I tried to smile for you because I know the loyal protector of yesterday is within you.  I tried to smile remembering how we both started out amazed at life and a few years later we read of war and discarded the ‘turn-the-other-cheek’ bullshit we were fed growing up.

        I spent many days on the mat because of that naive view of the world. I found out the church needs and feeds on the weak; for without them, their cruelty has no merit. Like a ghetto b***h, religion starts the fight and then backs away to see who wins, a waste of manipulated pagan fear.

        We reached for the only plum of life, the impossible.  We became addicted to the one thing no one else had. Even beaten down, compassion, fear, and wonder are change.

        When trying the impossible, disillusionment becomes a pestering companion. To win is to have the light shine on you when exhaustion tempts loneliness.

        I've often thought when a person reaches the one goal they didn’t cast aside, they need to be alone, they need a well-deserved rest to add up all they sacrificed to achieve that goal.  Insistent burdens, I call them; character and conscience. 

        Until I saw your face that day, I hadn’t realized I lost so many times.  Years before, I was a better actor, a better circus clown, perhaps a better brother.  

        You were always smarter than I was.   I had no idea until later that year our last conversation only confirmed your thoughts. Smile my friend, for at this late date, when every second is precious, is it enough to be remembered by your brother.

        The passions of youth see everything as though a razor's edge; and I say this to you, when the sharpness fades and the mirror finish has dulled, I can still hear your laugh. 

        I cannot remember by the side of what road I abandoned my innocence.  But I do remember the obvious truth stinging my wounds over and over.  Instead of a shroud of protection, innocence cast us in the scent of naiveté for the hounds to smell. 

         Little time to remember the compassion garnered from Mom's dinner table my brother.  Life would see to it the boot heal was always close. We were never fooled during the hot August race riots and beatings at thirteen.  Watts Towers, do you remember?

        However, by my thirtieth year, I had experienced many exciting things.  I knew all that lay ahead of me were simply repetitions with a differing tempo. I had learned to make 22cal. pistols out of car antennas and a few nails that summer.

        By the time I proudly purchased my first pair of spectacles, I knew I had seen too much of life while trying the impossible, and too little of life listening to faith. The young girl who fitted my frames said I had beautiful eyes. Her kindness was rare and welcome, as was the scent of her perfume. Little did she know I was searching for memories more than discovery.  

         I had one you know; we all have one. It is enough for me to feel in my heart I had a purpose; I felt a personal sorrow and traveled alone for many years just when I realized perhaps I was not that special after all.  I am not the one, but instead a realist; I pull life from these brief moments of humanity; and at this moment I am sorry you glimpsed such a small portion of my life when we last talked.

       Your face too, was a sad thing.  

Instead, I will remember you walking ahead of me in the early morning light; you were looking for something, my brother, you were always looking for something. Did you know your brother was always looking for something too? A shame we couldn't have looked together. The next time the warm sun is in your face, and your shadow licks your heels, remember when it was not your shadow but your little brother behind you, pushing the heavy red L.A. Times newspaper wagon when we were kids. You may just smile.

        Do you remember the wide sidewalks and the chill in the early morning air? Do you remember how heavy the Sunday editions of the L.A. Times were? Do you remember the older kids trying to rob us on collection day? Do you remember how fast their bikes were, man they were fast? Do you remember Ganesha Park and Christmas Tree Lane? Do you remember Dad’s Studebaker?   Do you remember getting your brother on a baseball team with the red and white uniforms? Do you remember how good you were?

        I remember your wing-tipped shoes. I remember your laugh. I remember you studying, hour after hour. I remember Dad giving you five dollars for every ‘A’ you got on your report card and your brother five dollars for a ‘C’. I remember your sadness when you left home and found the truth.  

        Close your eyes for a moment. Can you see your brother’s smile, or do you see me as I am, do you see only scars and today's truth?

        Pick a day when we were brothers and smile. Think of a sunny day it was ‘just us’, for soon enough my dear friend, we will be leaving each other again.  Your Brother.