I have these moments that burst upon my mind wherein I completely break down and sob, usually alone in my car. I was on the drive home speeding when two russet deer came darting out in front of me.
It was safe enough to slam on the brakes and spare them the steely death. They ran into the twilight, elegant, slender legs bouncing on shiny hooves and I slowly drove away. I keep thinking about you. Thinking about you and thinking about a Masters degree in the area of your demise. I dwell on the words of our mother who weeped when she said your legs were blue when she found you.
Actually she said, "His little legs were all blue". They weren't little. You were a grown man, face down in your living room. Dead. Still her baby. People who say they can imagine what 'that' must be like are shitting themselves. We can't understand.
There are little legs, warm and pink, chubby and fleshy sleeping upstairs. The blood flows, dreams come. He is alive. This is where I completely freak out and have to kill a fluffy looking centipede that just caught my eye as it crawled down the wall. They come straight from a very dark place, I know it.
I whacked it off the wall with a full case of room temperature Budweiser. Falling down, it continued undulating quickly across the floor and I slammed and swiped it with my heavy chunky sandals forcing every ounce of anger I could posess, leaving a putrid brown streak on the checkered floor.
That one was for you, Brother.
