Another of Fred’s friends told me a story about the last time he saw my brother. “We had lunch, three of us. We’d been back in touch. We lost touch for about twenty years and then recently started getting together once in a while. Well, Fred wouldn’t let us pay our way. He said because me and our other friend were the only ones who befriended him when he first came here to school from Italy, when no one else did.”
It continues to rain today. I hear him tell me that it’s a good day to get back to work. Ergo, get back to living.
I see a bright red cardinal outside my window. He has made that tree his home since early spring. Now, properly disguised by extra full branches, he can sing, be alone, as he wants to be, unencumbered by peering eyes like mine, jarring atrocities like loud boat sounds, and eerie long lenses attempting photos.
“I’m taking a mental picture,” he would say, his disdain of being photographed only rivaled that of some reclusive stars.
I hold back my nervous and fidgety attempt to fish out my camera.
He stays alone, singing, looking around then flies away.
(He ain’t heavy; he’s my brother.)
-END-
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