The car barely required steering or breaking. It seemed to know what to do on its own from habit. He and his car as one had glided over this same weaving path innumerable times. So, while his car transported him home, his mind hypnotically transported him to tomorrow's social activities and awake he dreamed about fun.
The past which had laid dormant in the crevices of his soul, became jealous of his future and suddenly stirred. Suddenly from within the darkness came a barrage of memories long hidden behind the passing of time.
He thought of his bastardy childhood and the insidious poverty that framed it:
His mother's apologetic bittersweet love full of shame and resentment,
antipathy from older sisters, as if he were to blame for having been born.
The intermittent affection and rejection from his father. The painful and final abandonment before he was consumed by sorrow and drowned in booze.
Struggles made soft, by those who helped and saw potential.
The humble accomplishments of a kid from a poor little town in Puerto Rico, who got to work in the the university's library.
The acceptance and respect he received from friends.
And...that summer long ago, gloriously free of impositions from those who thought themselves adults - the joy of playing with her, the connection of two children connected by blood and separated by circumstance, the love of kindred spirits...
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It was mid-morning on December 21, 1985 when I received the phone call. A drunk driver had collided with my half-brother.
It was a strange Christmas. I didn't feel grief exactly. How can you miss someone you barely knew... except for that stupendous summer which will remain indelible on my mind.
Rummaging through old papers, my husband found some pictures and cards from his funeral. I know it's not too late to commemorate his life.
