My little brother is getting around alright on crutches and probably won't need surgery for his femur, but I can't see inside his head and know what the grey matter thinks about the upcoming accident investigation. I introduced him to the show Misfits, and he watched it all yesterday - I understand that getting lost in a story, and I hope the return will be a pleasant one.
My mom has already started repeating herself with respect to the accident and what may come. I can't get annoyed, although I was able to keep track of the details the first time through. I can remember these details and how they match up to the details in news articles, but I've never been good at telling stories out loud.
The out loud storyteller of jokes and sketch comedy has always been my older brother. He's beginning his acting career in L.A. and waiting to hear back about a movie part. I got a birthday call from him last night. And I got to see my Dad - he hasn't shut down and keeps working his grueling Doctor hours throughout this all - a little after I'd drifted off - he'd come home from on-call and asked if I was asleep. I told him no, that I was only dreaming about a pigeon-faced sprinting man that was racing a train before he became the train (I've been dreaming about pigeons lately because one of my early-stage stories starts off with a tap dancing pigeon that needs help). Anyway, I got to hug my Dad and thus completed the p-day family circle.
I did have one difficulty last night during p-day dinner. There was a wine glass filled with fruit and clearish liquid. I assumed that it was some chardonnay and that my Mom had set it out as an invitation. I didn't say anything and kept passing it as a I repeatedly got up to fill my water glass from the fridge - gulp-refill-gulp-refill-gulp.
At one point, I stopped to smell it when no one was looking. I went to the bathroom, and when I returned, the cup was sitting on the table. I finally asked what it was and found out that it was apple juice... I'm not sure what this means - perhaps many of our fears reside solely in our heads, often not in agreement with reality but waiting there nonetheless to test what we are made of and what we will become.
Some others in my head: I'm worried that I'm shrinking. Now that we've all finished growing, I can see that I'm the smallest of three brothers. Will this trend continue? Sometimes when I look at my hands - they seem fat and short, designed to fit into kiddie mittens and get lost in stronger handshakes - other times they seem long and slender, made to move and awe and direct. I've decided not to look at my hands today.
Another fear is that I will grow disturbingly boring without drinking or substances. "My, this lemonade is good - not too sweet and just the right amount of pulp. Did you know that lemons were carried aboard during long ship voyages to combat scurvy? No, I didn't say you were curvy - scurvy - I think it makes your gums bleed. That would be funny if curvy people had bleeding gum problems... fine, forget it, but I'm saying that this is good lemonade and you should drink it also so your gums don't erupt like miniature volcanoes and spit blood and teeth all over the table - because you're curvy! We're not going on another date, are we?"
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