Say Hello, Remain

I dreamt of my brother last night.

Dreamt of him, the dream fragmentary, warm, being in PG, in the old house, him stumbling in, on the heels of Christmas, needing me to drive him down to University, him starting classes on Wednesday, he would be late but the twelve hours on the road would be a delight, a chance to catch up, give him advice on school and his future lying ahead of him.

Stirring, half awake, in bed, then dreaming of dropping him off at the old SAC residence, seeing him to his room, making sure he had his key, fetching it off my keyring. Touselling his hair, letting him sleep, knowing he'll do all right this semester, his future ahead of him.

I awake, my shoulder less in agony today, drive N to work in a rocky daze. As I do every day. N is working three jobs now, rails at me nightly for reassurances I cannot give. We must talk, she says, planning will make her feel better, she says, counting the stark numbers will make her feel better.

The numbers do not make her feel better. I did not tell her so. Did you really not see that? Why did you need it said out loud? Why do you hunger so for words, always, always? You do not want to hear this tongue.

But my brother lingers. What am I trying to tell myself, what is it yet that I do not know?

The key, or its successor, lies in a box somewhere, packed, unmissed, all but meaningless.

But I don't think that's what this was about.

The wolves are outside, not within.

I must not forget that.