Grin

Home. Finally I arrive home after a long time away. I knock on the door. It opens. I see brother. I see my brother known since my earliest days on earth. It's good to see you, I say. He smiles. I see happiness. He invites me inside and shows me around the house. He points to work done while I was gone. Thank you for taking care of matters during my absence, I say. The house belongs to me, not him. His temporary presence protects a home we once shared. He takes me to the garage. No tools. No clutter. Absolutely clean except for a large sculpted piece in the center. Relief images on it gleam in the light shining through the open garage door. What is that? A dryer. A dryer for leaves. For leaves? For marijuana leaves. For pot? Yes. He smiles. I see happiness. It has to go, you know, not now but someday when I sell the house, I say. He smiles. I see pride. Then, I feel a pull. I feel a pull that I resist without success. I see my bedroom. I see the winter morning darkness. No longer do I float between sleep and awake. No home. No dryer. No brother. No brother who left years ago forever. No brother from my earliest days except when he lives in my dreamscape. There, he smiles still.