Yesterday was the recalcitrant brother’s thirty first birthday. He spent it fishing by himself.
I can’t write you anything about him. All I can think about is watching him come out of jail, with no idea how long he’d been in there, no idea what time it was, hungry, tired, and scared and holding onto my dad like he was a hallucination that might slip away at any moment.
I don’t pray to gods. I pray to my loved ones, a vast net of folks living and dead.
Dear loved ones, please give the recalcitrant brother…
I don’t know.
Bait that tempts fish. A line that doesn’t snap. A foggy quiet day a man might spend on the water.
That, I guess, is worth praying for.