The Passerby
“Yes, yes I know!”
Freddy stood at the head of the table, a bottle of beer in his hand, poised like a preacher about to say the day’s sermon behind the pulpit. Everything about him was red: his face, his hands, his eyes; certain puffiness was developing on his cheeks.
“But this is precisely the agenda for tonight,” he continued. “Precisely the point of this invitation!”
Jun waited for a moment to pass. The living room trapped in the uncomfortable warmth of a summer night, the dead air still above his head, swirling only like vortices whenever it touches into dews against glasses half-filled with ice and brew. He nodded helplessly and stared beyond Fred.
“Imagine, Brother, these old people. Old people! Squabbling over money, not theirs, but ours! Dammit! What is conscience to them? Where is the honor and dignity in that? They will die in a few years, these damn thieves, and they worry not one bit about where they’re going!”
“Their reasons may not be that simple,” Jun managed to reply.
“Shut up, I’m not finished.”
“You’re drunk. We’re done here.”
Fred looked at his brother. It was a look that registered something neither regarding blood nor reason, but of an emotion that can only be likened, or at least approximate, to pity.
“You are just like the rest!”
“It’s politics. You know I hate that subject.”
“You don’t care!”
“Besides I hate arguments.”
“You are dead inside and I know it!”
Jun dug his nails on his thighs beneath the table just so the pain would keep him from responding against his older brother’s hostility. The moon was obscured briefly by a passing cloud, casting a dim shadow on the front yard, the well kept Bermuda lawn turned to black-green continuous with the deepening night. The clock said 1AM Saturday, April.
“It’s late,” said Jun standing suddenly. “I need to go home.”
“I thought this was a step, no, a leap for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, spending the night with me.”
“I still…”
“I thought Melly was good for you, but she had you locked up in that house.”
“Don’t go in there.”
“Jesus Christ wake up!” Fred continued neck veins visible now with the tangent light. “She left you! And when she came back, she dragged with her this …”
Fred saw the remaining image of the nightlight above their table against the closing darkness of his dimming vision. He felt a warm liquid flowing from his nose and tasted something metallic at the back of his mouth. He gave in to the swelling compulsion of laughter rising from his throat.
“You are a passerby just like me!”
“You are pathetic.”
“At least I know what matters, now!”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“They’re all going to hell; Bastards, thieves, all!”
“Another day then; when you’re sober.”
Jun walked all the way home, a good two-ride distance from his brother’s house, just so he can clear his head. No, he was not drunk. He was not sober either. He was at the very tip of inebriation, at the very edge of reason. He marveled at how he can still walk with his back straight, clear-headed and majestically calm as he went down the road, passing an old, closed lot that used to be a park. Tall, untended trees, their branches spreading out well into the street, hid the overgrowth of weeds occupying beyond the perimeter fence. That should discourage the homeless, thought Jun. The rustling of leaves accompanied his footsteps, as he passed under the arc of brightness made by a flickering lamppost. He could see briefly, between the alternating light and darkness, the colors of seasonal flowers in full bloom. They must be beautiful during the day, he said to himself. Unfortunately, he won’t pass this way again. He stood there absently for a long time.
When he got home, the first thing he did was kiss his son.
