Siblings.

~ Live & Learn

safe,parent,

She’s 23.  Her Brother, 22.

He orders a Tom Collins, and gets carded.  She, a Zinfindel. Dad, a tall ice water. “Sparkling, or Flat for you Sir?”  “Tap, Miami’s finest please.” After dinner cocktails in a hotel bar, with of-age children. Embrace the memories, block the melancholia. I fail, it seeps in and then overwhelms me, water around stone.

It’s a quiet Friday night. The Sushi Chef leans on the glass case and flirts with the cocktail waitress. She’s wearing a smart black skirt and jacket.  On the other side of the bar, middle aged lovers huddle, whispering.

A one-man band blows on an electronic wind instrument, alternating with a brass trumpet with a black trumpet cap.  His supporting cast, multi-colored bars flashing on a laptop and pumped out of tall, thin, floor standing speakers.  He sways to and fro, lips pursed on reed. The Chill music hangs, a sweet fine mist over the valley.  One could drop this, all of this, in Ramblas in Barcelona, in Gastown in Vancouver or the Dièse Onze in Montreal.  Vibe, Same.

The eyelids are heavy, barbells. The body, from its all day soak in the sun, the wind, and the ocean salt, aches for rest.

I watch them leave together, bar hopping. She leans into him with her shoulder, they laugh. How many times in their lifetimes? Hundreds of times where Mom, and Dad, the Heavy, broke up skirmishes, and worse. Salter’s Light Years: “Passing of life together, a compact that will never end…lives formed together, woven together.”  And Parents stitching, braiding, weaving it all in the hope of This. Look, This, a tapestry. Full body warmth rushes in.

I ride the elevator up.  Melancholy, a Tsunami now.

I turn in, and surrender.

∴  ∴  ∴

It’s 1:15 a.m.  They aren’t back yet.

With Eyes closed, the Rat works the Inside, sniffs and then gnaws at worst case scenarios.  I pull the covers up, chilled.

1:25 a.m. They aren’t back yet.

1:35 a.m. Nothing.

1:42 a.m.

I hear fumbling at the door with the key. And then giggling.  The door opens, loud whispers.

“Dad, why are you up?”

The Rat releases. The body surrenders and drifts off.

Rest, children. Rest.

Notes:

 

44 thoughts on “Siblings.”

  5. Beautifully limned, pal, as always. I don’t have children, but been experiencing this from the *other* side with *my* parents. These days, anytime they get ready to go on a trip, I want them calling before they leave and when they get there, telling me where they’re staying, making sure they have their cell phones, the whole nine yards. And every once in a while, I catch myself in ‘mid lecture,’ and realize, “Ahhhh, yes, THIS is what they were talking about when I was growing up….

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  17. Ah David, exquisite, and it never ever ends. Even from the other side of the Pacific Ocean, I wait for them to check in, the Rat always present , especially when a gentle query goes unanswered. .. And the melancholy a bare half heartbeat away..

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