i have numerous curious black-blue dots on random points of my body. hands. elbows. calf. even on the middle of my back (right behind my heart, it was described). he once asked me what those things were- i wondered if he was trying to be cute. 'of course, it's the pencil marks.' he looked at me with a slant, trying to figure out which part of me was the mad bit; alas, i had to remind him that thanks to brothers, i am covered in remarkable constellation map of some random universe, lovingly marked by my own flesh and blood siblings, each hand done with a sharp pencil. and of course, there was no silence but a insistent denial of such episode(s). year after year. to the point that may be i should give him 'one' to remember.
every time i crossed the ocean, i used to pick up a carton of fags. even after i have stopped smoking (though i would glad to go back smoking tomorrow if i were terminally ill and had only a year to live. i would be a proper chimney). that was always for the kiddie bro. of course, i refused to give them off as gifts, i did charge the duty-free prices, however, it wasnt such a bad deal for him, as he saved about 50%. the endless trail of lighters found in his room after his death confirms his dedication to fags. ha ha! i wonder where all those lighters went- i put them into a box then next time i returned to mom/dad's, it wasnt there in 'his' room.
i remember him saying that next time minnow comes over, we gotta take him to a proper good restaurant. and though it was exciting, that usually meant that he would 'drive' us and i would 'pay' for all of us. but i wouldve been happy to do it. in fact, eating was so important to both of us. minnow thought it was hilarious that we devoted so much concentration on food. but the first and last meal he did for us at his old work- a proper 10 courses meal (5 courses each, but all plates were different, hence 10 courses) probably would easily be the best food i ever had. not only well-done, but also done with love and pride. he was so happy that i was the first one of the family to have eaten at his work, not just a la carte, but doing the proper tasting menu.
funny, i had to look at my google calendar to realize that it happened in 2009. by 2010, he was already gone. and now, 2011.
what a weird feeling. it's been over a year already since i lost my wee bro?
not only a year-
2 years, 3 months, 30 days-
851 days, the kind web date calculator reminds me,
wee bro has been buried in my heart. and the gap grows.
10,106 days, we lived and barged into one another's life.
sherazade would have told her stories,
10 times fold for those nights.
she would have grown old and mature,
beyond her beauty of the younger days.
by 10, 106th night,
shahyar would have grown fond of her slack skin,
as he would know every single one of them.
engraved in his heart through his fingers.
and as small wee ordinary individuals,
we also shared stories, him and i.
and also of smaller sagas we collected individually,
often heated and puffed up, like wheat puff cereal,
larger than life.
but thats the best way to tell stories,
with personal flair and a bit of sprinkled embellishment.
and today, 851th night without the living wit of wee brother,
i am attempting, with great sincerity,
to put a sprinkle of gold speckles,
fairy dusts to lift my mind,
through the heavy thunderstorm and proper tornado warning,
just to see if i can tell a story of an ordinary kid,
a brother, a son, a friend,
buried in my heart,
beating beating beating beating
through the rigid boundary of so-called reality.
i love you wee bro.