Early Flight

I twisted in bed until 3:30AM last night, worried that we would not wake up by 3:45AM. Then the light in the den came on. I called out for my brother, asking if he were awake. (Who turned on the light? Magic hands?) No response. I got up to see what he was up to. Standing in the middle of the kitchen with a face begging to get back to sleep, he said "There is a big bug in the middle of your kitchen. I don't want to do anything to stain the carpet." I saw the crawling visitor from the corner of my eye as I ran back to my room and screamed "Get rid of it! Screw the carpet!!" He complained that I was making him late for the car, but still reached for his shoe and banged it on the water bug. After folding a kitchen towel four folds and leaning down to pick up his work, he stopped for a moment. "It's still wiggling. I think it's alive." I didn't dare diagnose. I pleaded that he finish it off. He complained under his breath as he finally picked up the mess and slowly moved to the trash bin, wishing he were dreaming instead.

What was I going to do without him? And more importantly, how was he going to do it all on his own? He was to fly off to Montreal in a few hours and find his way around to his temporary apartment. Would he be able to find a decent place on his own? He had never picked anything more than a gift before. (That's not true, he managed many clients at work. That's decent experience. He can identify a clean place with a doorman.) What if he gets lonely? He doesn't really know anyone in the city. (OK, this is the dude who used to have two birthday parties a year. One for summer, one for winter friends. You think he has a problem socializing?) Did he enjoy his birthday dinner? (He pulled desert on top of all-you-can-eat sushi. I think so.)

"OK, I am going to start bringing my suitcases down," he told me as I laid on the couch I had just folded back. I so wished to open it for him again tonight. But the sheets were already in the laundry bag. Too late. He needs to go. I heard him speed down the wooden stairs, plunking one bag after another on the floor. His 6'4" frame appeared again to grab his carry on. "Do you have your passport?" I asked. "Yes," he patted the front pocket of his bag. "Tickets?" Of course, he rolled his eyes. I needed to go down my list to make sure he would make it there and back: "Keys? You have keys to my apartment? The ones with the keychain I got you?" He reached into his pocket and jingled them. "Hear them?"

I kissed him on both cheeks, rubbed his back. He told me to go back to sleep and closed the door behind him. I ran to the window. The car was there. The driver was walking towards the stoop to grab the luggage. My brother got in the car, but I couldn't see him wave because of the tree in front of the window. They sped off as if JFK was a fleeting balloon.

I got back in bed, my heart pulpitating a thousand miles an hour. I waited for sleep until 5:30 AM. I sprung out of the bed, running to the ringing phone. "Hey, I just wanted to make sure you could wake up in time for work. I am at the gate, don't worry about me," he said. "Goodie," I said. I wished him a safe trip. "I'll be fine," I lied. "Gotta run," he said and took off to his new life.