Into Orbit by Adam Jeffries Schwartz
My brother looks like an alien. His hair is gone, eyebrows also. Morphine and other poisons have made his eyes transparent; it’s painful to look at him.
Dad stays with him during the day, because he doesn’t work. I stay with him at night because I don’t sleep and mom doesn’t come at all because she pays the bills.
Narcissistic families look fine from the outside, better than fine—fabulous, superior, gifted. The only problem is we don’t exist—not really. We have no center, no values, no love, no hate either. We just have poses and indignation and touchiness. It’s like being stuck in Paris. We all live in our own private orbits, circling but never making contact. That’s probably just as well.
Dad is in a new cult, the Ministry of Love or something like that. Love is OK with me. Lots of people believe in love—the Beatles of course, other people also. It’s the chanting that gets on my nerves This cult involves chanting, I can hear him all the way down the hall.
“You are not you. You are not this. You are you. You are love. Love, Love Love. You are the spark of life, which is Love. You are not you…”
The kid’s asleep. Dad’s head is drooping, he’s put himself to sleep. It takes a special talent to bore yourself, but dad is gifted that way.
He sees me in the doorway, “Are you color blind?”
He means my shorts. I’m wearing plaid golf shorts. He’s wearing a sea foam green Armani suit of armor, a tie so subtle it has its own column in The Republic and a watch that costs more than I earn in a year, (much more).
He takes my thrift store old man clothes as a personal insult, which they are.
“What about Love, you are love. Love, Love, Love?”
“Not in those shorts.” He huffs and he puffs and he’s gone.
My brother opens his eyes, “Is he gone?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I’d die. I mean even sooner. You see the kid from Jersey?”
“No.” I say, I hadn’t.
“And you’re not gonna see him. He’s history.” The kid seems pleased by this.
“And this is good?”
The kid looks ancient, “We’re all goners. I know you are.”
He cackles and holds out for candy.
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About the Author
Adam Jeffries Schwartz
Born: USA
Now Resides: I travel constantly. This year in Eastern Europe, Middle East, Central America & early next year in India.
Online: www.adamjeffries.carbonmade.com
Bio: This story is completely true; I’m glad I survived it, I’m so sorry my brother did not.
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image by calis.
