I'm not going to Idaho after all. My brother has told us he doesn't want anyone at his trial. My father thinks we should honor his wishes. My sister is relieved; she envisioned me showing up and screaming, "You're a moron and a freak!" at him in court. This was a possibility, I suppose. It's taken me many years to reconcile my childhood memories of a beloved brother with the actions he's taken in his adult life. I'm deeply pissed off at him over this jail sentence, and I didn't really want to go to his trial, but we thought someone should.
I was doing it for my father, you know, not for my brother. My father, who has bent over backwards for this brother, offered him a decent start in life and subsequent fresh starts, shown him more compassion than I would have, than I did, when he slid into strange, troublesome ways. My father deserves some slack. And I, who owe him my own start in life, would do anything he asked if it made his life easier. I believe in family duties, and paying your debts, and all that high-minded stuff. The only thing I won't do is be hypocritical for the sake of family duties. I haven't liked my brother, or wanted to be around him, for a long, long time and nothing anyone in the family said to me changed my mind. This is why my sister had reservations about me being the one to go to his trial. They know I don't have an ounce of do-goodism in me. I'm not likely to have been a comfortable supporter. I'm a tower of strength when you need me, and I'll never kick you when you're down, but you'll be clear on my position all the same.
The thing about this whole business that drives me nuts is how everyone else seems to think jail could be a good thing for my brother. They think the structure will be a positive thing, that he'll be surrounded by opportunities to turn his life around. Maybe. I'm doubtful. He'll be incarcerated, constantly watched, never alone, bored, and depressed. It really doesn't matter how many ministers come round to provide religious support. I don't think they cater to his weird belief in channeling ascended masters, magic crystals, and countless other new age crap. He could always end up a convert, I suppose, but I can't quite imagine it. When someone says he might learn a trade in prison I say he has a trade. He paints houses. He doesn't cope with structure all that well, he never has, and this has been the source of constant problems for him. How could jail be good for him?
It's so stupid, anyhow. I don't have a problem with marijuana. I don't think it leads to harder drugs. It leads mainly to overeating and lack of ambition, but I hardly think we have to spend so goddamn much time and money on eradicating this behavior. I think marijuana is an invaluable medicine for glaucoma, cancer, and other debilitating conditions. If we sell something as addictive as cigarettes over the counter, and something as poisonous as alcohol on our grocery store shelves, we sure as hell shouldn't be taking a high moral stand on a minor intoxicant like pot. But that's me. And I do not write the rules, and the rules are clear: don't traffic in marijuana over state lines. My brother took a risk, and got caught, and now he will pay for it with five years of his life. Three years, maybe, with good behavior. It seems unnecessarily harsh, but that's the way it is.
To be honest, I would, in fact, have gone to the trial to help my brother for his own sake as well as my father's. I don't like who he is now. I don't respect him. I don't trust him. But he was once everything to me. We were the only ones who understood one another during our uneasy childhood. Puberty was hard on me, but it was cruel to him. The transformation from adored sibling to fanatic stranger was terrible to watch, frightening and sad and incomprehensible.
Somewhere underneath this tough attitude and wintry affirmation of reality lies grief. But I can't go there again. I won't. I've mourned my lost brother. If I haven't yet learned to stop missing him, at least I've learned to go on. For love of that lost boy, I will do what I can for the man he's become.
Somewhere underneath this I am crying.
