It just wouldn't be the holidays without a hearty serving of guilt and anger, now would it? I got my portion today. I got a letter from my brother.
He wrote to me from jail. He said he had been trying to write for a while now, ever since the judge at his hearing had showed him the letter I'd written to the judge (regarding my belief that my brother was paranoid schizophrenic and therefore prone to making bad decisions rather than being a hardened criminal). He was baffled as to why I would say such bitter, unpleasant things about him. He specifically accused me of turning the judge against him with the result that his sentence was doubled. He could not believe I was capable of such treachery. I stared mutely at the letter shaking my head while John, who had brought me the mail, watched me carefully. My stomach hurt like hell.
He said that we had nothing in common, and he didn't plan to stay in touch, but maybe someday we'd meet again. He ended the letter by stating that he had one final prediction for me: California would be devastated by severe earthquakes in the near future.
Some prediction, huh? That kind of put things in perspective. Don't get me wrong, I do feel like I just kicked a defenseless puppy. I had no idea my brother would ever see that letter. I'd so much rather have told him in person, but we never saw each other, and so I suppose he really didn't know I felt that way. It was a pretty crummy way to find out. But still, there he is, paranoid as ever, and positive that he has secret information: California will experience earthquakes! Run, you fool! Half earnest warning, half urge to position himself to say "I told you so" after the disaster.
It was horrible to acknowledge his anger and pain directed at me, and wonder if I deserved it. Yet I still feel I did what was right, and if reality is harsher than either of us would wish, well, that's the way life works sometimes.
Once we were a fortress, he and I. Now only ruins are left.
