Thou - O 39-brother Where Art

“I missed the funeral,” he said. “Dad’s. I was in a yurt in Montana, trying to communicate with mushrooms. When I came out, three months had passed. Three months, Jonah. Like water through a sieve.”

“Get in, Leo.”

“Shotgun,” he said.

Our father passed. I sold the bait shop. I got a sensible haircut, a sensible car, and a sensible wife named Beth who asked me twice a year if I ever thought about Leo. I always said no. That was a lie. I thought about him every time I saw a man walking too slowly, or laughing too loud, or wearing something that didn’t match. I thought about him in the quiet hours between midnight and three, when the world feels like a waiting room. o 39-brother where art thou

“You look like a scarecrow,” I said. “I missed the funeral,” he said