Little Brother

A galactic divide.

My little brother Barrett claims to remember everything from our childhood, like commandments chiseled in stone and passed on through the ages as scripture. I used to agree with him, and could recall similar details, faces and places. But as youth faded, so did the memories and the strength of our relationship. Because the one experience he needed me to remember most, the one weighing him down all these years later, I no longer believed happened.

“We were young,” I said. “Kids have active imaginations. Deacon came home from school yesterday and told me a dragon flew over the playground.”

“Your son is six. We were twelve and ten, and right after it happened you couldn’t be convinced otherwise,” Barrett said. He sipped his sweet tea while we rocked on the porch swing. A chorus of frogs sang a lullaby, and I was tired already, tired of rehashing the same story with every surprise visit.

“I saw Camille yesterday. She asked if you were back in town. Why don’t you give her a call,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“I’m headed back up to Lewiston tomorrow morning. You don’t even know what day it is,” Barrett said.

“Every year you head up, same date and place. I know, but what I don’t understand is why you stop here first.”

Barrett stopped the swing before I could correct myself and he walked over to the porch railing, back turned in frustration. It was bad enough I didn’t share in his enthusiasm, but not permitting him to visit, to see his nephew, would be too much.

“I quit my job and I’m looking for a permanent place up North. You won’t be on the way anymore. I won’t see you unless you choose to visit,” Barrett said.

“I just meant I wouldn’t mind seeing you on a regular basis like normal families do, for holidays and birthdays — not passing through on some… pilgrimage.”

Barrett climbed down the steps to the backyard. I got up and followed and the two of us breathed in deep, fresh air and the scent of pine needles from a large evergreen overshadowing the kid’s swing set. A small gust of wind pushed the swings, their chains squeaking, a reminder of the ghosts from our past. I looked back at Deacon’s second story bedroom window. His little eyes spied from behind Pokémon curtains. The little stinker should have been asleep. Barrett’s gaze was fixed on the clear night sky and billions of distant stars.

“Dad used to tease me as we got older, but never said anything when you were around,” Barret said. “‘Seen any flying saucers lately or little green men, Barrett?’ he would ask. I couldn’t understand why he would belittle me about it — an event so profound. But with you, he could sense the doubt creeping in, overshadowing what I knew to be true. If you had backed me up, even once, all three of us would be at the lake tomorrow.”

Twenty years later it never occurred to me that it might not be about UFOs, but instead the broken bond between a father and his sons. How dense could I be? But I still feared entertaining a series of events I didn’t quite understand or couldn’t remember clearly anymore. To give Barrett a thread of hope could have been a worse betrayal.

“What we witnessed… I never denied it. The mind can play tricks on you is all,” I said.

“I had such vivid dreams after that night, like my brain hit the rewind button the minute my head hit the pillow,” Barrett said. “Instead of the memory fading, it grew stronger, a signal on repeat sent from a distant beacon. Did you ever dream like that?”

“Yes — for a few days — maybe a week.”

“Tell me, what did you see?” Barrett asked with a mix of desperation and excitement. We were in dangerous territory. I should have shut him down sooner, denied it all and bid him farewell on his crazy journey.

“A triangular door, flooded with light, and a shadowed figure, waving us forward,” I said.

“Yes! A portal suspended in midair. Right after the meteor shower. You do remember.”

“I may remember a few details, even dreamt of them. That doesn’t mean I believe it, not the same as you. There’s a difference and it’s one Dad and I recognized. I’m not willing to throw away my future because of it. You have degrees in physics and mechanical engineering. You’re smart and capable, and your only romantic prospect is perfectly willing to date a guy with delusions of alien life elsewhere.”

Barrett’s shoulders shrunk as his ego deflated. My impromptu speech had the opposite effect. Instead of stoking the fires of a hot, tangible reality, it snuffed out the remaining embers of our brotherhood.

“I can leave tonight if you prefer,” Barrett said.

“No. Stay until the morning. Deacon would never forgive me if I didn’t let him eat breakfast with his favorite uncle.”

“His only uncle,” Barrett said, walking up the steps and back inside.

Before the screen door could slam shut, I turned and said, “Don’t be a stranger.”

“It might be too late for that,” Barrett said as he crossed the threshold.

Sleep didn’t come easy that evening. My eyes, while heavy, and my guilty conscience, even heavier, wouldn’t allow me the comfort of rest. After a lengthy discussion, my wife Abby dozed off, content I would once again reconcile with Barrett, given enough time. The sheet draped over her pregnant belly rose and fell with each steady breath. I held my hand gently on top, expecting the rolling movement of my unborn son to give me comfort. The alarm clock digits flipped over to 3am and I finally drifted into a dream state.

There we were again, inseparable brothers in sleeping bags under the stars, our future a distant unknown full of possibility. The meteor shower sparked our imaginations, and we talked about becoming astronauts, explorers through the deepest reaches of space. A tire swing swayed nearby, the branch it hung on groaning in protest. Several flashes blinded our view, and I transported, frantically searching the woods, calling out Barrett’s name. I didn’t find a younger sibling. He was grown, my little brother now the bigger of the two of us, cast in a spotlight. Another figure, bathed in light, hidden by shadow, stood in a triangular portal. The creature’s long arm stretched out and my brother received the invitation, stepping through.

I stood watching a chrome chariot escort Barrett to his final destination, aware of his physical absence, no longer a young boy waiting to fulfill a long-awaited destiny.

“Daddy,” a soft voice whispered, while a light hand shook my shoulder.

“Deacon? Is that you?”

“Daddy, Uncle Barrett is gone.”

The words didn’t immediately register, and when they finally did, the weight of them crashing down flung me from bed. Deacon and I walked hand-in-hand to the guest bedroom where I expected to find Barrett asleep. Instead, his bed was made, no indentation on the pillow, like he fluffed it in careful consideration of the next occupant. I peered out the window toward the driveway. His car remained.

“Deacon, what did you see?” I asked.

“A bright light, Daddy. Uncle Barrett and his friend went into it. They’re taking a long trip,” Deacon said.

“Did he tell you this?”

“No. I dreamed it, I think. Did you dream it, too?”

“I did.”

“But it wasn’t really a dream. Was it?”

This dragon was real, and while Abby would never believe it, I hoped to find a way for Deacon to remember. I wanted him to hold tight onto the last memory of his uncle, and to share it one day with his own little brother. He fell asleep in my arms and I cried quietly.