A brother

In my pockets: nothing because I'm wearing a one-piece bodysuit. Obviously. With a shirt over it, extra obviously.

My friend Phyllis is hanging with the little girls in their room. She comes every Tuesday. She is the woman who started my old company. A retired CEO. I loved her as a boss and learned so much from her. Never in a million years would I have imagined that we would actually be friends. Life is surprising and wonderful.

There is so much on my mind. Writing this blog is like spinning the wheel at Polly Ann's ice cream store--you never know what flavor it will land on. Depending on when I actually sit down to write you might get reflections on my old barista-turned-friend Brian and all the things he taught me without even trying. Thoughts on cancer and the ways it is touching people in my life these days and what that feels like. Musings about. . . I forget.

I spoke to Damien last night. He is somewhat of an ex-boyfriend, although we never lived in the same place. We mostly talked on the phone, for hours at a time, every night for months. Into that we sprinkled weekend visits, to LA, to San Francisco, to Nashville, to San Francisco. We met on his birthday. I was already in my pajamas, getting ready to go to bed. Fabio, another person who deserves his own entry, called me and invited me out. I said no, I'm already in my pajamas. Who cares, he said. So they came and picked me up and we went to The Page--a bar in San Francisco. I am not sure what year it was but probably around 2003 since I was living in the huge, rambling Victorian on Steiner with four roommates including my sister. It was August 5, I know that. And I think he was turning 25 so it was probably later than 2003. Anyway. We bonded over a shared love of Push It by Salt N Pepa and our relationship grew from there.

His younger brother died about a week ago. I won't write very much about that because it is not my story to tell and I am still figuring out how to do this blog thing where I write about people other than myself. When I read the news on Facebook I felt it in my stomach like a stone. Oh no. Oh no.

That's all. Oh no.

I didn't write that in the comments because I knew that would not be enough, for me or for him. Even though I knew he didn't expect anything from me. I didn't call him then either, because I knew when I did we would talk for at least an hour and I didn't have the time right then. When I tried to call him yesterday the number was disconnected so I messaged him asking for his new number. New? he questioned. It changed three years ago. Which was confusing because I knew we had spoken more recently than that. Or at least I thought we had. But the squinting and trying to remember specifics so clearly paints a picture of my life these days. At best I can see shadowing memories without being able to fill them in with dates or details. It is like waking up from a deep sleep or getting amnesia, though I've never had amnesia so I can't say that for sure. The point is that it could have been three years since we'd spoken, though I was almost certain we had talked since my first children were born.

He sent his number and we exchanged a few texts, trying to land on a good time to talk. We started our call as I drove away from Sausalito, driving through the twilight with lavender and pale blue brushing the sky. And I had nothing to say. I didn't want to say I'm sorry because, even though I was and am so, so, so very sorry that his brother is gone it is the kind of phrase that is nothing and I just couldn't bear to say it.

Did I actually meet his brother or do I just think I did? I asked him. And I explained my shadowy memory. I felt like I knew him. I could bring to mind a relatively clear picture of Garrett. Just as I could conjure up his voice in my head. A drawl. A sleepy, wry, drawn out way of talking. Hilarious but not waiting for you to get it. Tall. A little dangerous--strong and not necessarily looking for a fight but very ready to step into one if the situation presented itself. A little brother and a big brother, though I mostly thought of him as the little brother.

I write about him because I want to honor him. Share him by putting him on a page. The way he was loved and admired and known and needed by my friend. Because I in no way can let myself even for a moment imagine myself in Damien's position because it makes me want to curl into a ball and weep.

We determined that I had actually met him and perhaps talked to him on the phone. So there's that. Mostly I feel like I knew him because I heard so much about him. So many words spoken of him by a man who is an artist with words that I will never forget him. May we all be lucky enough to be loved that much.