published September
3, 2001
written by Brandon Walston / New York
illustrated by Melissa Scram / New York
Somebody got to come quick. Somebody got to get up here now. This was Murk telephoning, wheezing and choking back the tears as he spoke. Second time that hour and the third time that day so I had no choice but to finally go to you where you lay in the other room--on your bed, in your drawers, belly up, round but solid, a knuckle of a man. You were sunk in your book. A well worn something--weak spined and swollen paged, dropped in suds water too many times to count while tub soaking--you moved it closer to your face, ignoring me, as I spelled out the situation. Back then, we lived in the rooms above the Korean grocery, right there on the corner of Murtle and Vine: tiny windows, little air but at that moment I breathed deeply. Fine that you wouldn't move for your brother, stuck and hurting on the other side of the city, but that you would not move for me? I sighed and cursed myself, knowing I should have known. I turned, went and fetched my most comfortable shoes from the other room (where I had been watching the Creature Feature on channel 48, as it was a Friday afternoon and little else to do stranded there with you).
Isle of May