A few minutes ago, I reached for my cell phone. There was a killer show starting on BBC America, and I was certain my brother would want to watch it. I tapped a speed dial number and then stopped.
He's not there. He's not home. Never will be again.
I stared at his entry on my phone. I hit the options button. What would I like to do? Edit the entry?
Erase is Option 7. My hand hovered over the 7 on the keypad.
But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. Erasing him from the cell phone is like erasing his memory somehow. I know that's ridiculous, yet the primitive child in my brain tells me it's so.
It's still too soon. It seems... wrong... disrespectful... Unfair.
Fuck. For that matter, it all seems unfair. And wrong.
I think his phone was disconnected before he died, actually, when my sisters cleaned out his house during his final hospitalization. The number may even be reassigned already. There's probably some perky young thing ready to answer my call and tell me I've misdialed.
But, on my cell phone, my brother's still there. I can fool myself a little bit. "Edward George" it reads on the screen. I can pretend he's waiting to hear from me.
I think you'd like this show, Ed. Wish you were watching with me. I hope you can hear me now.