Packing
I have to finish packing. This may be the last
chance I can walk this neighborhood at night. I've lived here for a long
time. The chart says I've moved from Dusseldorf to here in 1970 but I remember
living in New York for a while as well. I'll have to ask him. I hope Benjamin
will not try to stop me or accompany me on this last walk. After all, I'm
not really a patient. I'm his older brother. I'm thirteen years older than
him. According to the time line, I am forty-seven years old. He's a mere
thirty-four. Still, there's no depth to these years anymore. I feel as though
I've been cheated of the richness of age, of the surety. No texture in events
that are all the same. Meaning lies in distortion. All the information is
within me has separated, the threads are torn but I myself am tangled in
the lives of so many people that I neither know or care for.
Mostly I find this ironic. It was only twelve years before that I was taking
care of Mika. Herding him in this same condescending fashion.
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