I went into the first-floor bathroom. There was no mirror, everyone in my adoptive family hated to look in the mirror. Inside the toilet room was a plastic basket with expired medical supplies. I took off my bandages and replaced them. There was blood on my face, I felt its sticky texture on my chin, and I was forced to wash my face, even though I prefer to wash only once a day, if at all. I left the toilet room, and before I reached the staircase, a relative accosted me and drove me into the kitchen, where the neighbors and other relatives were sitting at a table, drinking coffee, admiring the Japanese coffee grinder, and putting foil-covered dishes into the freezer. It was like when my adoptive mother was sick and all the neighbors brought dinner over for a month. When I came into the kitchen, everyone stood up and approached me, even Zachary Moon tried to give me a hug, everyone made sad faces and said how sorry for my loss they were, and they asked what they could do to help, it felt like being swarmed by insects. A grieving assemblage.
At the table not only was there coffee and tea and the grinder but also an uncorked bottle of wine. I was offered a glass by a young man with a red beard, and even though as a general rule I prefer marijuana because I lack an enzyme to properly metabolize alcohol, as I was the center of everyone’s attention and care, and the situation was so awkward, as the passive-observer, I accepted the glass, drank it down like water, and accepted immediately a second.
Then the father of the red beard, one of the uncles, stepped out of the swarm and said, Helen, come here.
He pulled me aside and thrust forward his hand.
Uncle Walt, he said.
He said it was strange to be gathered here in suburban Milwaukee and for my adoptive brother not to be present.
It’s like he’s playing a trick on us, he said, he was a very sly and crafty person. He loved practical jokes. I know I shouldn’t have favorite nieces and nephews, but of course he was my favorite. He was everyone’s favorite.
All of the relatives and neighbors formed a circle around. They nodded in agreement.
He was my favorite neighbor, said a neighbor, it was always so nice to see him walking the dog. He was so polite. He was friendly, or, well, maybe not exactly friendly, but if you said hi to him, he would say hi back.
And in a very nice way, said the neighbor.
If you needed help with anything, chimed in another, he was there. He was a very reliable and helpful person.
Your brother, said Uncle Walt as he looked at me directly, was a very easy person to get along with. He must have been such a good little brother. It’s terrible, what happened to him. If he was experiencing pain or having trouble, he was very skilled at hiding it and covering it up.
My face was flushed; I had no idea what Uncle Walt was saying or from where he received his information.
Did my adoptive father tell you that? I said. Did he tell you that he was hiding things from them?
Oh no, he said, it’s just something I’m hypothesizing, based on the last time we saw him. You see, Helen, a few months ago he came out to visit us in Colorado, which was very unexpected. I think he reached out to us through your mom. He had an interest in fly-fishing, so we, my son and I, took him fly-fishing. I showed him how to tie lures, we went to the sporting-goods store and bought him some boots and a vest and a hat. We outfitted him expertly. He told us that he had always been interested in fly-fishing, in fact I remember he said that he thought it seemed like a very meditative thing to do, that was exactly what he said, he was such a perceptive person. He’s right, it is a very meditative and calming activity. We had a really good day fly-fishing.
Tears came to his eyes.
So naturally, he said, we were very sad when we heard the news.
Did fucking Uncle Geoff call you? I said.
No one heard me.
Does anyone know Uncle Geoff? I said.
Is he on your dad’s side? said the young man with a red beard. The red beard stood behind Uncle Walt, who was seated at the table, and it looked like he might cry, too.
Jonathan has never lost anyone close, said Uncle Walt, until now.
It astonished me that my adoptive brother had flown out to Colorado to go fly-fishing, which he never told me about, he never even told me he had an interest in fly-fishing. Where did that come from? I wondered. It was very strange, the image of him standing in a stream waving around a bamboo rod puzzled me and seemed at odds with who I thought he was. I pictured my adoptive brother, the fly-fisherman, in rubber boots and canvas clothing, like a character out of A River Runs Through It, a pointless book I was forced to read in high school for no particular reason whatsoever, except that there was a film tied to it, and then I was forced to watch the film. It was an image, the fly-fisherman, impossible to reconcile with what I knew about him. The more I tried to picture it, the more I started laughing! People shifted in their chairs and looked at me uncomfortably.
He was certainly a special person, said a neighbor.
I listened to a few more reminisces of my adoptive brother’s virtuous nature and wonderful personality, and it became clear to me that the entire conversation would be focused entirely on him for the next hour or so.
So he became a fly-fisherman, I said to myself, and what am I supposed to do with that information?
No one asked me how I was doing or what I had been up to.
No one said, Helen, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you, what have you been doing with your life?
No one said, Helen, what’s it like living in New York City? No one even asked me if I had a boyfriend! Perhaps they thought I was too ugly to attract a man. Little did they know, in my experience, even the most repulsive women will attract someone!
The entire situation irritated me and I also knew if my adoptive brother were alive, he would hate it, he would hate all of these people talking about him behind his back. I decided to leave, and headed toward the toilet again. Zachary Moon followed behind me. I said hello, and tried to keep myself from vomiting.
Is it okay if I go first? I said.
I was looking for you, he said.
He pulled me into the second living room, where it was empty. When he pulled my arm, I tumbled to the floor and almost threw up on the carpet in front of the piano.
Helen, he said as he helped me up, don’t you think it’s strange that his suicide seemed to come out of nowhere? How well do you think you knew your brother?