A Letter to my Brother

The Letter

October 15 2021

Dear Roman:  

I pray you understand how difficult it is for me to share your sentiments; my eyes have been weary from constantly staring at your post card mailed to us from Jamaica. Ps: That red shirt makes you look like split ketchup, stop challenging my OCD.

It has missed me entirely how high the supply of audacity is here, since yours nearly drove Mother to an early grave and successfully drove Father back into the hands of his first love— whiskey. That same hell we fasted for years to get him out of. Thanks for that. 

I hope the tone of my penmanship epitomizes the gravity of the havoc you have wreaked and left. Father always believed you were a good-for-nothing failure, but I don't think he ever truly believed you'd prove him right. 

If your plan had always been to bring such great a shame upon him and our family by forgetting the most important day of our lives, you should have changed your name and asked him to disown you months in advance. He wouldn't have, but he'd at least be prepared. 

And the poor girl, may God have mercy, she was dolled up prettier than she's ever been, only to be heartbroken by a pig who left her at the alter. You should know your ex-wif—  or I should say ex-fiancé, by now. Roman, she was not raised like us to endure injustices. She'll never come back from this.

I even posed this question to everyone in the manor, the maids and even to Benjamin who still seldom entertains my trivia, trying to make sense of what you have done. Roman, why did you do this? No— how could you do this?

Brother, wherever you are, I thought you might like to know that my mother's fever is almost gone and Father's yelling has subsided a bit. It took the carving of Mary and our Lord and Savior hung on his bedroom wall, to keep him from putting a curse on you.

Wipe the smile off your face, for Father did manage to pray that your disappearance and prolonged absence is the result of a hostage encounter, or even better, you were swallowed by a whale like Jonah for your disobedience.

At least then, as the man of faith he claims to be, a somewhat plausible excuse can be provided to the girl's father who you've clearly forgotten is the President. If your reality somehow proves to be the latter, metaphorically speaking, of course, I urge you, start praying so your return may be quick. It took Jonah three days, you've been gone for six.

I thought you'd also like to know that as miserable as your sudden disappearance has made me, I will not deny that I have been entertained by the excuses Father has come up with to justify the disappearance of his only begotten son. 

But I do miss you, Roman. 

I will save you my counselling and offer you my best wishes. Best wishes. If you aren't dead, come back and apologize to Father and Candace. If you are dead, still return. I'll leave the door open.

Forever Yours.
Saph