A Mouthful of Lost Thoughts

2

"Hey, Danny," he sang, barreling through the door, giving me a nonchalant swat on the head as if it hadn't been more than three days. I looked him up and down, puzzled, with a concerned expression plastered awkwardly on my face before I finally got a grip on what had found its way to my doorstep.
"Isaac!" I spread my arms before retracting at the sight of the clump of feathers laying in his hands. My bewilderment searched his eyes with a sharp look, hoping he might take the hint and explain, but he stepped behind me, ignoring it completely.
"I'm glad to see you too, but you might wanna keep it down," he chimed light-heartedly, welcoming himself inside. I whisked myself away in a hurry, whipping around as he set the mess of wings and feathers on my living room table. Curiously, I peered over his shoulder, unable to tell whether the mangled pile was dead or alive. He unslung the bag on his shoulder, throwing it over the table and shuffling around before pulling out a small, cardboard box, two-inch holes poked crudely between the lid. Underneath lay a thick layer of foul-smelling grass and hay. He placed the bird inside, and turned back to me with an all but blank expression.
It nearly made my knees buckle.
"Okay, Isaac," I began stifling my questions, grinning like a child. I couldn't seem to stop grinning. "What are you up to this time?" He plucked a syringe from the table and brought it to my eye level, far too close for comfort. I stared at him with every inch of resolve I had, as if the time passed since high school hadn't been but a second.
"I'll get to that in a minute. How are you, Danny?" He chimed, contradicting the near grimace that loomed over our faces. Now that I had gotten a good look at him, something was different about Isaac. He was never much to look at--he was a rather heavy guy who always had a rather distinctly disheveled look to him, but seeing him then, he seemed to have let himself go, but I forced myself to disregard it. Something glowed in me now that he'd shown up on my doorstep, and I was able to ignore any other factor in his arrival.
"I'm alright, but... I haven't seen you since the wedding. What in the hell is this about?" His dark eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to speak, but the sound was trapped in his mind for a brief moment. He shook his head and brought his hand back down to his tattered grey coat with a huff.
"Just a sec, Danny." He reached for his pocket and pulled out a flask and rose it up to his mouth, his lips parting with a crooked smile. The stench was revolting, as was the swish sound that followed.
"Jesus, Isaac! It's not even past noon yet." I scolded. Some part of me imagined he would've sobered up by then, or at least that's what I'd hoped for him. He gave a rioting laugh, rubbing drops of the foul smelling alcohol from his face and shaking his head at me.
"See this?" he said, disregarding my tone and reaching for the jar, still lying on the table. I was taken back at how noticeable his lisp still was all these years later. Isaac had a funny way of speaking, like his own unique dialect, stretching the vowels into funny shapes and patterns in his speech. He stared at me with rapt avidity in his gray, telling eyes, something I hadn't realized was missing in ages.
"Looks a lot like Listerine." I huffed, my arms folded nervously over one another. "You come all the way from Washington to show me that?"
He flickered back to life, wasting no time to think.
"Yeah, well this Listerine's gonna change the world," he said with such conviction I might've believed him. It may be true that anybody else would've taken such an obscure statement for fiction, but I knew my brother. I knew Isaac.
"And how's that?" I asked with urgency, "What's it for?"
Isaac chuckled, staring at me as if I were far away, gazing at something distant and uninteresting behind me. It made my skin crawl. His attention shifted back and a meandering smile crept across his face.
"It's a cure for death," he beamed quite casually, looking at something out the window but directing everything to me. I stared back at the box in disbelief, the bruised and broken cardboard lid halfway covering what was soon to be a rotting carcass. By the time Isaac came back into focus, my instincts were cringing unbearably. I guess I could've pieced it together then, but I didn't know what to say. I rubbed my eyes with my hands, loaded with questions but stuck on what to think.
"What do you mean by 'a cure'?" I challenged, my tone laced with suspicion, just enough delight not to tip him off. It hadn't been unlike him to make jokes like this as kids, after all we'd believe just about everything he said because most--hell, all of the time, Isaac was right. He hesitated a moment, which was unlike himself, rubbing the nape of his neck with one hand, his eyes shifting awkwardly from left to right, but finally landing back on me.
He offered the simple word, shrugging his shoulders heavily. "Okinawa."