Long Distance

 A year and a half later, my younger brother and I met for what we call our "regular gathering." He drove across the bridge, bringing a treasure box full of scraps, glue sticks and scissors. I opened the door. I gave him a hug, not only because we are both vaccinated, but because we are brothers who have not seen one another for a year and a half. 

We were hungry, so we walked up the street to get some sandwiches. As we walked, we talked. Some of it silly, some of it reflective, but mostly catching up on the year and a half that has passed between us. I may have mentioned this. The year and a half.

Before the plague, I used to satisfy myself with the excuse that he was up the road a piece and when we really needed to see each other, we would. Holidays, birthdays, special events. An art show, perhaps one in which we might see some of his work? Without traffic, we live less than thirty minutes apart. Separate lives keep us from getting together with any more regular frequency. Which turns out to be just fine since we have a ridiculously easy time falling back into whatever interaction we were having the last time we were together.

Then came the dark times. When that thirty minute drive might has well have been thirty days. We holed up on our discrete sides of the bay, and pursued our own paths through the epidemic. We stayed in touch, mostly through emails and connections enabled by having other family members who had spoken to one of us in order to keep tabs on the clan. Knowing that we were all relatively safe and sound was a comfort, but when all the holidays passed and then his birthday, I felt the void. 

But now he was here. In my kitchen. With the big box of collage fun. We got to work, listening to music, cutting and pasting. And laughing. Art therapy. We talked about all the things that had happened to us while we had been away from one another. This included the potential move he and his wife were thinking about making. Arizona. Not a thirty hour drive. More like twelve and some change. 

And we didn't talk about what that might mean for future collage parties. Instead, we bounced back and forth between current events and stories from the past. My wife and son eventually came and joined us, and we all made creations that amused us greatly. And for some reason, it made us all very tired. 

When it came time to say goodbye, my brother and I hugged again. Not because we were vaccinated, and not necessarily because we didn't know for sure when the next time we would get a chance to do that again. We did it because we're brothers.