They Hid Me Behind A Pillar At My Brother’s Wedding

A tiny red line. He was thirty-four years old and still my baby brother in the meanest way.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

“I know.”

“I remember smoke sometimes. In dreams. I thought that was from the stories.”

“Maybe it was.”

He shook his head.

“I remember someone singing.”

My face went hot.

The room tilted a fraction, and I fixed my eyes on his boutonniere.continue reading …