Two boxes, left on my doorstep.
I recognized the sender, but wondered what he could be
sending me.
The boxes didn’t feel very heavy.
So I opened one and carefully
pulled back the bubble-wrap … imagine that, a clay mask of my brother’s face!
At this point the writer’s imagination ran wild. It was like
someone had opened the paddock and all the horses ran free, all except one, common
sense. Yes, it’s a small pony that often comes trotting out, slowly, long after
the mustangs have raced off into the wild.
I had not just found Data’s head, like in the Star Trek TNG
episode “Time’s Arrow”. I had merely received the mold and plaster cast the
very talented sculptor, Edward Trobec, had used when he’d asked my brother to
be a model for one of his bronze sculptures some ten years ago.
But … what about the story? How often does one receive one’s
brother in the mail like that? It just screams short story, but what genre?
Horror, comedy, I think I’ll skip tragedy, but a story there will have to be.
Where shall we put Uncle Ron, I asked my offspring? Up
on the one bookshelf that survived my recent move? Can we deal with Uncle Ron
looking over us, down on us? No, he’d never do that.
A wingless guardian angel of
sorts, urging me to write … yes, that will work fine.
Now to fill my pen with ink and find the box with paper!
