In the paternal theology of cult life my brother finally found the father he never had. My father's response was to disown him. Twenty years have passed and still my father can't talk about my brother without blowing a circuit. It's my oeuvre. I'll just sit here and wait.
Girlfriends come and go, too.
Barbiturate queens with cocktail smiles. Fragile women with blond hair who try too hard. Still, intimacy was never his strong point. I married a man who is the diametric opposite of my father, perhaps out of self-preservation, perhaps out of common sense. There's so much shit to figure out beforehand, like the nature of evil.