My Cardboard Balcony

Only The Stars Knew by Belinda Roddie Tonight was when we were supposed to meet again by the bonfire on Rutherford Beach, where the sky was dripping with honey smoke, and the whiskey was poured out in musical flutes. As the minstrels warbled boozy ballads, I caught ash on my fingers where the flames kissed the heavens and burned angels' halos, bronzing the gold of their celestial nimbi, unraveling their robes until they were as naked as God's first child. You were lost on the highway, your car howling at the moon, not knowing where it was, where you were, where we were supposed to meet, and somehow, after all the bourbon brains were sucked from their glassy skulls, I forgot where you came from, what you looked like, what your name was, who you were.

"Not much of a welcoming party, is it?" quipped Thomas, though he was good-natured about it. The handful of friends who had greeted him at the airport had scurried away rather quickly, heading to their cars or craving a corporate coffee. I smiled and patted my brother on the back. He had gotten bigger since I last saw him, which was good, as he needed the extra padding. "C'mon," I said. "I'll take your suitcase."