My brother climbs down the ladder from the sea of stars above. He’s stumbling around, breath strong of spirits, eyes glossy. He is shirtless and barefoot, jeans rolled up like he had just been splashing around in the river like a drunken man-child Huckleberry Finn.
He keeps yelling my name as though I’m not right there listening to him, and I run over to catch him before he falls over into the pasture. I support most of his weight as we walk aimlessly through the starlight.
He turns his head and looks at me with blissfully drunken eyes, wet with pools of the galaxy. He keeps repeating, You are going to climb that mountain and you will find what you are looking for! I love you, brother!
And before I can respond, he takes off running back towards the ladder, tripping and falling to his knees in the dirt. He mumbles, picking himself up and climbs the ladder back up, disappearing into the wonder of the night.
He knew how to save me, my Easter brother, without knowing how to save himself. And so I pack my backpack, grab my tent, and head towards the mountain.