Brenham County Courthouse

I should’ve made him iron. I don’t know if it matters and I wish I looked nicer, like I’d planned, just in case IT matters. As it happens, instead, I’m sitting here with hair dye on my head. Yes, dye. the can leave on foreverlong without your hair falling out. We put it in last night and I overslept so between washing my hair or getting Spencer to court on time, it was an easy choice. Easy, but weird.

The trip here was unexpectedly entertaining. What used to be excruciating hours or days trying to connect has become, instead, an easy flow of ideas, memories, and updates. I love this little human being more than any other.

6’2″ isn’t conventionally little. But he’s my baby brother, what can I say?

We arrive and he unquestioningly directs me where to go, inserting quips about the first floor and how much we’ll move around. Though it had always been my plan, I’m touched the he has learned to expect me to stay with him. I remember our lives years ago and say a prayer thanking God that in at least some measure, we’ve escaped the curses of generations past. The fact that I pray this while sitting in a court house is not ironic, but striking.

I ponder the great court, what will happen when we are called to all rise. I wonder that I had so many court dates, yet never had to appear, while he has to be at each of his. My mind wanders between the here-and-now, the somewhere-and-sometime else, drifting through the in-betweens.

My great high priest lives and pleads for me, and my brother stands, in slacks and pink-checkered vans, not entering a plea. Lawyers gather outside the door, peering beyond where we, the unaccused, may go. The dress and demeanor of those outside so different than that of those in. Some are wandering, some are lost. A cowboy, truly a boy with strong gait but young, scared face, walks up and gets scanned. Oh, he’s one of them, the hall notices.

We wait. No one here is really here. Everyone is on their way somewhere else.

I wish I had coffee.


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