Oliver Benjamin
“Thanks.”
“I like having you back,” he admitted.
“I like being back.”
I spent a lot of time with Jesse. We saw a lot of nature and talked
about a lot of things. We did things that seemed strange but fun to
him. We got thrown out of a pet store for trying to get the monkeys
to play harmonica. I got him to take a T’ai Chi class with me. We
became the best of friends, and he started to teach me as much as I
taught him.
One night, I was in Jesse’s room reading to him by candlelight
the story of Haridas, Tansen and Akbar. I had started reading to him
often, stories that I thought would help develop the love for life that
I had somehow missed out upon for a while. The way his eyes filled
with wonder at the stories cut deeply to the core of my being and
helped me remember.
After he fell asleep I calmly surveyed the room which had once
been my own. Many of the things that had been in there when I was
his age were still there now. As the candle flickered I looked around
and felt the years slowly drop away.
I stood up and walked over to a big old globe I remembered
from my childhood. Asia stood revealed. My father had taped a piece
of paper over India that read “We Are Here.”
I took the paper off and placed my hand upon the continent,
gently impelling it to spin, watching the pastel colors meld into a
greyish blur before my eyes in the darkness of my little brother’s
room. It gradually slowed to reveal Los Angeles. Feeling impulsive
and ridiculous, I bent down and wrapped my arms around this cheap
simulacrum of the world. It reminded me of the round, firm
fundament of my true beloved. I gave the globe a tiny affectionate
kiss, stood up and left Jesse to the developing world of his own
unbounded dreaming.
239
 |
 |
 |
 |