My Brother's Eulogy

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Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Every morning at six, the stoic mountains would release a bone shaking yawn. Every afternoon at three, the winds ran through the valley, carrying away doubt and regret in their cool tides. This land was the most reliable companion I ever had. It was always there for me until I wasn’t there for it. Now, it’s gone.

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As a young boy, I remember chasing small lizards into the coastal forest near my childhood home. The crimson sea breathed in and out, just barely covering the bottoms of the massive metallic trees, themselves adorned with natural golden lanterns and sparkling blue vines. I placed my hand on their smooth, warm, porous, trunks as I hopped from base to base, following the lizard’s excited path, learning to avoid the hot red sea water as the nimble creature did. I would find a raised clearing of fresh grass and take respite from the hot waters that lapped at my ankles.

While lying in the grass and looking up through the gaps in the canopy, I would listen to the faint whispers of previous conversations the grass had overheard. It would tell me stories of lovers who embraced, explorers who once traveled, and hunters who expressed frustration at losing their prey. All of this happened right on the grass where I lay. In order to repay the grass for the entertainment, I would lean into the small gossiping blades and tell them anything I could. As young as I was, I had no tales of heroism, or fables packed with wisdom, nor woes based in despair. I only had my imagination, and my youthful ability to experience enjoyment. When I got up to continue running through the warm, damp, salty forest, I hoped that whatever person, or animal, were to next rest in that grassy clearing, would hear the whispers of me telling my brother I loved him.

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In my teenage years, I ventured into the coastal forest not to chase small lizards, but instead to retrieve oil from the bulbous flowers that grew in the forest’s heart. My mother would send me with a small metal pale, fashioned from the bark of fallen trees, to collect the floating oil so that we could light a fire in our home. I would effortlessly hop from one tree to another, never so much as dipping a toe in the hot red sea water. Once I reached the heart, I would take a moment to look at the giant being that eternally pumped life around the forest. It was a massive pulsating sack, suspended from the sparkling blue vines of the trees, which interwove amongst themselves before carrying the vibrations of the thumping heart all across the forest canopy.

Small floating flowers tethered themselves to the heart with thin coarse strings created from a hardened mucus the flower secreted. By pulling on the string, you could bring the flower down towards you, and then, if you asked politely and waited patiently, the flower would tip its cup towards your pale and give you some oil. I had to repeat this process around ten times to have enough oil to bring back to my mother. As a teenager, it took what felt like ages to complete.

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In my early adulthood I found myself living in a small apartment in a city only two hours from where I grew up. My job was important to me, but only because all of my friends said their jobs were important to them. Sometimes, if it was a late night, I would catch the purple clouds dancing in the sky, and of course every morning, there was the faint sound of the mountainous yawn, but more often then not, I slept through both. Some weekends, my friends and I would drive to the valley to let the afternoon winds carry away our doubts and regrets, but the drive was too inconvenient. There was a girl who I began dating, and one day, when we both had off from work, I decided to take her to meet my family.

The road was a dark grey color, mostly with bright yellow lines running down the center, signifying you could not pass other cars. When it was wider to accommodate more cars, the lines were white and dashed, to signify that you could pass here. The massive highways connected so many important cities and towns and made the world a much smaller place, so surely this was a good thing. I was a great driver and was able to effortlessly dart in and out of traffic, often beating the time estimate of my map program by as much as five or six minutes.

Before we arrived at my childhood home, I had to stop for gas. I pulled my four-door, silver sedan into the fuel station. The logo on the sign was one of the bulbous flowers I grew up harvesting, but this one had a smiling face drawn onto it with a giant cartoonish hand giving a thumbs up. I grabbed the cumbersome nozzle from the machine and put my credit card into the thin black plastic slot. I opened my car’s fuel tank and placed the nozzle inside. Oil from the bulbous flower began to pump through a sparkling blue tube into my car by the gallon. I smiled at the attention to detail the oil company had. I then leaned on the sedan with one leg up to try and look cool for my girlfriend sitting in the passenger seat.

As we drove away from the fuel station, she said that it was so nice to get out of the city and be closer to nature. I agreed and asked her if she enjoyed nature. She said that of course she did. She said she loved to hike and would enjoy to visit the now famous coastal forest I grew up on. I asked her why she thought we were coming here to begin with. She jokingly reminded me that we were here to meet my family, not just to enjoy nature.

When we arrived at my home, my mother and father met us at the door with smiling faces. They invited us inside the small home I grew up in, and then we all sat by the fireplace to talk. I asked if I could get anyone a glass of water or a cup of tea, to which everyone said no.

They asked her about her job, her apartment, and if she liked her job and her apartment. She told them about her job, and her apartment, and that she liked them both. My mother then noted that it was colder than it was before. She then went to the wall on the side of the fire place and pressed a button which caused the fireplace to ignite instantly. She laughed and asked me if I remembered fetching oil from the forest to light the fireplace as a kid. I said I did, and joked that the chore was a burden back then. She laughed and said that it was better now that she could just press a button. Everyone smiled, but my parents did so only to hide a deep sadness. I assumed they missed when I was younger.

After dinner, I took my girlfriend to the forest and warned her of the many dangers it held, half joking. She mentioned that I looked excited as a little boy, skipping hurriedly to the forest. When we arrived, there was a big wooden sign I had never seen before with a map signifying trail markers and construction. She had never seen the forest without the sign, so even though I was sure she believed me, I don’t think she understood. We walked into the forest along the “Lizard” trail, and she asked me why I began to roll up my pant legs. I told her of the tree hopping and sea water, so she excitedly rolled her pant legs up as well.

As we continued through the forest, we saw many other people, in fact, more in that one visit than I’d ever seen throughout my life. The gravel path that began at the wooden sign never ended, and no sea water ever lapped at my ankles. Aside from a few red puddles here and there, I saw mostly light blue dirt and decaying vines on the forest floor. The golden lanterns that stuck themselves to the trees were dim, and resembled more of a fluorescent white. The metal bark along the sides of the path were polished by the many hands of hikers passing through, sometimes even carrying carvings left behind with a laser knife. They were no longer warm to the touch. My girlfriend kept remarking how beautiful it was and how clean the air tasted. Despite her remarks, I felt the need to apologize on behalf of the forest, but decided not to.

When we reached the end of the trail, I saw a sign that said the heart was only a short trail away. Despite the rest of the forest not being what I remembered; I figured the heart would still be the same. We continued on towards it before encountering a fence adorned with the smiling bulbous logo giving a thumbs up. The words “Danger: Construction Zone. No Trespassing.” were written underneath. A hiker who was walking near us leaned in to tell me that this trail was closed now which was a shame. He told us he had walked the trail before and seen the heart. He said the oil companies were evil and should leave nature alone, so that people like him and us could enjoy it by hiking these trails. After that, he turned around and walked away on the gravel path. His pant legs went down almost to the heel of his shoe. My girlfriend took this opportunity to roll her pant legs down, saying it was actually a bit chilly.

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In my mid adulthood, my apartment was much bigger, and my job was much more important. I hardly ever saw the midnight purple clouds, and the mountain’s yawn was something I only noticed when artists forced it into their songs and movies. My doubts and regrets were easier to just hold onto than to take the time of driving all the way into the valley to let the afternoon winds carry them away. My wife had given me three beautiful children, all of whom I loved, just as my friends loved all of their children. Both of my parents had passed away younger than I expected, but they left their country home to me. During the summers, I would take my family there for excursions so that we could get away from the city.

The kids would burst through the front door and race to various rooms in order to claim a spot they could call their own for the time we spent there. One of my daughters darted into the room that used to be my father’s office and “called it.” This room was where my father informed me of my mother’s passing. She didn't know that, and it had a comfortable couch, and a large window so I understood why she wanted it.

My wife and I carried our family’s bags in and placed them near the fireplace, which automatically lit when we entered the room. She told me how nice it was going to be, getting out of the city for a few days, and I agreed. I walked over to a window facing the forest and looked out at what was left. I wondered for a moment if the whispers I trusted to the furry grass had ever comforted anyone or anything resting amongst them. I regretted never taking my wife to one of those meadows and letting her converse with the grass like I had. I saw the large tower that rose above what was left of the forest canopy where the heart used to be. My wife saw what I was looking at and comforted me for the wrong reasons.

She came over and put her hand on my shoulder and said I shouldn’t stress about work. We were here to enjoy the countryside. She even suggested that we take the kids on a walk through the coastal forest I loved so much. I flashed her a disingenuous smile, to which she reminded me that if it weren't for me, the forest wouldn't be there anymore. She told me I had saved it.

I looked at the giant smiling logo on the tower, knowing it was now the same one on my business card. I was the vice president of ecological conservation for the biggest flower-oil company in the world. I made one million dollars a year and had amazing benefits. Sleek black cars would pick me up at my doorstep to take me directly onto to the tarmac of international airports. There, private jets waited to bring me around the world visiting city after city, spending millions of company dollars to preserve land and save the environment. They told me my job was the most important one in the entire organization. I reported to the chief marketing officer, who never had anything but pleasant responses to my updates. Our meetings were usually quick, and as long as I picked high profile causes, they were always happy.

I told my wife that a walk through the forest sounded like a lovely idea, but that we should rest tonight, and gave her a kiss. Once she retired to her room, and all my children were engrossed in their devices, I placed a note on the table, picked up the extra duffel bag I had brought on this trip, and walked into the forest one last time.

Even though my job was that of an overpaid rodeo clown, I was still a vice president in an international and powerful organization, so when I told the employees to clear out of the building, they did. I planted the bomb in the main oil storage area. I set a long timer and walked out of the building casually.

Small pockets of the tall metallic trees were surrounded by expertly done landscaping and paving work in the tower's courtyard. These pockets of two or three trees were filled with artificial red sea water, and adorned with electric lanterns that mimicked the already incorrect white fluorescent light of my young adulthood. The blue vines had dried up and shriveled away long before construction on the tower finished, so the landscapers didn’t even bother there.

I hopped mockingly between two trees, feeling the cold metallic bark that may as well have been laying on its side. When I landed on the second tree, my foot slipped and went into the red water almost up to my knee. I laughed at how pathetic I had become, completely unable to match the agility of my youth. The red water was cold and sterile which sobered me up to the reality of my situation.

When I heard the explosion, I had already called the police and turned myself in.

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As I write this, I am an old man. My wife has long since passed, and my children rarely visit me. My apartment is a small jail cell but my job is the most important it has ever been. They called me a terrorist for what I did, and even though not a single human was harmed that day, they locked me up for life and threw away the key.

The metal bars of my prison cell remind me of what you became. The cold unnatural steel feels like the corpses of the trees scattered in that courtyard. The signs were all there, and even though I wanted to stop, it was easier to pretend. It was easier to devote my life to a marketing team and create gravel paths for people pretending to love you.

For this, I want to apologize. My forest, my brother, I loved you from the moment we met. You embraced me exactly as I was and showed me exactly who you were. You taught me that if I respected you for your beauty as well as your danger, I would be rewarded. You were the brother I desperately craved, but was too scared to accept.

Then I defiled you, my brother. I decided I no longer needed to ask your flowers for their oil and began taking it by force instead. I humiliated you with gravel paths. I killed you dead and I left behind a cold lifeless corpse called a park.

Like my mother, my father, my wife, and one day soon, me, you deserve the respect of passing on. To this end, I am writing your eulogy. I do this out of the respect I have for what you were, and the magic you brought into my life. In the brief moment I knew you, I was truly happy. You never cared about apartments and jobs, for you understood harmony in a way that we humans never truly can.

Yes, my brother, you are dead. I made sure of that. However, even now, as an ash ridden crater, you collect the bright green rain in your mouth. The hot red sea erodes at the sides of your body every moment, until one day it will spill into your lungs. Your metallic bones will once more sprout forth, bathing us all in the golden glow of their lanterns. Your sparkling blue veins will drape themselves effortlessly amongst your flesh, carrying your warmth wherever they can. Your voice will comfort any and all who rest in your grassy embrace.

Eventually, one day, when we are all long gone, a small lizard will hop from tree to tree making its way to your heart, where it will bow its head to your elegance, and wait patiently for a flower to tip its cup so it can drink.

My brother, for your sake, I pray this lizard never guides another like me.

With this, all that is left is for me to ask for your forgiveness. This is not an empty request, brother. I will watch the purple clouds every night before falling asleep. I will awake happily with the yawning mountains. Maybe, if I am lucky, the warden will let me take a trip to the valley, for I foolishly carry the doubts and regrets of a lifetime.