Dear Josh,

I am the big brother. While I have not let you forget it, now more than ever I feel like your big brother. I sit with Dad in the swing and take walks with mom to Avelthorpe and all that parental concern that we have laughed at and flaunted becomes real. The absurdity of mom’s question “are you eating?” takes on new salience in this surreal moment. While we will never quite know what you are going through right now, I can assure you that you probably won’t fully grasp all that is going on behind the bricks of 405 these days. But through this gap, this protracted and uncertain silence, I am sure that we are becoming even closer.

I fantasize of your return, big hug and expressive smile, Bob Dylan playing in the back yard, us planting that pear tree you owe me, and me letting you steal a game in the driveway. I am sure you are making new friends with your jailors and interrogators over glasses of Iranian tea, but it’s about time you bring it all back home already. As I told you the night before you rode my bike to the bus station in Sweden on that early July morning, I may be the big brother but I sure do look up to you.

Love,

Alex
Cambridge, MA