For reference, here is the text of an e-mail I sent to my oldest brother shortly before Thanksgiving:

Sent: Tuesday, November 23, 2004 5:26 PM
Subject: Hey

Hey there,
I hope you are doing well. I would call, but I assume you wouldn't pick up the phone if you saw it was me (yes, I admit it - guilt trip implied). I figured I would write you an e-mail in the hope that you might actually read it, and maybe even respond. I know you have been busy - I understand that, believe
me. It is difficult to stay on top of things when you appear to be cramming an activity into every waking moment of the day. Totally been there - that is
usually the story of my life. That being said, remember that there are folks out here who like to just make sure you are alive - so the occasional 2 line e-mail confirming that would be much appreciated. Funny thing is that when people start to worry about you, the first thing they seem to do is to call me. They are always disappointed when I don't have any news to share. It then worries me that *no one* has heard from you. I then try to get a hold of you and I can't, and, well, it worries me even more. Would that I could write you off and not worry about you, but you are my brother and I love you, and so I will always be
concerned for your health and well being. Anyway, I am sending this before Thanksgiving because I would love to see you (as would many other people - it would mean a lot, lot, lot to mom). It wasn't meant to be a scathing and awful letter. I hope you don't take it as such. I am just frustrated with the fact that you won't talk to me (I am not really sure what it is I did wrong), and I wanted to let you know that I hope you are coming home.

Talk to you soon??

I then signed it. (Tricky, tricky - I left my name out here... Oh, I am a sly one).

Over the top? Scathing? Demanding? Bitchy? I don't think so. At least, despite all of my aggravation with him, it was not what I was going for. Heavy on the guilt-trip factor, but, at least it was admittedly so. I really, sincerely, just wanted a reply.

He is my brother after all. We have been related for my 27 years of life, and almost the entirety of his 29 (nearly 30) years on this planet. We used to talk, if only infrequently. When I placed a call his direction, he picked up. When he was in town for his birthday, we hung out. Unthinkable, I know. And yet...

Then it all changed. With the onset of summer, apparently came a change of heart. He decided to break up with his girlfriend of three years (a long distance situation) by simply ceasing to speak to her. A hysterical type, she calls me concerned for his health and well being, frightened that he is missing. A quick spot check of the family (immediate and extended) reveals no one has spoken to him in a couple weeks (though this is not unusual). She then calls campus police. (My older sibling's addiction of choice is not designer drugs nor gambling incessantly nor even mainlining Starbucks coffee drinks, he is addicted to higher education. Though only moderately higher - he is in year 13 and school number 4 of his undergraduate education. His receipt of a degree is now seriously meriting consideration for the ultimate sign that the apocalypse is upon us. The Red Sox won the World Series before he has graduated for God's sake. Maybe he has a Ruthian curse upon him. Nah.) The campus police are wary of a claim that a near-30 year old man has gone missing after 27 hours, but they check it out. His roommate says he is not around but he will give him the message. Does she take comfort in this? No. The running theory then becomes the roommate must have killed him.

Clearly, she (and I suppose I, for ultimately joining in her hysteria) have been watching too many Lifetime movies of the week. I figured he did not want to talk to her and, as such, was ignoring her calls. I assumed, however, that he would talk to me.

Well, in assuming, I did make an ass of myself, but I did not make an ass of him - he already took care of that. Nearly a week and a half, 50 odd calls to his cell, one more call to the campus police, several impromptu faux-therapy sessions for his GF, numerous sleepless nights, and surfing the travel sites for a deal to fly down and look for him - I get a call from him.

So swamped. So unavoidable. Couldn't be helped.

But not "so sorry."

Though in my relief, I didn't hear that part - the loudest part of our conversation, that which was unsaid - at the time.

I just swam in the refreshing pool of my relief. I told him to call the GF. It was his responsibility. It was just what is right.

He never did it.

He broke up with a GF of 3 years by simply ceasing to take her calls. A move indicative of a base and shameless person. Someone with no consideration, no class. A move which inspires disgust and wrath in even in those that are bound by blood to love him forever.

Little did we know that would not be the most vile thing he would do. Ultimately, it appears he has also broken up with his family of 29 years by simply ceasing to take their calls.

My calls - inquiring as to whether he is around, wants to hang out, how it is going, what he is doing etc. - all unanswered. Troubling, but not the end of the world. Paternal calls regarding leases, rent and shared creditcards and responsibility thereof - also unanswered. Flakey, unreliable and slightly audacious, but also short of the repugnant. Repeated calls from his mother, his aunts and the rest of his maternal line regarding the quickly failing health of our grandmother - our abuelita - with whom he holds a closer relationship than any grandchild for he lived with her for sometime, and who, amidst her fevers and drifting in and out of consciousness in hospice care, was consistent in her insistent requests for him - all went unheeded. Ignored.

Vile. Repugnant. Putrid.

And yet, there is it once again. The pull of blood, of the familial relationship. The urge, the desire, the need to forgive. To believe he is better than his actions represent him to be.

But then he actually picked up the phone. He picked up the phone for the sister who - not so coincidentally - has an area code in her city similar to that of the one in his. He spoke to her for the first time in nearly a year. He spoke only of himself. So busy. No time. No money. Really buried. New girlfriend. Nearly a decade his junior. But no time. When the sister got a word in edge wise, she cut to the chase. Declared Abuelita was dying. She wants to see him. She asks for him. Repeatedly. His response: Lip-service. No money, but gonna try to get there. Maybe over holidays since they are right around the corner. Maybe will call her.

In the end: Nothing. He did nothing. We expected nothing. He lived up to it.

Problem is, even in the wake of non-existent expectations, there still lurks that damning prospect which hurts only the innocent, never the transgressor - hope.

Everyone's hopes of seeing him - those recently born, those dying, those stressed, those happy and wanting to share, those wanting to vent, those wanting to hug - all dashed.

And so the conclusion: He is my brother. He is a bad person.

No other explanation.

When you are so self absorbed that even the matters of life and death cannot jar you out of your stupor of narcissism, you are a bad person.

I would judge him an ideal candidate for the next installment of The Real World (a 6 month homage to moral turpitude and exuberant, irrepressible narcissism. "I just can't volunteer to help with disabled kids. They are creepy."), except he is too old (and I don't think I will ever see him again in order to catch him on videotape for his entry-application).

That's my brother. The Loch Ness monster. The Yetty.

And yet...

I think even Nessie and Big Foot called home every 0nce in a while.