out of the blue

Just as we were finishing dinner last night, the phone rang. It's usually someone trying to extract money either for a charity or in exchange for services. I ask to be put on their do-not-call list and go back to what I was doing. But last night was different.

"May I speak to Ms. Blaugustine please?" "This is she." (barely able to contain my impatience)This is Isaac." Deep breath. "Well hello Isaac!"

Most people who know me know that I have a brother who's lived in fairly exciting places, whom I like a lot, and of whom I'm extremely proud. This brother and I share a mother but not a father.

Most people who know me don't realize that I have two other brothers with whom I share a father but not a mother. Isaac is one of those brothers. He is five years younger than me, one year younger than my sister (the only sibling with whom I share both parents). I've never met my third brother, but I do know his first name and I know that he was born in early January 1975.

But Isaac, dear Isaac. The last time we spoke was perhaps 15 years ago. We were at a family reunion which we had scheduled after my grandfather died. We had a few days together in Michigan. On one of the last evenings, we sat down for dinner with the plan for each person to take a turn to speak about our grampa.

After we were seated, Isaac, of whom I'd been quite fond, and for whom I'd named one of my first cats, turned to me and said "You know, I've never liked you." Things went downhill as he continued to speak. Of course, he'd been drinking gin all evening, huge tumblers of it. Isaac spent the rest of the evening in the backyard. As an aside, the family gathered around me, each one coming up in a quiet moment to offer words of reassurance or a heartfelt hug. I felt amazingly loved.

Isaac has gone on to not have a relationship with our father -- I'm not sure of all the ins and outs of that. He has been in touch with my aunt and uncle who have maintained a thread to the family and, I guess, encouraged him to call me.

We didn't talk a lot. He said that he's been living in Montreal. He was well spoken. It sounds like he's an artist, struggling, but making art, as his very talented mother did. I'm sure I sounded very cautious, perhaps a little confused. He mentioned several times that he was an "idiot" last time we saw each other. He asked for my sister's email which I gave him (heads-up! incoming!). And he said he'd send me email and let me know what he's been up to.

Sometimes, sitting quietly and not reacting can yield unexpected results. I guess at this point I'm curious, perhaps a little hopeful, and we'll see what happens next.