The postcard was filthy and the edges bent. The postmark was from out in the desert somewhere in Arizona. The picture on the front was of a cactus. How original.
I stared at it lying on top of my latest Car and Driver issue. I had read it and threw it on the coffee table in disgust. The message was simple and just as insane as ever. That’s what I expected from my deranged brother.
I guess with every postcard I hoped for some clue that he had become normal.
Why was he sending me postcards anyway? He could have sent them to anyone else. Well, maybe not our parents, who would smile and nod and throw it in the trash, instead believing he was happy and doing fine. Not our sister, who would probably never read it at all. He never had friends here, being geeky and odd and a loner. So I guess that leaves me.
I never wrote back, but I also never moved out of this house, either. Maybe I was the only one who could get to him.
I picked it up, sighed, and reread the message:Assembling a woman. Due in August.