“Do you wash the sleep from your eyes right after you wake up in the morning?” he asked.

“Is that why you’re calling me?”

“I’m just curious,” he persisted. “Now that we’re retired, there’s no more need to get ready for work, right?”

“You are impossible!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” he cried out sensing that the callee was about to hang up on him.

“Yeees?”

“Well, wouldn’t it be nice if we could continue exchanging notes on how we spend our twilight years?”

“Hmm…”

“I live alone and you live alone,” he hastened to say. “And we’re just recently widowed.”

He detected a barely audible sigh.

“I know it continues to be difficult, living by oneself in a big house.”

“Uhm…er…”

The hesitation now troubled him, leaving him to wonder how to assuage the situation he unwittingly created.

“I realize that it’s only less than a year since Elise passed away and you may still be grieving. I can totally relate to that, Merlinda’s demise being a few months ago.”

A brief silence was followed by a wistful, but measured, “Uh-huh…every time I pull out a towel from the closet, I can clearly hear her giving laundry instructions. ‘You put the towel ends together, allowing half an inch between the top and bottom ends since they’ll meet when you start folding the towel. And…don’t put hangered clothes on doorknobs since the finish gets tarnished!'”

“Well, I almost dropped my bonsai pruning scissors the other day when something deep in the yard bushes caught my attention. Merlinda’s favorite plant which I thought died reappeared! The fragrant petals had already fallen, leaving a seed pod that weighed down the slender, leafy stem as it leaned against the white iron plant support stake like a wounded soldier hanging onto a comrade’s shoulder.”

“It pains me to accept that the aura associated with our towels has already been washed away,” he continued, unmindful of the response. “If only I could still feel even a hint of it whenever I hold one.”

“Did you hear what I just said about how surprised I was about Merlinda’s favorite plant reappearing?”

“I’m sorry,” he said with notable remorse. “It’s just that it seems like a wink ago.”

“It will never get easier,” he cautioned. “You and I are surrounded by so many reminders.”

“I know.”

“We can; however, get better at celebrating the memories instead of longing for what we have lost. And do remember, I will always be here at your beck and call,” he consoled.

He was a year older and the mischievous, but caring, of the two. They were thousands of miles apart, but the bridge between them was timeless and enduring, brothers that they were. Unfortunately, he had already shown early moments of dementia, posing a challenge to his brother to determine whether his ramblings were serious signals or his way of toying with him.

“Now, going back to my question,” he said, shifting gears. “Do you wash your face as soon as you get out of bed?”

“Well…it depends. Sometimes, I just go straight to the kitchen to make my coffee and don’t wash my face until the day’s sweat hurts my eyes while in the middle of something important. That’s when I cuss, regretting not cleaning my face first thing in the morning.”

“No, not me!” he was quick to interject. “I immediately make my bed after getting up and go straight to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.”

“Well, I’ve always known you to be quite regimented. It was one of the reasons why Merlinda couldn’t stand you.”

“Oh?”

“You should have heard what else she told me about you.”

Dumbfounded, his ears perked up. “Elise never said anything untoward about him as her husband. Why would Merlinda?” he thought. Having the truth come out now was more than an unpleasant surprise to him.

“Well, thanks for going for the jugular. I can take it, so keep it coming!”

“No, Merlinda truly loved you despite your quirkiness,” he quipped between giggles. “Honest!”

“You, asshole!” he interjected. “And what’s your name again?”

His brother hung up.