the well

I remember how the metal looked so cold for such an explosive thing.

My brother’s eyes glistening like a tea tree lake; flickering beams of excitement yet below the surface there was a darkness, like a well I couldn’t see the bottom of.

I remember telling him to put it back before someone saw, wondering how he had even found it. I remember wanting to tell Pa but somehow never did.

Years later I remember the cook telling me about the local street gangs who used to ransack houses on our street searching for gold. I wondered if that’s why Pa had it.

I remember the year my sisters and I got sent away for school but my brother had to stay home to learn the family business.

It was the first time I ever felt more freedom in being a woman. I remember how my brother’s eyes seemed darker every time I saw him.

And I remember the day it happened. I was up country helping set up the new chemical plant. I had just been to the markets to buy a pig’s head and marigold for the blessing ceremony. The monk was beside me drinking coconut juice out of a bag when I heard the phone ring.

I could hear my mother sobbing before my sister’s voice edged it’s way through the plastic cord.

“It’s.. You have to come home. It's.. he's...”

The words drifted toward me like the invisible scent of jasmine that wafted on the wind.

I saw sweat droplets form on the monks forehead slide down his temple then hit the ground. I saw dust particles get stuck on the tips of my eyelashes as I blinked.

Suddenly everything went black. And all I could see was that cold metal in my brother’s hands. And the dark abyss of the well, that for a brief glistening moment was lit up.