I don’t know why my brother insisted on meeting in the park.  It’s not a nice day.  It’s not a nice park.  He’s rarely nice to me.

But when he called last week and said we had to talk, I had no choice but to agree.  Those times come so rarely that I convince myself the next one will be when we have a breakthrough and can talk like actual adults who are not hell-bent on making each other miserable.

Cliff gave no hint about the topic of our conversation, but a few facts about our lives ruled out common ones.  Our parents have been dead for 17 years – a car crash got them when we were in both in college.  Their estate has long been settled, leaving him with their house that was too big and me with some heirlooms from my grandmother that meant far more than that monstrosity.

His kids are both fine.  I’m Facebook friends with my sister-in-law, Joanne, though not Cliff ever since he got mad that I called out a pyramid scheme post he made and he reacted by un-friending me.  Joanne posted a cute picture of the twins at the pool this morning and then another one of them begging for some cookies at the grocery store, and that was long after Cliff asked to talk.

My first guess was that the two of them were having problems, then their entire relationship flashed in my memory and I knew that couldn’t be remotely possible.  Yeah, they fight a lot and frequently say things they shouldn’t, but at the end of the day it’s hard to find a couple that down deep loves each other more.

Cliff owned his own business, so no boss drama besides his inner demons.  Right after college he figured out a way to corner the local granite countertop market and has been reaping the benefits ever since.  Every local contractor comes to him, and even if there were a way they could find another supply, he is fair enough to them that they didn’t bother.

So, with no real idea why I’m here, I’m sitting on a bench with my feet resting on dirt that I think once held grass, but there’s little hint of that left.  I see only two cars besides mine in the parking lot.  Their occupants are still sitting inside.  It’s lunchtime so I imagine they are real estate agents or salespeople or some other job that requires them to be out and about and in need of a moment of quiet time or at least a chance to sit still.

Cliff said noon.  He is one of those guys who literally has a plaque on his wall that says, “On time is late, early is on time.”  So I got here at 11 a.m.  It’s now 12:45 and there’s no sign of him.  No text.  No call.  A police car has circled through the parking lot three times on what I’m guessing is some kind of patrol route.  Should I flag down the officer next time through and report Cliff missing?  Probably too early for that.

I said it was a crappy day and I really do mean it.  It’s overcast, the kind of sky that is cloudy but somehow still uncomfortably bright.  I didn’t bring sunglasses or a hat so I’m alternately squinting at things and staring at the dirt.  A few pleasant birds are chirping in a tree 10 feet behind me.  Several less pleasant-looking birds are circling in the sky, perhaps eyeing up a carcass they can peck at.  I’m hungry too.  Cliff said he was bringing sandwiches.

I wish I wore different clothes.  I’m not working today, but I look like it with slacks and a button down shirt.  My shoes were shinier when I sat down, but bored shuffling has kicked up enough dirt to matte them.  I want to be in running clothes, gliding around the soccer fields when Cliff gets here.  I want him to see me not caring about how late he is, out here taking advantage of every second of life I have.  I want him to know his concerns are not mine.  I want something to take my mind off trying to figure out what he wants.

I’ve figured out the basic pattern of the chirping.  It’s a call and response from the tree behind me to another one off to my right.  Clicka-dee-doo, clicka-dee-doo the rear one sings.  Dooka-dooka-chiii, dooka-dooka-chiii comes the answer.  I join in, sometimes as the clicka bird and then a minute later switching to the dooka bird.  The one I’m replacing simply goes quiet and waits its turn.  I am somehow an alpha bird on my first day in the job.

One of the parking lot cars pulls away.  I can see a woman in a blazer jab at her hair one precise time as she flips from reverse to drive and speeds away.  It’s after 1 p.m. now.  Where could he be?  I try calling him.  I didn’t want to, but I figured at the very least if something catastrophic did happen I would sleep better if his caller ID showed a missed call.  That would mean I cared, right?  He doesn’t answer, and his phone doesn’t go straight to voicemail, so it’s on and he’s not talking to someone else.

I decide 10 more minutes and I’m done.  This is ridiculous.  He can’t hold me hostage on a bench in a park all day just because he can’t bother to show up.

Can he?