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Damian doesn't live in New Jersey anymore. He doesn't even live in the tri-state area. Damian lives in Maryland, and he hates it. It's so tantalizingly close to New Jersey, and yet no cigar. However here he remains, in Baltimore. Today he is praying for rain so the flowers he planted won't die.

He goes to the mailbox, muttering inane curses and jumbled whatnots at the sky, cos it's the bluest it's been all year. There are six bills. Six. That's a new record for like, lowest ever. Oh lucky day – it's only five. This one is a letter.

There is no return address and the postmark got rained on (who's stealin my God damn rain?) but the nearly illegible scrawl would be recognizable in a pitch black room. It's from Damian's brother, John.

John. The same John Damian hasn't spoken to on purpose for five years. The same John who lives in Damian's hometown with all of Damian's other mistakes. That same John.

Does he dare open it? Does he even want to know what this inconvenient epistle says? Might as well find out. At worst it's just another list of topics John felt he had to berate Damian for. At best it's got Damian's life enclosed so he can take it back and throw it away himself. If God loved flowers it would have rain inside.

It's typed up and official looking. And there's another thing in there, on notebook paper. Well John couldn't be bothered to handwrite anything so what the other thing is is up in the air.

Damian,

Lorenzo has been killed. He was in very close proximity with a suicide bomber. He died instantly. That is all we know.

It's your choice whether or not you come to the funeral. Personally, I don't care. Dad's going insane.

Your ex-wife would like to see you.

-John

Oh God.

Oh God.

Son,

I need you here. Ever since we found out about LoLo I've wanted all my
boys with me. I won't have my family end in pieces.

You and John may hate each other, but neither I nor LoLo ever hated you. You are still my baby boy. Come back to Jersey. Move here, if you can.

Mary is well. She wants to talk to you. Don't be a fool Damian. Love, Dad.

Lorenzo has been killed.

LoLo's dead.

Damian is really hot and sweaty all of a sudden. What once felt like 80 degrees now feels like several hundred. His dreads now weigh pounds instead of ounces. He swerves around a little, hand pressed to his forehead, dizzy, really dizzy.

Somehow he makes his way back inside. He leans on his kitchen table, trying to take deep breaths. Eventually, he lies down on the cool tile, spread out like a starfish, thankfully alone. Because Damian isn't vulnerable. And if he was, he would never let anyone see him that way.

He wakes up and realizes he should probably call up there so he doesn't surprise them. Hopefully John will answer so he can hear the disappointment in his voice. That'd be awesome.

Perplexingly enough, Damian still remembers the number by heart. It goes to voicemail. Oh well. "Hey guys, it's Damian-"

The phone on the other end gets picked up "Damian? Is it really you?"

He chuckles. "Yeah Dad. It's me."

"Are you coming up? Where are you staying? Stupid question, you'll stay here of course-"

"Dad, I don't wanna get in the way-"

"If you did it'd be nothing new, hehe."

"I'll just-"

"Stay here." A pause. "Please, son."

How can he say no to that. "Sure Dad."

"Good. You should leave now. Plan to be here for at least a week, if not forever."

"Bye Dad."

"Damian?"

"Yes?"

"Welcome home."

He lays there still. Then he reaches over and picks up the envelope which fell on the floor in his hysteria. In it is a plane ticket, for the next flight to Newark. It is one way.

Sometimes, his father…

…is right.

Damian will stick with bills. He doesn't want another letter ever again.