Cars

Half-awake, I lingered on my bed with bits of my dream still intact: Sean showing me a dirty steering wheel, me driving the car out of what looked like a covered parking garage, me pouring a tub of soapy water onto the Honda Civic to clean the car as Sean watches me. I can't explain my dream exactly, but there it is: my car and my brother. Two concepts I intimately connect in my subconscious, apparently. 

I turn to Sean when I have questions about cars: he, like my father, likes machines. We talk about cars when we speak over the phone. He sounds more and more like my father, even the way he punctuates our conversations with, "Love you, Manong."