"Red crayons - the fat kind that little kids can hold," he explained.
Stop lights.
Cooked lobsters.
Beating hearts.
"I'm green now, so there's no reason to behave that way ever again. I just need some more colors to fill the palette."
I steered from his cerebral chromatism towards more tangible things.
"Have you found your social security card?"
"You know I can't enter any federal buildings. The frequency is just too high."
"But you can mail in the application for a replacement, right?"
"When I get close, you can literally see the smoke coming out of my ears."
I chatted with him for another twenty minutes or so, trying to keep a positive tone. It's like entertaining two separate conversations - my half anchored in reality and his half abuzz with sights, sounds and reactions that no one else can sense.
Through the delusions and scattered rambling, I know he's still in there.
He is my big brother.
