Last night I found him crying in the garage. He was holding an old photo of himself with short hair and a tie—from when he wanted to be a lawyer. “Papelucho,” he said, “do you think I’m crazy?” I thought about it. “Yes,” I said. “But you’re also my brother. And you smell better today. Less forest.” He laughed. Then he taught me a song about peace and a river. It was kind of nice. Until his friend “Tierra Libre” tried to hug our refrigerator because it was “humming a lost melody.”
Well, excuse me for wanting breakfast.
Here’s an original short piece inspired by the title Papelucho, mi hermano hippie , blending the classic Chilean character’s voice with a 1970s counterculture twist. (As told in his secret notebook, the one with the flower on the cover.) papelucho mi hermano hippie
Mamá almost fainted when she saw him. He had a feather in his hair, sandals made of old tires, and a necklace of dried beans that he swore was “medicinal.” Papá just looked at him over his newspaper and said, “Javier, you smell like a forest after a rainstorm. A strange rainstorm.” Sol Naciente smiled and said, “That’s patchouli, Dad. It aligns the chakras.” I don’t know what chakras are, but I think one of them got aligned onto the couch because now it smells forever. Last night I found him crying in the garage
Now I have to go. Luna Marina is trying to teach the dog to meditate, and he’s just sitting there confused. Poor guy. I know how he feels. “Yes,” I said
I asked Sol Naciente if being a hippie meant you couldn’t bathe. He said it meant you respect water as a sacred element. Then he put a flower behind my ear and gave me a bracelet made of yarn. I wore it to school and my friend Rodrigo said I looked like a curtain. But I didn’t take it off.