See, last week, he was supposed to be home. He had decided that once his lease was up, he'd take a housesitting gig, and when that was wrapped up, he'd come home. My sister had called, he told her he'd quit his regular job (working nights in an adult shop) in order to get his stuff together and then he'd be home.

He never showed.

So my sister called again, because, hey, how exactly is he getting home, anyway? He never asked for money for an airline ticket, he said he didn't want to drive cross-country with Dad, and come to think of it, is his truck street-legal?

She called his forwarding number. Disconnected. She called the housesitting job, and the homeowner said that he'd never gotten in touch with her, so she had to get someone else at the last minute. She called his old job only to find out that he had actually been fired two weeks ago. No one had seen him. No one had heard from him. According to reports he'd been getting really thin and no one ever saw him and no one from his old crew talked to him much anymore and no one had any idea where he was living or what he was doing.

I emailed a couple of friends out there to see if they had any ideas and my family called upon my uncle, who's the municipal solicitor in a couple of places hereabouts, and the search began. My dad met with the cops (he said later that he could totally hear the Law & Order theme crank up in his head, they were so happy to have something different to do), who contacted the Seattle police, because, dude, does any of this sound normal for someone who is usually pretty outgoing?

So they were trying to contact all the poeple he ever knew out there, and my sister checks in at his old workplace one day. The guy says the manager might have an idea where he is, try back after 5. The cops call back and tell the guy they want a cell or home number for the manager. The manager gets them in touch with Britney, who tells the cops that Tug is no longer staying with her, no, really, she swears, but that he is working as a dishwasher in a seafood restaurant and that he'd told her he'd changed his mind about coming home, that it "wasn't his scene".

Oh.

How about one of us ripping off your arrm and beating you to death with it? Is that "your scene"?

She said he'd be back at work Thursday and they said, okay, we'll go talk to him then. (Presumably for his benefit as well as ours; they wanted to make sure that we didn't molest him or something as well as making sure he was healthy.)

In the meantime, I am flipping right the hell out, because, well, what the fuck? You tell your entire family that you are coming home on a certain date and then never bother to show up at all or call to say you've changed your mind? Like I told my sister: "I don't care if he had a fight with you. I don't care if he's mad at Dad. I don't care if I've pissed him off, somehow, except I sent him a thousand fucking dollars in June and he never goddamn acknowledged it. But he needs to call his mother! CALL YOUR FUCKING MOTHER! CALL YOUR FUCKING MOTHER! SHE SENDS YOU MONEY AND SENDS YOU THINGS AND HAS NEVER EVER JUDGED A SINGLE THING YOU HAVE DONE! YOU CALL YOUR FUCKING MOTHER IF YOU DO NOTHING ELSE!"

My neighbors think I'm nuts, now.

The cops went to see him on Thursday, at Anthony's. They say he is healthy. They say he is happy, that he has a decent job as a prep cook, and that he laughed when they showed up, and said "I know why you're here. I haven't talked to my family in two months and they reported me missing."

So he knows that we were frantic and yet, he didn't call. The cops said "Look, they know you're 27 years old and they can't make you do anything, but they're worried...if you can call one of them, please do."

No one has heard a word.

There are people out there frantically searching for their families right now who may never see them again. And he can't be bothered to call his mom. Our grandfather is getting thinner every day. He doesn't drive. He is feeling sad, and useless, and Tug is his favorite, and he doesn't know any of this is going on. He just knows that it's Tug's birthday and that he misses him and he has a present and wants to know where to send it. And we can't tell him. And by the time Tug decides that we're his "scene" again it might be too fucking late.

He just doesn't care. I don't know what we did, but it's hard to apologize if no one tells us what we did wrong. This is my baby brother, who wouldn't get out of his crib if I wasn't there to piggyback him, who would climb into my bed when there was a thunderstorm or when the cropdusters were flying, who still slept on my bedroom floor on Christmas Eve when he was fifteen years old. This is my brother who knew everyone in a 150-mile radius at his college and will talk to anyone who will listen, who made Leah do strange baby dances to the theme from "Jabberjaws" when she was three weeks old. And I thought he was dead on Monday and now I know he's alive and I miss him and I will never forgive him for this. Ever.