burning up the phonelines

So, this past weekend, my middle brother, drunk as usual, fell asleep in his tent.
No big news, that.
In fact, it's a very frequent occurrence.
Here's the difference: he had a candle burning.
In his tent.

These photos show the one of the results of that error in judgement.
The phone is the third -
or is it the fourth? -
which I have bought for him in less than a year's time.
At least he had this one for more than a month.
Why do I pay for his phone service?
For just such emergencies as this. Or for those which are far worse, as in fall of 2010, when he suffered a TIA after indulging in crack with his sex partner of the time. If she had not had a cellphone, he might very well have died. He had allowed his service to lapse, yet again, favoring the expenditure of funds on recreation rather than sustenance.

Amazingly,
incredibly,
the phone, when the heat-sealed sides were pried apart, worked.
It worked!
Fortunately,
at the time of the fire, the phone was well-charged.
So, yesterday afternoon,
after he had it cut open, he called me with his news
of the fire
(which I had heard about that morning from his long-time friend Sue Crow) and with a request for a new phone.
You see, his phone would not be able to be charged again, as that port had been damaged by the fire.
I have to wonder if he would have called me if not for the need for a new phone?
Possibly. A girl can dream, right?
At any rate, he now has a phone which can be recharged. As good fortune would have it, the phones were even on sale at Target for $4.99, too! I think I will go back there in the next few days and buy another one, just because I know he will need it, sooner or later.
As for him, he is fine, thanks for asking. His right foot is scorched, but the rest of him is as fine as he gets these days. When he was awakened by the smoke of the fire, he kicked the burning plastic crate, with the fallen burning candle on it, through his tent flap. His foot, being bare, took the heat poorly, but he is tending well to it.
His tent is in good stead, too. It's truly a wonder he didn't set the surrounding woods on fire with the burning crate, but recent rains had everything well watered and not dry.
You know, if he would agree to go into an alcohol rehabilitation program, he would have other options for his domicile. But we have tried and our pleas fall on deaf ears. His chant remains, "they tried to make me go to rehab, but I said 'no, no, no!'"
I really hate that song. It's ironic that the young woman who wrote it died from her choices to continue her use of drugs.
Alcoholism, and other addictions, should not be glorified.
If the choices for that lifestyle did not adversely affect others in the addict's life, then all well and good. Sadly, addicts depend on financial - and emotional - aid from others to help maintain their drug usage, but resist any choices which would benefit all.
So, I will choose to continue paying for my fifty-one-year-old brother to have a cellphone, and paying for monthly service for that phone, as one of my monthly responsibilities. I will continue to hope he will one day call to ask for help to gain admittance to an alcohol rehab center.
But I'm not holding my breath.
I realize the folly of that hope that he will change. After all, he has chosen to pursue this lifestyle since before Mama died in January of 2001. Every once in a while, he swings closer to being a functional alcoholic, much like my ex and his friend, Bob. Then the weather will warm and he's back in the woods, living by his rules and no one else's.
I will continue to hope for him to choose to change.
After all, he is my brother and I do love him.