My Zhizhi

The day I decided to donate my body, I called the brother I had not spoken to in seven years.

It took him a long time to answer, and I immediately explained why I was calling.

Then I added cautiously, “All you have to do is sign your name. It won’t take much of your time.”

He muttered, “You’re insane,” and hung up.

So I traveled all that way with the paperwork to the city where he lived.

When I arrived, I caught him at his busiest.

He signed without even sparing me a glance.

Then he added impatiently, “Put this in there too: when you actually die, don’t notify me again.”

I nodded.

“All right.”