You are with me more now that you are gone. I see flashes of you, feel your being, knowing we were learning, growing, becoming together. Before you became you and I became me, there was We . . .
Fallen autumn leaves in the Forest Preserve, the smell of burning fire and distant laughter of other familes. We walked, following Her into the forest. The only sound that of the leaves breaking, crushing under our feet. . .
Sunday afternoon, raining or snowing, the usual god awful weather of Chicago in winter. Great Day! Collect our favorite books and flashlights, don our coats and hats, mittens. Out to the car, parked in the drive. Me in the front seat, you in the back, watching the snowflakes fall or listening to the rain pounding on the windows. . . No heat, but it's okay, we're cozy. Let's Read! Silently, then outloud, then laughter. So fun!. . .
Oh boy, Mom and Dad came back from Mexico with marionettes. You have the one with the guns in his hands, I have some ugly rascal. The strings keep tangling, and our initial enchantment wears out, quickly. . .
Fast forward to Georgia. Dad teaching us to play touch football. Mom still taking us into the woods, this time richer, mustier. We are intrigued by the growing fungus, the damp red earth and the pines. . .
Sunday morning in April 1968. Martin Luther King lying in state at Morehouse College. The four of us join the queue to pay our respects. We stand in a line of thousands, waiting in the chilly spring air. . .understanding the importance of this man, and the heartbreak that surrounds us. . .
Saturday morning in New Orleans You're on your bike. Money in your pocket and a selected destination --- the pet store or hobby shop. You always had a project and loved your aquarium and model airplanes. Pedalling hard to select your prize and bring it home.
Sundays was family day. Mom makes a pie (from frozen to warm), we pick up some chicken. Dad packs his t.v. tray -- oh, we hated that he had to sit at a picnic, listening to the transistor radio and eating from a t.v. tray in his chair. The rest of us on our blanket on the ground, mortified, gazing at Lake Ponchatrain.
Many afternoons I came home from school, hearing the sound of the baseball hitting Dad's mitt. You and he in the backyard, turning you into a world class little league pitcher. I envied the time and attention you got, knowing you were the boy, trying to live up to his dreams.
You in the barn with our race horse, you loved her and would stay with her when she had the "willies", or was nervous before a race. I think you slept at the barn sometimes. Me, I was too wrapped up in my teen-age angst at the time, and had no interest in the horse or the barn. . .
Pasadena 1973. We work the Rose Bowl Parade together, selling film for people's cameras. Up at dawn and on Colorado Blvd. by 6:00 a.m. You so tall, with the big yellow Kodak hat on your head, carrying the film in a box hanging from your neck. Everyone can see you, hail us over, and I work the crowds. we sold alot and split our earnings --- probably a couple of hundred dollars, and we loved having earned it in one morning!
I could go on like this forever, my brother, my friend. You are with me now, and will be with me always, and I with you. Luv, Deb
