Story Time #1 – One Lives for Two

Hi, everybody!

I’ve been thinking, & I think it’s about time you lot get to know me a bit more. No, not my name, location, etc., but some moments in my life I believe impacted me in a certain way (neither all good or all bad).

So, with that said, we’ll call these installments “Story Time” – I can’t think of anything better right now. One of my many English professors told me multiple times to just “throw up on the page” when writing, so here it goes: My mantra explained.

The way I recall this event may be slightly different than how it actually happened. My Pops is the only family member that knows about this blog, so he may pick out some errors if he decides to read this. But hey, we can’t change our memories. This story takes place when I was four, almost five. My brother nine, & my mother & father in their late 30’s – early 40’s. I’m actually sitting on the couch in the same home this all happened. Eery, really. I don’t enjoy it much here.

I really get off track quickly, don’t I?

Anyway, about that mantra I’m supposed to explain. It’s “One lives for two”, & it’s for my late brother.

Flashback to 96′, it was a blindingly sunny day in the backyard, early summertime. Kids running, laughing, screaming, & of course, playing every single sport known to mankind. I remember my parents served pizza that day, but I couldn’t eat it. Stupid gluten. I was really mad about that. Next thing I remember is my brother collapsing in the backyard. Again, I could be misremembering, but I do remember a frenzy. Things I couldn’t understand. Things happening so fast. No more laughing. Only screaming, running, & crying. No one knew what to do.

My parents took control. One gave CPR, the other called for help. Neighbors booked it up the street to alert the cop on our block. His wife said he was too busy sleeping to come help. What a guy, right? Fuck that guy. He ended up divorced, go figure.

I stayed the night away from my brother. I stayed at a neighbor’s house. I don’t remember a single thing we did. All I remember is sitting on my bed the next day, parents slouched in front of me letting me know Nick wasn’t coming home.

Last Wednesday, my parents & I took a small tree to his gravestone. After my parents stepped away as we were leaving, I took a step back towards him. “You’re an asshole for leaving me here alone,” I said, laughing & crying. I hope he got a good laugh out of that.

I wish you well. Try not to beat the shit out of yourself.

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