YA Author, Daniel Elijah

My Brother

 

The first time a kid pushed me around at school, I was so upset that I ran home. When I walked into the door my brother saw my tears and pulled me aside.

“What happened?” he asked.

I was too ashamed to say, but after a bit of coaxing, I told him: “Shawn pushed me to ground in front of everyone. He said I was taking up ‘his space.’”

I cried some more. But my brother, always the strong one, wiped the tears off my face and said, “Space is infinite. Shawn is just jealous that you do a lot more with the space you have than he’s even capable of doing.”

This made me smile. My brother had a way of turning every bad situation into something good. He knew exactly how to make me feel better.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m gonna teach you to throw a baseball.”

I followed his lead without hesitation. I’d wanted to play catch for a while, but everyone at school said I had a noodle for an arm, so I never got the chance. But my brother could out-throw any of them. My brother was the best! He’d get me into shape.

We grabbed two old mitts out of the garage and made our way to the backyard. I stood on one end, and my brother stood at the other.

“Okay, just hold out your glove and move it in the direction of the ball.”

I was so nervous, but I did as he said. He wound up, and at the last minute, lobbed the ball toward me. He could’ve thrown it so much harder, but he was going easy on me. I was sure of it.

I tried to do what he said, but I got scared and cowered. The ball dropped at my feet.

“That’s okay!” he exclaimed. “You’ll get it.”

I wasn’t so sure.

“Now I want you to bring the ball behind your head and extend your arm forward. At the last possible second, release it. Inertia will do the rest.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Yes you are! I know you can do it!” he yelled back.

And with his support and instruction, I pulled the ball back. Awkwardly, I flung my arm forward. But I released too early and it fell only a couple feet from where I stood.

In exasperation, I slumped my shoulders.

He ran over to the spot where the ball landed and picked it up.

“Good job!” he exclaimed, without any hint sarcasm. “The first time I threw a ball it went behind my head.” He chuckled.

“Really?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. Ask Mom. She was there.”

I smiled but still felt ashamed of my weak attempt. “I’ll never get it.”

“Of course you will. You’re my brother. It’s in our DNA to succeed.”

He rubbed my head with his free hand. “Now try it again.”

He handed me the ball with added instruction:” Remember, release the ball when it’s in front of you. And watch it soar.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He ran back to the other side of the yard. “Ready when you are!”

I breathed in slowly, pulled my arm back, swung it forward, and released….

I watched as it sailed across the lawn toward my brother.

“Told you!” he said as he sprinted to catch it (it didn’t soar that much). “You’re a natural!”

I grinned from ear to ear. “That was fun!”

“Now you’re going to catch it.” He smiled.

I held out my glove and waited for the ball to come to me. He wound up again and chucked it in an arching path toward me. I followed the ball with my eyes and my glove and unexpectedly snagged it out of the air. It was a miracle. From the other side of the yard, my brother cheered.

“We’re gonna have to call in some scouts. You’re the next Mickey Mantle.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

“Trust me, you’ve got the potential. In fact, you’ve got the potential to do anything. And I’m going to be there the day you change the world.”

I couldn’t help but smile when he said that—a smile that hung around the rest of the afternoon. Sometimes I’d throw some really off-target balls, but he always encouraged me to keep trying. He encouraged me to keep trying in all aspects of life.

You see, it wasn’t easy for me growing up. I wasn’t even close to being a Mickey Mantle. In fact, I wasn’t very good at most things, but my brother had a way of making me feel like I could do anything. He was there for me all the times I failed tests, or got rejected by girls, or simply felt lonely. And every time, he lifted me up, just by being who he was.

After our dad left, and our mom was forced to get two jobs, he took care of everything at home. He even got a part-time job after school to ease the burden on our mom. He was the true definition of a man. And I wanted to be just like him.

So when the night of my high school graduation came, I was so excited to share my big day with him.

“You’re doing it. You’re changing the world,” he had said earlier that morning. “I’ll be on the front row cheering you on.”

But I was disappointed when I looked in the audience, and he was nowhere to be found. I even felt a little upset with him. He should have been there. He promised.

It was only after all the celebrating that I found out why my brother never showed up.

You see, he couldn’t because he was fighting for his life on the side of the road. While I was being handed my diploma, some of his old “acquaintances” decided it would be fun to relive their own high school days by messing with their personal punching bag—the kid they had tortured years before without his family having any clue; the kid who cried in the bathroom after class everyday so he could go home and be strong for his little brother; the kid who never once complained about the bullying that he endured every day of his life.

That was the kid who died that night. That was my brother.