My brother could have been the devil's son. When he was a kid that's what everyone thought. In grammar school, he was always aggravating teachers and his peers. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it, in order to drive everyone crazy. However, the kid looked up to me, or at least that's what I"d insist on thinking. I was always trying to pry him out of his mischiefs, explaining to teachers that my brother wasn't to bright and constantly apologizing for his actions. I didn't realize that helping my brother out would give me a reputation that would follow me through middle school. Not necessarily a horrible reputation, but a reputation I could have done without. .
I couldn't find my brother after school one day. I didn't think he had suddenly been kidnapped or alternitives along that line. He does that often. He doesn't show up when he's supposed to. He took the risk of coming home with a bloody nose by walking home alone. I guess he enjoyed the adrenalin rush. I finally gave up on finding him. I started my journey home, alone. I say journey because that's exactly what it is, a journey. Everyday after school my brother and I would walk across the field next to the school. We would chase the butterflies and look for rabbit holes. At times, we would be running away from the bees. Sometimes, if one of us would get stung, that's where our journey would end because we would run four blocks home for mom to fix our boo-boo. If we were lucky and didn't get stung, then we would climb the trees on the way home as well and believe me that was exciting. In the springtime, we would see the caterpillars crawling around the trees and the caterpillar cocoons. On some trees, we would find bird nest neatly weaved and the eggs the size of bouncy balls, resting in them waiting to hatch. We always tried to chase the squirrels up the trees, but we never were successful. Eventually, we would arrive home and mom would always think we had a rough day at school because we looked so worn.