I loved to draw.
Cartoons, comics, scenery. You name it, Id draw it. And I was damn good too!
Mrs. Stephenson, my art teacher, was so impressed with my talent that she wanted me to enter some of my sketches into a local drawing contest. I was truly considering the idea until August 5th, 1954 at 1:35 pm. Thats when my kid brother died.
I can remember the events of that day all too well. I was shaking, but not by choice. Brand had a solid grip on my pajamas as he jarred my body back and forth, up and down. He was attempting to wake me up and get me out of bed. I opened my eyes and squinted through my hand at the suns rays that had worked their way through our half-opened window.
What time is it? I asked.
Its time for ball, he said. He disappeared to the closet for a moment and returned with my glove in his hands. He flung it towards my stomach but I crunched up in time to prevent the blow.
Youre gonna get it, I said to him.
Youve been saying that forforever, he replied, wearing a smile.
Yeah, but this time I might mean it, I said, unable to keep my own smile in.
After getting dressed, I dashed down the stairs skipping four or five at a time. It was amazing that the bat, ball, glove, sketch pad, and pencil I was cradling didnt fall from my arms. Brand was already at the front door waiting for me. His sketchpad and pencil were tightly tucked under his right arm and his glove was, as it always was, on his hand. I swear that some nights he slept with a glove on one hand and a pencil clutched in the other.
Were goin to the ball field, mom, I yelled back up the stairs.
She quickly replied, James, look after your brother and take some soda pop change with you. I grabbed twenty-five cents from the cookie jar on the kitchen counter and Brand and I headed out the door.
Look after your brother echoed in my mind. A phrase I must have heard a thousand times and something I didnt need to be told. I always watched over him like a hawk. I had to; his safety, security, and happiness were my life.
Brand was small for his age and somewhat frail due to the rare blood disease he had since birth. What he didnt have in physical size, however, he made up for in heart and courage. He knew, as we all did, that he wouldnt live to see his 20th birthday. The amazing thing was Brand never complained, or cried about his disease. He never brought it up and I was just fine with that.
We made our way across the lawn and past the two houses that separated ours from Patterson Avenue. Our road, Summer Street, was always quiet, but today it seemed as if everyone was sleeping in. We were the only ones around. It was a pleasant feeling. With just a quick right turn onto Patterson we were in business. The field was almost a straight shot from there, just ten blocks up the road; Five to town and another five to the field.
The corner of Patterson and Main was the home of Joes Soda Shop. Joes overlooked the town square, a square that was always buzzing with the locals and provided a place for kids to buy candy, sodas, even toys. Adults gathered there to get their hair cut, purchase beer and smokes, and trade town gossip. Chaps Hardware, The Corner Store - which was a country store, and Ralphs Hobby Shop were a few of the mainstays.
Joes, however, was, by far, our favorite. It was our second home. Joe knew our favorite flavor of soda, ice cream and probably even our shoe sizes. He was always sliding us free stuff like an extra piece of candy or a refill on a soda. Hed probably give you half his store if you would sit and chat with him for a few minutes. Joe seemed awful lonely. Mom said that he did something wrong in his marriage and now wasnt allowed to see his wife and kid. I felt sorry for him; I couldnt figure what he could have done that was so bad.
As we walked by Joes we saw old Hank Dawson sitting at the counter top. He was using his hands to tell one of his many wild stories. His hat almost came off during one outburst. He and Joe made a great pair, a storyteller and his audience.
Joe waved to us as we walked by and we returned the gesture. It was amazing to me that he always knew when we were near. I swear once he was picking up scraps off the floor in the back room and still managed to poke his hand through the door at the precise time to deliver the wave. We planned, as always, to stop at Joes on the way home, after working up a sweat at the ball field.
As Brand and I walked the remaining few blocks to the field, images began flickering through my mind like a slide show gone haywire. Brands first ride on the Ferris Wheel at the Illinois State Fair, the last piggy-back ride I gave him before he was too damn heavy to carry, and the incredibly detailed drawing he sketched of our family, which was still on display at Simmons Elementary School. I can still remember watching him draw that picture. It took him every waking hour of three straight weeks to complete it. It was his most prized sketch. He beamed any time one of us mentioned it.
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