Bryce.
Remember when we’d play school, little brother?
Remember how we were so tiny our feet would swing from our red plastic Fischer-Price chairs, soles just nicking the rug as we leaned on that white plastic table.
Remember how I’d be teacher, trying desperately to keep your attention as you’d squirm in your little seat, humoring me best you could. You’d draw with your too big pencil; carefully connecting the dots in some coloring book we deemed to hold the epitome of our youngling knowledge.
You’d shift around, never settling for long, as I explained some subtraction problem to the class of invisible students, you always being the troublemaker. Your tongue folded up over lip as you scribbled ferociously, making the pencil lead squeak against the paper.
I glared at you.
“Stop scribbling! Aren’t you paying attention?” You look up at me—shocked. Your big brown eyes search my scrunched up face, wondering why I’m so upset. This isn’t real, sister, says your expression, don’t be mad.
But it’s real to me. It’s my reality and you’re destroying it with your childishness. C’mon, bother, you’re 4. You should be able to sit still for a few minutes.
You look back at your paper and then up at me. You’ve made me cross now, so you raise your hand, playing along.
“Yes, Bryce.” I say, all the terrifying angst of a 6-year-old girl built up in my voice.
“Miss Karly, can we go play cops and robbers—I mean, Miss Karly, can we have gym class now?” you plead, nasally voice edging on a whine.
If I was a few years older, I would have lost it from all the cuteness exuding from your tiny little body.
I huff out a breath, crossing my arms and pouting. I’ve lost this one, but lessons will resume tomorrow—don’t you doubt it.
“Fine. Let’s go have gym class.”
You’re so excited you almost fall out of your chair, and you hug my belly and tell me
“You’re the best sister in the whole world!”
You run out into the foyer, little yellow knee-socks slipping on the slate floor. You catch yourself and scramble onward, always with the “bull in the china shop” mentality.
Well little brother, we’re older now in some ways.
I’m not so much the teacher anymore, but you’re going off to play cops and robbers for real, with real guns and real bad guys that do wanna hurt you.
I just hope you keep that big dumb head of yours on your shoulders, because I couldn’t bear to lose you.