Wrong Way on a One Way Street

 The mid-day sun shined so bright, it seemed to freeze in the very essence of the moment. My brother Dylan and I played basketball whole heartedly. Every dribble represented a beat, a flow of amusement and passion. We loved the game with all our soul. But something in the air told me that the game would soon never be the same again. Dylan wasn’t my real brother but you’d be fooled at dinner time. Our family invited him over for dinner once and abruptly his place was permanently engraved. We laughed, we cried, we adopted him as one of our own. A big brother. Great, you would think but not to me. Although he was a pain, he was right every once in a while and was there when I needed him the most. After the tantalizing game Dylan and I decided to take a walk. While striking a conversation he asked, “You still writing in those little diaries of yours, like a graphic maniac?” With my head hanging low from exhaustion I was able to mutter, “They are not diaries they are reflective journals, but lately I haven’t been writing anything at all. It seems I have nothing to say anymore. It seems I don‘t know what I stand for. Who cares about what I have to say? ” He stepped in front of me cutting me off and I almost tripped on his big feet. Shocked I asked “What’s your problem?” “What’s my problem? What’s your problem? Don’t ever under mind yourself or what you have say, because if you do what will make those people want to listen to you?” Dylan’ index finger pointed at the house’s a lined by the street corner’s. We continued to walk back to my house. I started to unlock the door and instead of coming in and raiding our refrigerator he headed toward his car. “Hey where are going, I thought you were going to take me to Barnes & Noble?” I yelled He turned and smiled and said in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice “I’ll be back!” He got into his black 2000 Ford Explorer and drove down the street. Hours passed and I gave up hope on going to the book store. Maybe he forgot or he got caught up in something. Whatever the reason he wasn’t coming so I went to bed. Awaking the next day to screaming, I ran down the stairs with my consciousness still in bed, to see my mother on the sofa watching the Fox 2 News. She turned and saw me then opened her arms as though she wanted me to hug her, I did. After nearly choking me to death she let me go and told me the terrible news. “Honey, Dylan was in a car crash last night… he didn’t make it.” As soon as mom had finished her sentence my whole body just stopped. I thought nothing but those words “didn’t make it.” All I could see was Dylan’s face the last time I saw him. The only words that came out of my mouth were I’ll be back. Mother obviously didn’t comprehend because I stayed still. She wouldn’t know what I was talking about only I knew, Dylan would have too if he was here. But he wasn’t at least not his body. A month passed and the remorse felt just as alive as ever. I was sitting in the park that we had played basketball in so many times before. Just sitting on the bench looking, observing, reminiscing. The funeral was two weeks ago, I didn’t attend. I chose to remember him not how he is but how he was in the past. All the people there hadn’t seen Dylan in year and now they wish to pay there last respects. They did that a long time ago. The person who killed him was a drunk police officer. Not only was he drunk he was speeding and going the wrong way on a one way street. He lived and was stripped of his title and sent to jail. The time the police officer got didn’t justify the death of my brother so much for the justice system. But I sit here in this park and wonder how he is , where is he, and if he can hear my prayers. Wherever he is I feel him in the wind at the park and in every dribble I take, and in every word I write. So that’s the story of how Jessica E. Millender became who she is because of the brother that she lost however she gained a voice that knows now what it stands for, love and justice.