little brother
little brother.
It seems to me as though people are making promises to God all of the time. As though God isn’t big enough to know that once he grants us what we are pleading, we will forget our promises in the midst of our victory. People may not even believe in a God. But in that moment of desperation, unique and unbearably real, this enlightenment seems to fall upon us; this knowledge that we are not the ones in control.
I am not one for making promises to God. I know myself well enough to know that I will inevitably break the promise, leaving myself and God disappointed. Some people can live with that. I wouldn’t make a habit out of it. I remember only once making a promise to God. And it was for you, little brother.
I don’t remember how old we were. I was around eleven and you might have been four. We were at the mall with mom and heather, inside of this Warner Brothers store. They had this tube for the kids to play in, with pictures and videos of Marvin the Martian and other characters. Maybe it was supposed to be a spaceship. I remember green lights and buzzing and beeping sounds. I remember being so angry when mom told me that I needed to watch you while her and heather walked around the store.
You were following me like a puppy. Or maybe just like a little brother. No matter where I went, you were there. Somehow, I tried to lose you. Maybe I climbed to the other side of the green tube, or I just hid behind a rack. I didn’t understand your youngness then; your innocence.
And then you were gone. Everything seemed so big all of the sudden. The store was gigantic and so were the clothing racks. I couldn’t see above or around anything, not in my terror. I lost my own brother. I lost you. I tried to look for you, but you were so small and it was such a big store. I found mom. I told her.
To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of the details of what happened that day. But I do remember that after mom went searching for you, I found myself right outside of the Warner Brothers store. Frozen in panic. It was this moment. This moment where everything seems magnified and simplified at the same time. The mall noise seemed amplified, and yet, I could hear nothing but my own thoughts, desperate and scattered.
This is when I made my promises to God. I don’t remember what they were now. But I know that I was desperate, and that I would have given anything. I would have given anything to have you back.
I don’t know in how much time all of this occurred. Maybe it was no more than ten minutes. But it was the longest most painful ten minutes I can remember. Eventually, mom brought you back. She said that she found you near a store on the opposite side of where the warner brothers store was.
I guess that’s all I remember about that day. A green tube, and being angry, and losing you.
It seems to me as though people are making promises to God all of the time. As though God isn’t big enough to know that once he grants us what we are pleading, we will forget our promises in the midst of our victory. People may not even believe in a God. But in that moment of desperation, unique and unbearably real, this enlightenment seems to fall upon us; this knowledge that we are not the ones in control.
I am not one for making promises to God. I know myself well enough to know that I will inevitably break the promise, leaving myself and God disappointed. Some people can live with that. I wouldn’t make a habit out of it. I remember only once making a promise to God. And it was for you, little brother.
I don’t remember how old we were. I was around eleven and you might have been four. We were at the mall with mom and heather, inside of this Warner Brothers store. They had this tube for the kids to play in, with pictures and videos of Marvin the Martian and other characters. Maybe it was supposed to be a spaceship. I remember green lights and buzzing and beeping sounds. I remember being so angry when mom told me that I needed to watch you while her and heather walked around the store.
You were following me like a puppy. Or maybe just like a little brother. No matter where I went, you were there. Somehow, I tried to lose you. Maybe I climbed to the other side of the green tube, or I just hid behind a rack. I didn’t understand your youngness then; your innocence.
And then you were gone. Everything seemed so big all of the sudden. The store was gigantic and so were the clothing racks. I couldn’t see above or around anything, not in my terror. I lost my own brother. I lost you. I tried to look for you, but you were so small and it was such a big store. I found mom. I told her.
To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of the details of what happened that day. But I do remember that after mom went searching for you, I found myself right outside of the Warner Brothers store. Frozen in panic. It was this moment. This moment where everything seems magnified and simplified at the same time. The mall noise seemed amplified, and yet, I could hear nothing but my own thoughts, desperate and scattered.
This is when I made my promises to God. I don’t remember what they were now. But I know that I was desperate, and that I would have given anything. I would have given anything to have you back.
I don’t know in how much time all of this occurred. Maybe it was no more than ten minutes. But it was the longest most painful ten minutes I can remember. Eventually, mom brought you back. She said that she found you near a store on the opposite side of where the warner brothers store was.
I guess that’s all I remember about that day. A green tube, and being angry, and losing you.