From One Experience to Another: Award-Winning Authors Sharing Real-Life Experiences Through Fiction

My Brother's Keeper
 
 
Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?"
The truth?
Nothing but the truth?
What is truth?
Jamie raised his hand, his right hand, in the hushed courtroom and as he did that, his senses began to reel, to reel back to the beginning.
The very beginning.
He had been sleeping, a restless sleep and then the clear ring of the telephone cut into him. His eyes slowly opened and he looked about the silent shadowy room, listening to the cold, insistent ring.
He was alone in the dark house.
Completely alone.
His uncle, with whom he lived, had gone off on a fishing trip near the state border.
"If the fishing is fine I'll stay awhile. If it's bad, real bad, I'll come on home. Anyway I'll be back before you go on to college."
Jamie nodded silently.
"I'll drive you up there. See you settled in."
"You don't have to, Harry. I'll manage."
"I know you can. But I want to do it."
Ted's away in his own fantasy world and I'm all you have left, Jamie thought.
"Okay," he said. "You'll take me up there."
The man smiled and started up the motor. Then he waved his lean, tanned hand and was gone.
Jamie was alone.
And now the phone was ringing.
He reached over to the night table and picked up the dark, gleaming receiver.
The summer curtain rustled noiselessly.
Then he heard the voice.
"Jamie?"
A slight chill went through him and he was silent.
"Jamie?"
It was his brother.
His only brother.
"You alone?"
"Yes," Jamie said.
Outside in the distant night a dog began to bark.
A low mournful sound.
Jamie listened to it.
"Uncle Harry?"
"He's gone fishing."
"Where?"
"Upstate. Near the falls."
"Oh."
The barking had stopped and the silence of the long night flooded into the room.
And all the time Jamie waited.
Waited.
For his older brother to tell him.
Then he heard it.
"I'm in trouble, Jamie."
And you need me to bail you out, Jamie thought bitterly.
"Trouble."
This time the voice was almost a whisper.
But Jamie heard it clearly.
His lips thinned into a straight line.
I'm your kid brother. Five long years younger than you are and all the time, all through the years I had to act like I was the older brother.
All the time.
Jamie's hand tightened around the receiver.
"What have you done, Ted?"
"I want to come over and talk."
"You slugged somebody in a bar? A guy came over to get your autograph and he got nasty and you were with a girl and you…"
"It's not that," Ted cut in.
"Then what?"
"It… it's hard to explain."
Jamie's voice grew harsh.
"Nothing's hard to explain. Tell me now."
"Let me see you. I have to."
Jamie breathed out and looked over at the clock on the night table. The clock Ted had given him as a birthday present along with a thousand-dollar check.
"It's three in the morning," he said. "Let it wait."
"It can't wait."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm coming over. Whether you want me or not. I need you."
There was a slight break in the voice.
And Jamie thought to himself bleakly, this time it must be bad.
Really bad.
"Okay," he said. "Come on over."
"Thanks, Jamie."
Jamie was silent.
"I'll never forget it."
You will, Ted. You will.
You always do.
Then he slowly put the receiver back onto its hook.
He sat there in the dark, narrow room a long time, thinking, ever thinking.
His hand clenched into a tight fist.
Then after a while, the hand unclenched.
And lay hopelessly against Jamie's side.
* * *
He let the doorbell ring three times, then he slowly went down the carpeted stairs and walked slowly through the dimly lit corridor to the front door.
His brother stood big and large against the night.
A menacing figure.
But the face was pale and gentle and the eyes haunting.
"Jamie."
And his brother reached out with his large, muscular arms and drew him close.
So very close.
Jamie was tall but his head barely reached Ted's shoulder.
He felt a deep tremor of love for the big man and then the tremor was gone.
The bleak feeling was back within him.
"I need you. Need you a lot," Ted murmured.
Jamie slowly drew away.
"Let's go into the kitchen and have a cup of coffee, Ted. You look like you could use one."
"Sure. Whatever you say."
"Then we'll talk," Jamie said softly.
"Anything. Anything you say."
Then Ted followed his smaller brother into the neat, yellow kitchen, lifted a heavy wooden chair, swung it about, set it down without a sound and slid into it gracefully.
It was all done in one smooth, flowing motion.
And watching him, Jamie thought of the times he had watched Ted weave and run and evade tacklers with an effortless grace.
The crowd in the packed stands roaring.
His teammates on the sidelines jumping with their hands raised high against a cold autumn sky.
And Jamie thought how on the football field Ted loomed large, so very large.
In full control of himself.
So very well put together.
So finely disciplined.
Rarely making a wrong move.
Every inch a rounded, mature man.
But once he stepped off the field and took off his uniform, he became a child.
A huge, gentle child.
Who got himself into scrapes and had to be bailed out.
Again and again.
Jamie lighted the jet under the coffeepot.
"What's it this time?"
Ted looked at his brother's trim, straight back and didn't speak.
Jamie was tall and slender, his fine-featured face with the ever-somber look on it always made him appear older than his eighteen years.
Ted fondly called him "Straight Arrow."
"Tell me, Ted."
"I…I hit a man."
Jamie stared at the blue jet on the gas range.
His voice was low when he spoke.
"Another bar fight? You're not a drinker. How do you get into these things?"
"No, Jamie," Ted murmured.
"Then what?"
"I was driving on Desmond Street and I…I hit a man."
Jamie didn't turn.
"He was drunk and he walked in front of the car. It was very dark and nobody was around. You know how deserted Desmond Street is. You know, Jamie. You know. Dark and deserted and…and…"
His voice tailed off into the silence.
Jamie's hands gripped the top of the white range.
The range was hot to the touch but he didn't feel it.
Then he heard his brother speak again.
"I was sober. Clean sober. It's the truth, Jamie. The truth."
"And?"
"I panicked and left him lying there."
Jamie swung about sharply.
His face white and tense.
His voice cold and harsh.
"What in the hell are you saying? What?"
The tears came into Ted's eyes.
His gentle blue eyes.
"I…I panicked."
Jamie came swiftly over to him.
"And you left him there?" he shouted.
His angry voice filled the narrow room.
Ted shivered.
His lips trembled.
"How? How could you do that?"
The big man looked up to him pleadingly.
When he spoke, his voice was low, very low.
As if he was talking to himself.
"I…I lost my head.…It wasn't my fault. He walked in front of the car. He was drunk. Drunk. Came out of the night. From nowhere. I wasn't going fast. I wasn't. I swear to you on Dad and Mom's graves that I…"
Jamie fiercely cut into him.
"You left him lying in the street? In the street?"
"There was nobody around. Nobody saw it. That's all that was in my mind."
"And you drove off?"
"All I was thinking of was my career and nobody saw it. I wasn't myself. You know I'm not like that. You know it. I help everybody. Everybody. I haven't a mean feeling in my…I wasn't myself."
He hit his knee with his big hand again and again.
"I got scared. Scared. I wasn't myself. I wasn't."
Jamie reached down and fiercely grabbed him by his shirt.
"But he was a human being. Not a dog. You don't even leave a dog lying in the street and run off."
"It all happened so fast. I...