Flash Fiction I - Brother (tentative title)

Brother

            I remember the summer of ’69 like it was yesterday. It was when I finally learned what it was to be a man. On my 18^th birthday, my older brother Ron took me out to buy me my first beer (well, my first legal beer). Ron was 22 and had just gotten out of college and was looking for a job as an accountant. He said his present to me was going to be, besides getting me drunk, to teach me how to be a man. When he handed me my second drink he told me. He smiled at me, held my hand, and said “A man puts everyone else’s needs in front of his own.” I was disappointed: I already knew this in a way. Still, I smiled and thanked him and we got drunk.

            The next day I awoke at the crack of noon and stumbled downstairs to find something to drown my hangover. In the kitchen I found my mother crying softly and my father sitting somberly. She handed me a letter: I had been drafted. Such was always my luck. I took the letter and showed it to my brother. I had never thought about joining the army, though I was definitely not opposed to the war. I guess it would be good to serve the country which had given me so much. 

            Ron was not happy with the letter. He said it wasn’t fair. With summer coming up, he was going to show me the ‘greatest time of my life’ before I shipped off to college where he said I should be focusing on my studies instead of drinking it up. I was to report in Monday, so Ron said we would have to have a summer’s worth of fun before then. And we did. It was the happiest time of my life. 

            I woke up Monday, ready to go. I looked at the alarm: eleven thirty. I was four hours late. I rushed downstairs, getting dressed at the same time. I found my parents quietly sitting in the kitchen. Something was wrong. My father informed me that against their best wishes, Ron had taken my place in the army. He didn’t want me to protest so he never told me and did not wake me. I couldn’t believe it. My parents prevented me from going to stop him. 

            I’ll never forget my brother. I loved him with all my heart. I don’t know what was worse: the eerie silence when my brother took my place or the sound of my mother crying when we received the letter that he had died in action.

              In his casket, my brother looked happy. It was heartening. I cried. I cried the hardest. Before he was lowered I kissed his casket, with my lips and my tears. “Thank you for showing me how to be a man.” I wish I could have taken his place in the ground. This was not the greatest time of my life.