three years old. She had attended his birthday parties
in grade school and rode bikes with him to middle school dances. Her face
was on the second and third pages as well. I flipped through the rest of
the pad. There were doodles of soccer balls and cartoon men. There
were magnificent landscape drawings of the mountains behind our house.
There was a fruit bowl that I assumed was an assignment for school but was
beautifully drawn nonetheless. There were several more portraits of
Jill. Finally, on the second to last page, I saw my own face.
It was just my profile. I had a far off
look in my eyes. Perhaps he had drawn it, unbeknownst to me, as we were
watching a movie together or doing homework. His attention to detail was
spectacular. He had drawn each freckle and strand of hair, down to the
cowlick at my hairline, with such loving precision. My brother, my
wonderful brother, with so many gifts to share, has chosen to spend his time
drawing my portrait. The drawing blurred and I used my sleeve to wipe my
eyes as the tears cascaded down my cheeks. To think that his life was
about to be snuffed from the world was just too much to bear. Carefully,
I tore the page from its spirals, making sure to leave no trace of its
existence. Perhaps he would forget he had drawn it and it would go
unnoticed. I was willing to risk it. I had to have the portrait, a
physical memento of his love for me.
I was awakened from my trance by the sound of
tires on the gravel drive outside and I knew that my mother was arriving home
from work. I returned the sketchbook and desk chair and closed Branson’s
bedroom door behind me as I left. The clay lion I had brought back with
me was still in my pocket and I placed both the figurine and the portrait in
the bottom drawer of my desk. I was initially distraught to find that the
letters from the hardware store attic were no longer there, but quickly
realized it was because I had not yet procured them in the current timeline.
Clouds were building in the evening sky.
They would develop to become a substantial snowfall, the remains of which the children
would play in beside the hardware store the following week. I had several
days to pluck up the courage to do what I knew needed to be done. It was
time to become the lion.
C HAPTER S EVENTEEN
It was not until the night before I was scheduled
to stop the ball that I remembered Charlie Johnson. Once I had returned
to the present timeline, I had not thought of him again. It was as if he
only existed for me in the past, although clearly he was living in both the
past and the present. I realized that along with a second chance at
stopping the ball, I also had a second chance to meet Charlie. The
anxiety of what I was facing kept me from sleeping well and I dreamt fitfully
of snow boots and kickball.
Branson, throwing himself onto my bed with great
fervor, woke me the next morning.
“You’re so late!” he yelled. “Your alarm
has been going off for half an hour! Wake up sleepyhead!”
I pried my eyelids open and looked at the
clock. Indeed, I had overslept and I needed to move quickly if I was
going to get us both to school on time.
“Why didn’t you get me up sooner?” I scolded.
“How did I know you weren’t up? Thought you
might be up here primping. I’ve already eaten, but you have to
hurry! I have a math test first period!” he called over his shoulder as
he raced back down the stairs.
I dragged myself out of bed. Methodically,
I showered and dressed, arriving at the breakfast table in record time to find
that Branson had prepared a bagel and orange juice on my behalf for the road.
“You can eat but it will have to be in the
car. We gotta roll!” he ordered, throwing my
car keys at me as he shrugged on his coat. I was sliding on my boots when
I remembered what a pain they had been the last time. I laced up my
sneakers instead.
We
in grade school and rode bikes with him to middle school dances. Her face
was on the second and third pages as well. I flipped through the rest of
the pad. There were doodles of soccer balls and cartoon men. There
were magnificent landscape drawings of the mountains behind our house.
There was a fruit bowl that I assumed was an assignment for school but was
beautifully drawn nonetheless. There were several more portraits of
Jill. Finally, on the second to last page, I saw my own face.
It was just my profile. I had a far off
look in my eyes. Perhaps he had drawn it, unbeknownst to me, as we were
watching a movie together or doing homework. His attention to detail was
spectacular. He had drawn each freckle and strand of hair, down to the
cowlick at my hairline, with such loving precision. My brother, my
wonderful brother, with so many gifts to share, has chosen to spend his time
drawing my portrait. The drawing blurred and I used my sleeve to wipe my
eyes as the tears cascaded down my cheeks. To think that his life was
about to be snuffed from the world was just too much to bear. Carefully,
I tore the page from its spirals, making sure to leave no trace of its
existence. Perhaps he would forget he had drawn it and it would go
unnoticed. I was willing to risk it. I had to have the portrait, a
physical memento of his love for me.
I was awakened from my trance by the sound of
tires on the gravel drive outside and I knew that my mother was arriving home
from work. I returned the sketchbook and desk chair and closed Branson’s
bedroom door behind me as I left. The clay lion I had brought back with
me was still in my pocket and I placed both the figurine and the portrait in
the bottom drawer of my desk. I was initially distraught to find that the
letters from the hardware store attic were no longer there, but quickly
realized it was because I had not yet procured them in the current timeline.
Clouds were building in the evening sky.
They would develop to become a substantial snowfall, the remains of which the children
would play in beside the hardware store the following week. I had several
days to pluck up the courage to do what I knew needed to be done. It was
time to become the lion.
C HAPTER S EVENTEEN
It was not until the night before I was scheduled
to stop the ball that I remembered Charlie Johnson. Once I had returned
to the present timeline, I had not thought of him again. It was as if he
only existed for me in the past, although clearly he was living in both the
past and the present. I realized that along with a second chance at
stopping the ball, I also had a second chance to meet Charlie. The
anxiety of what I was facing kept me from sleeping well and I dreamt fitfully
of snow boots and kickball.
Branson, throwing himself onto my bed with great
fervor, woke me the next morning.
“You’re so late!” he yelled. “Your alarm
has been going off for half an hour! Wake up sleepyhead!”
I pried my eyelids open and looked at the
clock. Indeed, I had overslept and I needed to move quickly if I was
going to get us both to school on time.
“Why didn’t you get me up sooner?” I scolded.
“How did I know you weren’t up? Thought you
might be up here primping. I’ve already eaten, but you have to
hurry! I have a math test first period!” he called over his shoulder as
he raced back down the stairs.
I dragged myself out of bed. Methodically,
I showered and dressed, arriving at the breakfast table in record time to find
that Branson had prepared a bagel and orange juice on my behalf for the road.
“You can eat but it will have to be in the
car. We gotta roll!” he ordered, throwing my
car keys at me as he shrugged on his coat. I was sliding on my boots when
I remembered what a pain they had been the last time. I laced up my
sneakers instead.
We
Similar Books
