I’ll never forget that day in 4th grade

Mrs. Fallon sat on her stool in front of our class

during her weekly ritual reading us a story.

She had a faded paperback of “Old Yeller” in her hands

and she read that dreaded chapter

where young Travis discovers his beloved dingy colored

dog Old Yeller who defended his family from a rabid wolf

had endured the wolf’s fateful bite

which meant Travis had to shoot his dear friend

before Old Yeller turned on the family.

As Mrs. Fallon read the story her voice slowed and softened.

Tears began to trickle silently down her cheeks

Her voice choked up and as she did…

We all cried too. My classmates and I mournfully passed around

that box of tissues as we lamented for Travis

and his sweet dog.

There was something sacred in that moment

as Mrs. Fallon gave us permission to feel

to cry with honor and to be moved by a story not our own.

She showed us nine- and ten- year olds

that feeling sad is quite natural

and that when we choose to feel our feelings

in the company of others

there is solidarity

there is beauty

there is comfort.

Photo by Element5 Digital

"Tag! You're it!"

I tagged Kya. Kya tagged Lizzie. Lizzie agged Me. I tagged Zach. Zach tagged Lizzie. Lizzie tagged Kya.

"You can't get me!"

"Oh I will! You'll see I will!"

"Can we go outside?" Zach asked.

"But it's Tuesday."

"I know."

"We play with Kya on Tuesdays."

"Please?"

"Fine."

We left the old fitness center Zach and Kya's mom worked at. I made my way to the swing ad sat. I was 8 years old. I didn't bother hiding my disdain for the situation. I didn't bother trying to have fun. I sat in the swig and pouted.

It's Tuesday. We should be playing with Kya.

"Why can't we just do what I want?"

"It's Tuesday."

"I know."

"We get to hang out with you every day! We only get to hang out with Kya on Tuesday!"

I didn't understand at the time how easily siblings could be separated. Kya and Zach were siblings. I could only ever have both.

And I didn't understand how easily it was for us to be separated. They would always be there. I would always have them both. I would always have Zach, and for this month, I would have Kya on Tuesdays. Which is why we agreed to do what she wanted on Tuesdays.

"Not anymore."

I didn't understand. I didn't hear what my brother was telling me. Not really.

"It's Tuesday."

"I know."

He sighed.

"We should be inside. We promised to play with Kya on Tuesday."

"I know. Let's go inside."

I leaped off of the swing and ran for the Fitness center.

"Who's It?"

.........................................................

It's hard not to call him my brother.

"I didn't know you had a brother!" They'd exclaim with surprise when I let something slip.

"I...I don't."

I haven't seem him since I was eight. I'm not related to him. He's not my brother.

I asked his mom how he was doing. I talk to Kya. Kya wants nothing to do with him. His mom says he has a boyfriend.

He graduates highschool next year. I texted him three times on whatsapp. I dream about him.

He doesn't recognize me in the dreams. I don't think he'd recognize me now. What would I say?

"Remember me? Charlie? I also moved out of the neighborhood. Not as far as you did. I have a new dad now. I also have a new little sister. Are you thinking about college?"

I don't know what he'd say.

"Oh! Charlie! Wow. Cool. Yeah. FIU. Can you believe it?"

"how are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm alright. Busy. I have a band performance soon..."

"Yeah? Cool. Keep in touch. Bye."

And then maybe we'd talk after that. Maybe not.

Strange how quickly things change.

Leggings.

I remember leggings.

They were a rotten green and dusty lilac.

Striped and wrapping such small legs.

And such fragile space between them.

My mom gave me the talk.

Maybe not the talk.

but a talk of sorts.

"No one is to touch you there."

I remembered it so vividly.

We were in her car.

It was blue.

And I didn't understand what it meant to bear the burdens of a girl.

Hands.

I remember hands.

Or maybe just hand.

Only the one mattered.

But I'm sure there were two.

I don't remember at what age I outgrew these leggings.

I don't remember them ever disappearing from my dresser drawers.

I guess they just did one day.

I don't think I missed them.

I don't think I noticed.

The hand I remember was on my leggings.

I remember nothing else.