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1996 Student Short Story - First Prize

"My Opposite Brother"

Jesse A. Dovich

My pulse quickens as we slide around the last dusty corner in my dad's old white Chevy truck. We're approaching Beaver Lake, full of expectations for the best fishing, swimming, and mountain biking in Washington.

Despite the open windows, sweat rolls off our bodies, while the blistering hot seats dare us to move. We've driven on this dirt road for more than three hours. The joints in my knees ache as I attempt to stretch in the confined cab. Through cracked lips I can taste dry dust as I force an empty swallow.

My brother has drifted off to sleep despite the constant shaking of the truck. Smiling to myself, I think how different he looks with that loose haystack of wind-tossed hair. No one cares; we're going camping. I can see the discomfort in his face as every bump jars his head.

Looking up, I notice how the glistening, cool lake water begs to engult me. We're almost close enough now to spot trout swimming 30 feet below.

Gently I shake Jordan to conciousness as we pull into our favorite camping spot. We throw off the canoe and set up our tent. Yanking our bicycles from beneath some camping gear, we ride to the lake.

The cold water revitalizes us. It's like rolling in fresh snow after sitting in a sultry sauna for three hours. Refreshed, we ride back to camp to start supper.

"Hey, Jordan, did you bring the hot dogs?"

"Yeah, they're underneath the pile of wood, beside the fishing tackle."

This is the life. Big Franks, Sun Chips, hot chocoloate, and a campfire.

Embers dance heavenward, singeing the dark blanket of the night. Leaning back in my lawn chair, I mindlessly jab the glowing coals with a large stick while Jordan watches his puffy marshmallow catch fire and fall into the flames. Hot dog buns and empty packets of hot chocolate are strewn across the picnic table. It doesn't matter; we're camping.

Jordan quietly gets up, walks to the cooler, and rummages around.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I sound almost upset.

"I got to thinking about how cold it's going to get tonight and how hungry the squirrels must be. I thought maybe I could help them stay warmer by putting some food under that dead tree. They won't have to work as hard then."

"You're going to waste-" I cut myself short.

Sitting in my chair, I watch Jordan fumble in the dark. I realize how Jordan always looks out for the helpless.

Guilt suddenly overwhelms meas I think of how I constantly look out for myself.

I think of all the trips Jordan makes to the retirement home. He visits his friends there every week. Flocking around him like pigeons, they hunger for his seeds of kindness. Uncle Chuck can't wait to lose to him at pool once again; Grandpa Charley loves to talk about the good old days, and Aunt Rosie yearns to show him the latest picture of her grandson. Jordan even takes time to turn Matilda's bingo card right side up.

Here I sit, cozy-warm in the best chair, while he freezes, worrying about a family of squirrels. Shame engulfs me as I think of all the times I've made him cry just so I could have what I wanted.

I look away from the warm coals to see him still fumbling in the cooler.

"Hey, Jordan."

"Yeah?"

"Come here and sit down; I'll take care of the squirrels this time."

As I scrape the cold food onto the hard ground, I realize how proud I am to call Jordan my brother, and how I want him to have the same pride in me.

Smiling to myself, I watch him sit in the fire's warmth.