Only Eleven

I remember that summer clearly. Not a day goes by that I in my own mind do not think about what has come to pass. It was the summer that I had turned eleven.

We had moved in June from a big house in the city, to an old farm house on the out skirts of a tiny village a few towns away. There was six children in my family. Two boys, much older then I. And I had three sisters, two of them older, one of them younger.

My oldest brother had been no more then 30 at the time. My younger sister had been eight years old.

My brother had attended a college not far away, ITT Technical institute. Both of my parents had been away at work. And with my older brother and sister moved out, that had left my sister Mary to watch us for the day. Mary, my sister who is six years older then me, had taken my little sister and I out for ice-cream and to go clean hear car at the local car wash. The car wash was a self serve at the time. And when she had finished, she had vacuumed out her car, as my little sister and I had ran circles around her and the car, not a care in the world.

Time came for us to climb into the car and head for home. As we packed back into my sister Mary's car, a white station wagon had pulled in, heading in our direction. As my sister began to drive away, a shorter, somewhat older man had approached the vehicle we had been in. He seemed in a panic, and attempted really hard to get my sister's attention to stop her. My sister had stopped and we waited for the man to come closer to the car. He went straight for the front driver's window. The man had recognized us, he worked with my dad at the school my father had worked for.

"There had been a bad accident. Your parents are home safely right now. I think that you need to go home." That was all the man said to us, as he walked down the side of the car heading to his station wagon, he had tapped the trunk of Mary's car saying, "Drive careful."

Within no time at all, we were heading home, both of my sister's had been hysterically crying by now. Mary had burst out, "It's Bud. I know it. It's Bud." Bud had been a nick name given to my brother. My brother was a junior, but my mother didn't like that nick name, thus giving the nick name Bud to my brother. This of course got my younger sister into a deeper crying frenzy.

"It can't be Bud, Mary! That guy said 'your parents are home' safe." I had told her. "Why would he tell us that mom and dad are home safe if they weren't in an accident?" I had asked.

There had been no respond from my sister. Only more weeping.

When we had gotten home, we made it to the back door, I was first to reach it. My father had opened the door slowly, and there he stood, face as red as a rose, his eyes blood shot and still moist from crying. This coming from a man who never cried. Ever. My whole life, I had never seen him cry, until that day.

"It's Bud isn't it!" Mary had screeched from somewhere behind me as we stood on the porch.

"Just come in." My father had said in a dry tone. Trying so hard to steady himself. I could tell right away. Between the crying and the unsteadiness of his voice, that there was something wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Where is Bud?" I had asked. But there had been no answer. Only my father's hand cuffing my right elbow and tugging in an attempt to get me into the house. I followed his tug, and into the kitchen I had stepped. My Aunt D. had been there, comforting my mother at the dinning room table. I had screamed at the top of my lungs, "He's dead!" I ran to my room. But no matter how hard I tried to let it out, I could not cry.

The next three days had been a blur. Everything moved as though it was in slow motion. Everyone crowded our house, and filled it with home cooked dishes, and words of sympathy. People who I had not recalled every meeting, held out their shoulder in an offering to ease my troubles. They were quick to try and wipe away our tears.

I found it so hard to believe, for my brother had only been 19 years old. Until now, I had always thought that people grew old and then they died, some night while they were sleeping.

Standing next to my brothers coffin, watching them lower it into the ground, at that moment is when I had learned, that life comes unexpectedly, and it goes just as quickly. No matter who you are.