Losing Your Brother in McCool Junction
Disclaimer: I have a pretty terrible memory when it comes to my childhood, so most of this story is probably made up. No, nothing traumatic happened to cause memory loss, although I did pass out during a Yahoo Fantasy Baseball draft in 8th grade after hitting my head at an after school middle school band party. My memory just sucks. Also, let me just say up top — my parents are the best. Anyone who has met them agrees. Any wrong-doing found in this story is completely on me!
Dad’s ‘67 Chevelle SS
We were at a car show in McCool Junction, NE. My dad was showing off his immaculate ‘67 Chevrolet Chevelle SS. This thing is a pure beauty in Marina Blue inside and out. It’s his pride and joy, and he loves to remind me that it will be all mine one day. Thank God he’s going to live forever — plenty of time for me to actually learn how to drive stick.
My younger brother Matthew and I were probably 4/5 and 7/8, respectively. We were doing what any cool kids would do in a village of about 400 people — playing with other random kids on a giant pile of rocks. My parents were down the one main street a block or two, sitting near Dad’s blue beauty and fielding all of the compliments while enjoying a Busch Light or two. I was charged to stay with Matthew and to come back when we were done giving ourselves bloody knees.
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I had just secured my throne as King of Gravel Mountain. As I was preparing to deliver the first message to my new subjects, Matthew informed me that he didn’t want to play with us anymore and wanted to go back to Mom and Dad. I graciously released him from my kingdom and allowed him to return to his parents. I’m a good and just king. He started to make his way back down the street and I returned to ruling over my empire.
When my power was usurped, I decided it was time to return to my homeland as well. When I got back to our car, Mom and Dad looked at me funny. “Where’s Matthew?” they asked.
”I figured he was with you. I sent him here a while ago.”
I watched my mom go pale as she realized that Matthew had gotten lost on the way back. I’m still not really sure how that is possible, as this was the ONLY road with a line of cars — damn near the only road in the entirety of McCool Junction. We both walked the street, how could he have forgotten where they were?
Oh yeah… he was, like, 5.
This was my earliest memory of true shame and anxiety. I had lost my only brother. My parents had put me in charge, and I let them down. They were terrified… I had never seen them so afraid and out-of-control before. I was so scared.
Luckily, it wasn’t very long before we were reunited. Some incredible people (I’m not totally convinced they weren’t angels) brought Matthew back. He was sobbing, asking for his parents when they stumbled upon him. And they just happened to be walking down the same street we were — almost as if it were the only street in McCool Junction.
Everyone was overjoyed at Matthew’s return. In my embarrassment, I was a little nicer to him for at least the rest of that week. (Needless to say, I wasn’t really trusted to take care of Matthew in any capacity for a while.)
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I brought this story up with Matthew on our last phone call, a week before he passed in 2016. He acted as though he didn’t even remember that it happened. Maybe his memory was as bad as mine… or maybe he was a lot quicker to forgive me than I was to forgive myself.
…Or maybe he just wanted to enjoy hearing his older brother recount a miserable failure.
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