My happy memories of my brother are, I suspect,
not really my memories at all. My mom has great,
silly stories about my brother and me as kids, but
I don't remember them. I suspect I've been lied
The only happy memory I'm certain of is the two of
us running up the stairs to the second-floor
landing and dropping the cat over the side to see
if he would land on his feet.
The spinning drop.
We giggled like mad as we tortured the poor cat. I
was in preschool then, so my brother must have
been around eleven years old. Old enough to know