Trapped in his arms

When my mother departed, I was nine years old.

One of my earliest memories is being at home and pleading with my younger brother to stop sobbing. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the fridge for him to eat. We were hopeless, young, and stupid enough to believe that she would eventually return. There was never a time when she did.

It took me approximately four days to make up my mind to do something about it. I got my younger brother, who was seven at the time, ready and off to school we went. I went to the only school I knew how to go to, so I guess that's why I picked it.

Avery stated, "Alex, I'm very hungry," while gripping his stomach and seeming uncomfortable.

I assured him, "I'll get you food now, just give me a few minutes" as I dragged him by the hand down the road.

We ask, "Are we going to die, Alex?" Avery inquired, worriedly.

The honest truth is that I had no idea. When I was nine, I was worried about what would happen to my brother and me. Perhaps I even feared for our lives. A child's imagination may be both terrifying and enchanting.

We'll be fine, I murmured under my breath, annoyed by his barrage of inquiries.

After Avery began, "But what about-" I cut him off.

"Would you guys please be quiet?" I pleaded, exhausted, hungry, and irritated. I saw the tears start to fill up in his eyes as he dropped his head in defeat.

After patting his head and saying, "I'm sorry Avery, we're almost there ok," I tried to soothe him. I took it as a consoling gesture at the time. Avery's stomach was growling, and he continued to cry out in anguish.

When I saw a convenience store along our route, I dreaded the inevitable but knew I had no choice. While Avery distracted the shopkeeper, I stuffed as many candies as I could into my pockets. The shop's proprietor came back in and gave me the once-over. I pretended like I was searching for something and it worked.

Greeting: "Can I be of assistance?" Already suspicious, he inquired. He saw that I was malnourished from my thinness, my dirtiness, and my youth.

A fast "No, I'm okay" was my hasty response as I tried to cover up my guilt, but I failed. Unless my bulging pockets gave it away, the guy could tell I was stealing.

He groaned, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me out of the store, saying, "You little shit." After striking my head and falling to the ground, I was dazed and confused for a while. My head hurt so badly that I started to cry. I held back my tears because I needed to be a role model of strength for Avery. Avery was standing there, looking concerned. Tears were already streaming down his cheeks. He had a kind disposition.

With a sneer, he told the kids, "Keep the candy you little thieves" and then retreated inside his store. I put my hands on the floor and dragged my sluggish self up. Avery, shocked at the wound on my temple, covered his lips. The scrapes and scratches on my knees didn't hurt quite as much. When I was younger, climbing trees was my favorite activity, so the occasional scratch or bruise wasn't a big deal.

As I cradled Avery in my arms, I said, "I'm okay."

Often heard: "Why are people so mean?" Tears were falling from his eyes as he asked.

The words "I'll never let anyone be mean to you, not like that" left my mouth. Even when I was very small, he was the only thing on my mind.

Avery was becoming hungry, so we sat on a low wall while we waited for me to return with some food. When I reached beneath my shirt and produced a bottle of water, I saw a smile spread over his face. He snatched it from my hands and opened it at once, drinking from it in great gulps. I took out some cookies as he did that. When my mother performed these kinds of things for me, I always felt better.

For the first time in days, Avery and I sat contentedly on a little wall, with our feet still dangling over the floor, munching on cookies and sipping water.