My Brother's Bully: April, 1966.

Fidgeting like a puppet with frayed strings, my brother waited for the bus on the other side of the street. As usual, he was surrounded by a half-dozen little kids. Although I was only a year older than Dan, he didn't belong near me or my fifth grade friends. He wasn't like us (or anyone else I've ever known). It would be our last bus ride together.

We hadn't lived in the neighborhood very long, but luckily there were lots of girls my age. There were boys Dan's age, too, but he didn't make friends so easily. Maybe it was because he still liked to play dumb-ass kindergarten games like Statue, or Hide n' Seek. The neighborhood boys played catch with anything - baseballs, footballs, half-rotten grapefruits. Occasionally, when they were desperate, they'd let us girls play, too. If Dan showed up, I'd chase him away with a well-aimed grapefruit, and my so-called fans would cheer me on.

Once a week when everyone got their allowance, platoons of us would march to the nearest store to splurge on candy and frozen soft drinks. Usually our troops were restricted by gender, but sometimes both would meet at the store and walk back together. Dan didn't join us. I wouldn't let him.

The morning bus stop was my kingdom. Good at telling jokes, or reenacting scenes from favorite TV shows, I enjoyed an exclusive audience. Once, before I banished Dan from my privileged corner, I was just wrapping up a long funny story when Dan blurted-out the punch-line. The bus stop kids laughed so hard some of them must have peed themselves. The bus arrived before I could catch Dan. He was lucky that time.

It was a crispy April morning the last time we shared a school bus. We had both received a serious lecture before leaving that day. Our Dad, a handsome man with a Harley-Davidson voice, told us that after school Dan and I would be going to the beach for the weekend. We hadn't seen our real Mother in many years, but a judge had given her permission to see us. Dad said that she would pick us up from and return us to our house. He warned us that if we saw her at school or anywhere but our house, we were not permitted to leave with her. Ashy crescents under Dad's eyes emphasized his anxiety. Dan's fidgeting seemed to suddenly be less spastic.

On the bus, I sat with my friends near the back. Dan sat with the youngsters up front. School was only four more bus stops away, long enough to tell a few more jokes, but not long enough to finish any neglected homework. I never noticed Dan once we were on the bus or at school. I might see him on the playground, or in the lunchroom, but it was as though he was someone else's brother. In fact, I often wished he belonged to a different family. 

As I got off the bus I could no longer ignore Dan.  He was standing straight as a soldier next to a woman near the bike racks. Our real Mother had finally landed back in our world. She was taller than I remembered, but I recognized her skyscraper hair, sleekly wrapped and tucked high on her head. Grinning like a game show host, Dan abandoned our unspoken protocol and called, "Sher, it's our Mom. Our Mom is here!"

Overcome with sudden shyness, I approached the pair. I let my real Mother hug me, but couldn't take my eyes off Dan. He wasn't fidgeting anymore. He looked like Christmas, Easter, and the Fourth of July were happening all at the same time. "Mom wants us to have breakfast with her Sher." "But we've already eaten", I said. As our real Mother lead us towards a nearby taxi she said, "I'll bring you back in time for the Pledge. Your Grandmother is waiting for you at the restaurant." She opened the taxi's door and Dan jumped right in. Remembering Dad's instructions, I became stern. "Dan!" I warned, "You better get out. We're not allowed to leave school." Our real Mother tried to persuade me to join them, "Your Grandmother has a special surprise for you." I could hear the lie; I could see my real Mother was too nervous  for truth. I backed away from the taxi and repeated to Dan, "We're not allowed to leave. You're going to get in big trouble." My real Mother appealed to me one last time, "Sheri, we'll be right back. Just get in, honey." I ran to the school door. The taxi drove away.

After I stopped crying long enough to convince my teacher that something awful had happened, it was too late. My real Mother and Dan were at the airport before anyone thought to call  my Dad. I never saw my brother again, and that was probably a blessing for him. I still feel ashamed when I remember how badly I treated him - ignoring his needs, and mocking his innocence. There had been a time when he had been my only companion. There had been a time when his fidgeting was a crazy kind of comfort.