Brother-in-Shining-Armor

You never forget your first. Hero, that is.

My first hero came galloping up the beach when I was only two years old.

OK, so I'm not positive he was actually galloping. I mean, I was only two, so how could I really know? Besides, I was busy being about to die, so I can hardly be responsible for noticing how my knight approached me for the big event. So, just because I enjoy the idea of it, let's just say he was, indeed, galloping...

I toddled along the hot, white sand of Ocracoke Island, oblivious to the lurking dangers before me, probably picking up seashells, or digging in the heavy, wet sand. It was a family vacation, and we were tent-camping on the beach like some misplaced gypsy nomads. Mommie was tending to Baby Lori, Daddy was firing up the Coleman for burgers and sipping a beer, and the relatives were staking their own tents into the shifting sands. I must have been fast. Or quiet (though that's not all that likely, or so I've always been led to believe). Most likely, I was just plain naughty, and had wandered off in spite of dire warnings to the contrary.

But there I was, enjoying the feel of the warm saltwater licking my ankles and listening to the crashing slush of the ocean rolling over itself in its rush to get to shore. Since the water felt so good on my ankles, I figured my knees might like it too. And then my toes could really squish through the sand. When the water ran back off the beach, it stole the sand from under my feet. I landed on my batoot. That's when the sneaky wave jumped over my head, hit the shore, and invited me (none too gently) to join it at sea. It scooped me up, and rolled me outside-in, off the shoreline and into the green. I might have screamed, but for the burning water taking up all the space in my mouth.

And then he came. Galloping along the beach, feet pounding through the fettering sand, sun scorching his golden head. He dove into the water, unafraid, unwavering in his determination, and without a single care for his own safety. He plucked my fat, tumbled body out of the certain clench Death had on me, and plonked me back onto the beach where I belonged.

My brother-in-shining-armor. My hero.

Having saved my life, he was doomed to be my hero for eternity. Lucky for me. Busy for him.

He came to my rescue countless times throughout my life. None quite so daggers-n-death as the first turn, but all necessary in their own right. There was the time I got myself into a pinch in the eighth grade: The Night of the Tainted Kisses. I'd lied to my parents about going to a county basketball play-off game with a girlfriend, when actually I was there meeting an older boy. After we'd snuck off to make out (my very first kisses....), I missed my ride home with said cover, my girlfriend. Oops! It was my brother who answered the phone (praise be), and told me not to move an inch until he got there. I'd never seen his face quite that shade of purple before. I think it may have been worse than if I had actually gotten Mommie to come to the rescue. To use a favorite word of hers, Big Brother was livid. He threatened me through the tight spaces of his teeth to Never, Ever, Ever try such a stupid-ass thing again. He explained how I couldn't possibly know what I had been messing with. Although initially I'd hoped I'd actually gotten away with my escapade without getting into trouble, I soon learned I was sadly mistaken. It was months before I could meet my hero's eyes without quivering in shame, and actual years before I ever let a boy kiss me again. My first kisses were tainted by shame and the disapproval of the boy I loved above all others, my brother.

There was a price to pay for being saved. I had to be worthy. I wanted to make it worth his while to keep sticking out his neck for me. He was not without demands of his own....

I stared through the clear, turquoise water to the tiles barely visible below, chemicals already assaulting my nose from the hot, heavy air. My bony knees were knocking against each other in stark fear, yet determination kept me on my feet. I waited my turn on the poolside, watching my group jump in turn. My instructor stood before us, calling out names as sharp and staccato as the shot of a starting gun. "Michelle! Go!" Splash. "Good! Chris, go!" Splash. "Great job. Stacey, go!" Splash. "Good. Kelly, go!" I bent my knees and my eyes swept the pool to see my brother instructing another one of the groups at the other side of the pool. He wasn't looking. My sister was in a group at the shallow end. Not looking. I looked at my instructor again. My toes curled over the edge of the pool with a grip as tight as an eagle's talons clutching its dinner. "Kelly?" I nodded, puffed my cheeks and sealed my lips and then, like I'd seen everyone else do, I reached up and pinched my nose tight and leapt from the wall. The fledgling had left the nest, ladies and gentlemen. It seems I soared high for a brief second before I lost gravity and sliced into the pool with all the gracefulness of a buffalo. But! There was no burning in my face. I hadn't drowned, smashed into the tiles below, crumbling my legs like matchsticks, and I had floated back to the surface of the water just like my groupmates had. Once I paddled down to the shallow end to exit, I looked around to see if my brother had seen me. He was still busy. Too bad. He'd missed my big jumping debut. Now all I'd have to talk about after swim lessons would be how many of my female classmates thought my brother was 'Soooo cute!' Same old story.

After showering and meeting my siblings in front of the school, I looked up at my brother, ready to brag. Before I had a chance, he looked down, right into my eyes and said, "Don't you Ever, Ever let me catch you jumping into the pool holding your nose like that again. Holding noses is for babies and no sister of mine is going to jump like a baby."


And there you have it. There are high demands for pleasing one's hero. It seems that whether I was rolling into water, or jumping in it, my technique needed work. Needless to say, I quickly got used to the singe of chlorine in my nose. Whatever he told me to do, I did in the throes of maniacal devotion, set on making him proud of me. Whatever he told me not to do, I avoided (at least until I was old enough to suffer the consequences without requiring his imminent rescue, or until I lived far enough away he wouldn't find out about it).

Though I might have started out camping under his pedastal in a state of reverence born of him saving my life, it wasn't the only reason I came to adore my big brother. He didn't always rescue me by galloping up with a swooping sword, cutting back the enemies. Much of my life I've simply followed his example. I stand up for what I believe in. Don't cave in to peer pressures. Work hard. Take responsibility for my actions. Know what I want, and then do what is necessary to get it. Decide it's okay to change my mind too. Marry the man I love. Devote myself to him. Create a family of my own that encompasses openness, sharing, laughter, rules, respect, trust, and love. These are some of the gifts my brother has given me by lighting the way. So...

Once upon a time, a misplaced gypsy band happened upon a land where the soil wrapped around their feet and followed them to the edge of the earth. At the edge of the earth, the sky and the soil melted together into a playful, endless fluid. It was here that the wee gypsy lass wandered in a mischievous adventure. She didn't know that the fluid was hungry and impolite. She had found pretties and wanted more. She wasn't missed, but for one...

He saw her at the end of it all and noticed he was the only one who noticed. Though the fluid was foreign to him, he heard it's hunger as a pleasant hum, accentuated with the smashing bites it took of the earth. He somehow understood that the lass wouldn't be meal enough for it, but that it would take her just the same. It was already tasting her. His legs began the fight with the gripping soil even as the fluid swallowed her whole.

He flew through the air and sliced into the water in a single movement. It enveloped him, chewing him as it had the lass. Blind, he reached out a frantic hand in the mouth of this unfamiliar beast, and he felt her plump flesh against his palm. He grabbed her slippery, heavy body, pushed with all his might against the hold of the fluid, and they erupted together into the sky. His feet found purchase in the migrating soil, and he carried her limp, beaten body away from the reach of the furious fluid. They collapsed into a coughing heap at the feet of the astonished clan.

And as the wee gypsy lass opened her eyes to see the sun again, she saw first the face of her beloved brother, and in that moment she knew that the sun was now because of him.

The End.