other people's memories: heroes

(this memory is not my own. it is written in the first person as though through the eyes of a young boy. a young boy who grew up to be the sweetest and kindest gentle man i have ever known. my husband, steven. this writing is based upon a real experience from his childhood. and this writing is lovingly dedicated to him.)

 

at some point in a young person's life, nearly everyone needs a hero. someone they can trust. someone they can talk to. someone they can count on. someone they admire and aspire to be like when they grow up. for as long as i can remember, my oldest brother, michael has always been my hero. one summer. it could have been autumn, or winter, or spring. but as i recall, it was summer. all i remember for sure is...michael was gone. and i missed him. he was riding his ten speed bicycle with the curled handlebars all the way from our home in saratoga, california to canada and back. i can't remember ever not wanting to grow up to be like michael. it's not like he was just my hero. the way i see it, michael is a lot of people's hero. so i figured, if i was going to grow up to be like michael, i better start practicing cool stuff, like him. not just regular cool stuff. i mean really cool stuff. like collecting obscure things in your pockets. no matter what you were searching for, michael had it in his pocket. he had about a million and two things in there, but you just knew they were all necessary. bottle caps. fishing line. tinfoil gum wrappers. crumpled up strips of used caps that still smelled of sulfur. i was gonna be like that, too. unfortunately, this is a tendency that has followed me well into my adulthood. [author's personal note: much to the author's dismay...especially when i'm doing laundry!] it seemed like michael was gone forever. if not forever, it was a really long time. but one thing i will always remember is...i smelled michael! now, that's not a bad thing. what i mean is, it was a familiar smell. it was a smell i grew up with. it was a smell i knew. and it was comforting. it was on one of those warm nights when it's late, but it's still kinda light in the sky. i was sitting in the driveway. probably collecting stuff for my pockets. and i smelled him. i got up, ran through the garage and flung open the door to the laundry room. the very same laundry room door that mrs. cathcart flung open and walked right in on dad in his underwear. but that's another story. anyways, i continued running into the kitchen. "mom! dad! i smell michael...michael's home!" i looked in the backyard. i checked all the rooms. i couldn't find michael anywhere. "now dearheart", my mom said, taking me by the shoulders, "michael's not home. he's on his bike trip. you run along and play." no matter how i tried to tell them, they wouldn't believe me.

i don't know how long it was for sure after that. but a few minutes later...michael walked through the front door.

~ janean christine mariani