"My Troubled Brother"

"My Troubled Brother"

My older brother, James, lives in the State Penitentiary. As long as I can remember my brother has always been in trouble. He went from stealing candy to stealing cars. If you have ever seen a police chase in Atlanta; most likely they were after my brother. I love my brother to death, but I could never understand why he would choose a life of crime until I visited him a few weeks ago on my birthday.
When I arrived at the penitentiary, I was taken to the visiting room where convicts are permitted to their guests in person instead of through a thick glass separating them from the people on the outside world. The room was very clean and empty, except for the tables and chairs that were set up in a neat and orderly fashion. I was sitting at a table in the far corner of the room. After five minutes of waiting patiently, my brother walked in escorted by a tall and fat guard. He came towards the seat across from me and sat down.
“Happy Birthday little bro; I would’ve gotten you somethin’, but you know the situation I’m in.” “Yea, it’s probably better that you didn’t. You would’ve just stolen it and be in even more trouble,” I said coldly. “Come on now. I know I screwed up, again, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun,” he said with eyes dissolving my temperate grudge. “James, I love you, but why do you live this life? Why do you constantly go looking for trouble?” He took a moment and then he finally said, “Ryan, I have a story I never cared to tell anyone until now. It will give you a better understanding to why I am the way that I am; this is my birthday present to you.”
“It all started when I was six. One morning in class I was talkin’ to my girlfriend, and this small booger eatin’ kid comes up and kisses my girl. I exploded with a punch to his nose. I looked with admiration at the blood flowing down his face. But then I noticed the teacher’s angry look; and the next thing I knew I was runnin’, runnin’ for what seemed like my life. I ran down the halls all the way to the front door with the teacher yellin’, “James! Get back here this instant!” I ran to the only place people like me belong, “The Bridge”. “The Bridge” is a place where me and my friends would go to throw rocks at the bums livin’ under it. But anyways, I ran there for refuge. For a place decorated with graffiti, torn clothes, and rusted barrels; it was the most welcoming at the time. I had hid there for two hours until I saw two police cars pull up. I remember thinkin’, “Darn it! That butt munch of a teacher called the cops on me. Now I’m in deep doo doo.” Without bein’ seen I had quickly hid in some nearby bushes. As I was watchin’ the cops through the bushes, I could see them heading towards the spot where I was originally. They were beggin’, “James, come out. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to ask you some important questions.” My quiet response was, “Bull shoes! You ain’t gonna catch the famous James “Knuckle Sandwich” Taylor.” But two hours later I surrendered. Not because I was scared, but because I knew they weren’t leavin’ and I didn’t feel like sittin’ in the bushes any longer.”
“That’s a great story James, but I don’t know how that has any relevance to why you choose to be a criminal.” “Don’t you see?” he pleaded, “From the time I gave that kid a bloody nose to the time I surrender to the cops, for that brief moment I was alive. That’s why I steal cars and love being chased by the cops. I do it to relive the high that I experienced when I was six. It’s an addiction like any other drug. If it wasn’t, then they wouldn’t keep sendin’ me back to this rehabilitation center. I’m here to get better, Ryan, but it’s not workin’.”
I had finally realized for the first time in my life that crime is a disease just like cancer, HIV, and alcohol. Once crime enters a person’s body, the person no longer has control over the stealing, raping, and killing. Now I am not ashamed of my brother, but rather feel sympathy for him.