Jacie

         Jacie

         When I was eight I appointed myself my brother, Jason's, protector/tormentor. It was a solid plan; one I had time for at any given moment in the day. I guess you could say I was a self-appointed god and so acted as such.

When we were little, I used to make him crawl into my summer dresses; the ones with the flowers and ruffles. I remember painting his little toe nails a pearly shade of pink. I never seemed to be able to do his pinky though without painting the entire wriggling toe. I would cut his hair too, but it always ended up crooked for some reason. There was even a time I talked about piercing his ears so he could wear my earrings. Thank god that never panned out, compliments of my fear of needles. He was my life size barbie doll. It might seem that I dearly wanted a little sister but I doubt I'd have had as much fun dressing her in drag.

No, I loved having a little brother, only three years younger than myself. And he loved me. I was his big sister; his god. And in the same way that gods lose their followers, I lost mine. I guess sometimes they lose faith when prayers fall on deaf ears. They begin to question things. And in that questioning they sometimes lose something more precious than faith. Something sacred, and fundamental.

Because like all man-made deities I abused my power, I lost him. I dressed him in clothes he didn't like and painted his whole toes as well as the nail. I told him to get me my pillow when I was watching TV and sent him to fetch water when I was thirsty. But he never said a word. It was always, “Yes, Jessie.”

Jason was the only one allowed to call me Jessie. Later, I refused to answer to that name. It died with him.

Noe one else could call me that. It was just against the rules.

See, like all children we had rules growing up.

“Go to sleep at 7:30.”

“Stay in sight.”

“Eat your brussel sprouts.”

So my brother and I made up our own laws. He was dubbed Jacie in our secret world and I was Jessie.

It was our world and only we were allowed to be apart of it. We could fly, we could talk to animals, and we could breathe under water. And of course our rules were a bit different from our parents'.

“Never talk about our rules.”

“Always keep secrets.”

“And never, ever eat our brussel sprouts.” The last rule was the hardest at first. But soon we learned that our dog, Snowball, didn't mind them. He ate everything.

Getting the actual veggies to him was the problem. Finally we decided to take turns distracting the parents while the other would surreptitiously slip a sprout under the table and into a waiting canine mouth., The one time we got caught we lied through our teeth and put all the blame on the dog. Unfortunately he was banished from all future meals. I remember listening to him howl outside while I forced green things down my throat. It was a lonely, hungry sound. So I made sure to save some of my veggies in a napkin and would sneak it to him afterward.

We were a team. Or at least I thought we were, but while I was busy giving orders, he was growing up. He started to complain that we only did what I wanted. But I would quickly cut him off  and convince him it was what he wanted too. He would sullenly follow my lead as we climbed trees, caught lizards, and investigated the garage. But I started to feel the end of something beginning.

The day it ended was the day my parents left us alone with the new baby-sitter for the first time. She was a vapid, tittering thing that had a phone attached to her ear at all times. So while she tittered we played. We were in the back yard amongst the elephant leaves and lime trees. It was a jungle and we were explorers looking for the lost island of Atlantis. I was positive it was somewhere near the swimming pool. As we played I began to notice that my brother wasn't going along with the plan. “Why are we looking for Atlantis? Why not find where all the dinosaurs are hiding?” My brother loved the dinosaurs. In fact he loved them so much he was convinced they were still alive hiding from the adults somewhere. Apparently that somewhere was our backyard. But who was I to complain; I was searching for Atlantis. So we went our separate ways. Me laughing at him; he screaming at me. The last words I said to him still ring in my ears, “ Just don't go near the pool, cause that's my place.”

I guess it's obvious what happened. He didn't listen. And it would have been alright accept I got thirsty and decided to go inside to get a drink. I would have asked Jason to do it but I remember being afraid he'd say no. I never wanted him to say no, so I didn't ask.

It didn't happen with a scream or a splash. There was only silence. They say he must have tripped, hit his head on the side of the pool and drowned. But I didn't hear anything.

I had decided to take a break and watch some Rugrats on Nickelodeon. It was long time before I noticed that he wasn't with me.

But there was nothing to be worried about.

So I walked outside to collect my little brother and found him face down in the pool. I still didn't understand.

Why was he swimming? And what was he doing near my place! I told him to stay away from it.

So I started yelling at him. Nothing.

And yet I yelled.

I notice now that there is a certain disbelieving that occurs in the face of death. It is a shuddering denial of truth and for a moment, a desperate wanting of the could have been. Even at eight years old, I saw this moment and grabbed onto it with all of myself. But it wasn't enough. There are moments in life you can not change no matter how hard you want. There are moments that change us instead.



I saw it all at the edge of the pool outside my house. And still I yelled at him, wanting. Soon I accepted that he wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything. He just floated while the pool shivered around him in comforting ripples. A halo of something dark swallowed his head.

I don't remember much after that. I'm told I screamed. I'm told I wouldn't stop screaming. I don't know. I just remember wondering if he had finally found the dinosaurs he was looking for.