There Will Always be Two by Patricia Dempaire-Caldwell (bts books to read .txt) 📖

There Will Always be Two

I was born in Brooklyn, New York and I came home the next day to a birthday party at my grandma’s 147th Amsterdam apartment. They were putting seven candles on Derrick, my brother’s cake. They added another candle for me. I don’t remember my brother’s face, but I can only image how his spoiled face went sour. My mom always tells me how she was leaning in to blow out the candles, but Derrick blew it out before my mom was ready. We didn’t meet in the best of terms.
Derrick broke his leg for a second time, this time for not landing right after a layup; the best part was I got to stay home too. I don’t know who came up with the bright idea, but I was only 4 and Derrick being 11 I’m pretty sure it was his light bulb. I can still see him seating at the other end of the living room pouring a bucket of water and soap and gesturing me to get another. I pushed the bucket along out 1 bedroom apartment and saw Suga, our dog, scrapping to stand on all fours. I poured the other bucket and slide across the room to my brother’s arm. A few buckets later our doorbell rang, our wonderful neighbors called the cops because the ceiling was leaking. We almost got taken away from our mom because of the whole two children being left alone; luckily, one of the cops had a single mother as well and played Donkey Kong with us till my mom got home. Ever since that night that officer would check on my brother and me. In my opinion, everyone won. My mom got to keep her kids, the office got paid to play video games and we didn’t get in trouble for almost caving into the apartment below us.
For our last months of school, Derrick and I bustle on Brooklyn pavement to get to school. We moved in with my uncle, which was on the other side of Brooklyn. My mom gave us enough money to take a taxi to my school and then drop my brother off. Instead we lavished in breakfast sandwiches, 5-cent peanut chews and cheese doodles. We stopped at the bodega got our breakfast and our sweets, the dollar van approached the same corner. My brother gave him a dollar instead of two, as usually my brother was tricking the system by having me seat on his lap. It was a good trick however, that extra dollar sometimes got me a ring pop or when the sun beamed on my plaid skirt and knee high socks a Flintstone push pop. When we were running late Derrick couldn’t stop mumbling about what the Sisters were going to say. But when we were on time, I remember talking about how I kicked his butt in I Declare War the night before, or how it’s impossible to get 100% on Super Mario World. I miss the scent of spices and herbs from fellow dollar van goers, the silent giggles we shared when we over heard Creole, no one ever guessed we were Haitian.
Our one bedroom apartment became 3 bedrooms and the every other sidewalk tree patch became a whole backyard of trees. I saw a bee for the 1st time and my mom didn’t yell at me when I ran in the streets. With more space came louder music blaring from every possible window, my sweet alarm clock. I can still see my brother dancing in his boxers making eggs, “me and Mariah go back like babies and pacifier, old Dirty Dog no liar, keep the fantasy hot like fire,” flowing from his lips as I kissed him goodbye. My walk had a different strut to the bus stop those mornings as I finished his words, “jump, jump, let me see you do your stuff, girls let me see you shake your rumps.” Our first winter is known as the Blizzard of 96. I’m sure my mom wished we lived in Brooklyn were she could hop on the D train to get to work instead of being stuck on the Palisades at 6am driving 20miles an hour. My, well my mom’s beautiful two-door stick BMW was no match for Elmer snow. It was a perfect setting for a 15 year old on a snowy day from school with my mom’s key and her saving lives till 10pm. We buddle up in our matching colored Bear Mountain and Northface bubble jackets and headed towards the adventure that awaited. I’m not sure what went wrong exactly, it could have been the 16inches of snow or my brother still new at stick, but the car died two houses down tuck in snow at the end of our dead end. We told my mom the car rolled back on its own, she believed it for awhile, and we had a good run till a few weeks later my mom talked to our neighbors.
Our home walls collected stories to tell over the years. Derrick and I built a go-Kart that cut through our yard and our paintball gun that splattered against our trees. I remember visiting my brother as his first job, Johnny Rockets. He wore a paper boat that made his head bigger. I reaped from his labor with fresh kicks and my sacred “Special Sister” necklace. I wore our relationship around my neck like a security blanket.
I was off to Jr. High and Derrick to West Georgia University. The walls were silent as my fear of loneliest grew. My mom worked 12 hours everyday to mange everything and I managed coping. Starring at myself, the tears are still fresh and I can see the roots of my destructive habits. My first sight at me demon, my own company. I spent most of my days lingering around the house as my brother collected handles across his dorm room. I felt isolated as adolescents lowered my self-esteem and Derrick not being around to make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe. We truly missed each other; when we talked on the phone, we almost always shed a tear together with our goodbye. By the end of the year Derrick was back to stay for good, the walls couldn’t stop.
We stayed up long nights making little games to entertain ourselves. My mom would fall asleep and we would have to be ninja chiefs, creating Ku Fu dishes without waking the dragon in her layer. Our favorite dish was mac and cheese, cartoon character shape of course, with broccoli, hot dogs and extra melted cheese on top. We were quite creative. While things were cooking, I would be on a solo mission to print out guides for Resident Evil. Yeah, it’s kind of cheating, however those zombie dogs are crazy and the game is really fucking tricky. My brother would control and I would guide as we stayed up for nights to finish the game. Over time we finished Tomb Raider, Grand Theft Auto, Double Dash and Scarface.
The summer of 05’, my aunt got remarried and my whole family was together. The beautiful night was forgotten by the morning phone call the woke me up. My brother called me from an unknown number and said he was in the hospital. He wasn’t sure what happened but he had no clothes, no recollection and my black Pontiac I never got to drive was totaled. I walked into my kitchen where my mom, my uncles and a bunch of my cousins were enjoying breakfast, talking about the wonderful night. I had to be the one to ruin the picture, to change my mom’s laughter to tears of angry and disbelief. I walked up to the post-celebration and said while laughing, “Mom, Derrick is in the hospital, he got into a car accident.” My laughter came from the same anger and disbelief of my mother’s heart. Every one started to talk at once, every one knew Derrick was drunk that night and that my cousin drove him to his house. Derrick forced the keys out my cousin’s hand and blacked out while driving. He hit a guard rail, spun the car on the other side of the highway and flipped over. When my mom went to claim the car, the police officer couldn’t believe my brother survived with only a few scratches. After all the screaming, it was finally out that my brother was an alcoholic. The next week I came home to my brother drunk in a dark room. He cried, I listened. He went on about his childhood and having responsibilities at an early age, having to be a father figure to me. I had to bit my tongue, he almost died. He almost died that night but never mentioned it.
We fought regularly and when weren’t we were sharing blunts together as we talked about random things. One night I came home and I can tell my brother was bitter, angry and worst of all jealous because I “never” got in trouble. That night he made sure I did. My mom came home from work and my brother bum rushed her with 1. I smoke cigarettes 2. I smoke bud 3. I wasn’t a virgin. He of course failed to mention he smoked with me. I never felt so betrayed, my own brother ratted me out for his own satisfaction. He lavished in my mom’s disappointment in me. My anger and sock blurred out the yelling and conversation, but I do remember unlatching my “Special Sister” necklace. I wore it for eight years. I made sure I stuffed it down the trash bag seating outside to be collected. I looked at it like a child to old to admire imagery trust and security.
I didn’t talk to Derrick for months. One night he came to my room to apologize, but it fell on deaf eats as my punishment was still in affect, no phone, no car. He knew I could careless for his words. He saw the necklace missing on my neck and was shocked.
“Really Trish, you threw it out?”
“Dude you ratted me out, broke like the 1st rule between siblings.”
“I knew you were pissed when you stopped buying me apple juice when you did the market, I didn’t think you were that mad.”
“That’s what made you notice, you’re funny Derrick. Just leave me room.”
“Alright Trish, just wanted to say I’m sorry and I love you.”

We didn’t talk for another month. Eventually we were back to normal, making jokes, playing video-games, but I don’t share with him anything anymore. Our “normal” didn’t make me sing songs or act mischievous. It just made me linger around the relationship we use to have.
Before squatting in NJ, Derrick and I got matching tattoos. It was a spur of a moment kind of thing. We both got Pisces sign with eachother’s birthday. I won't be able to throw that out. Derrick and I still aren’t as close. We’re not really talking now. But when I do go home, we small talk and still kiss each other with our goodbyes. The best part is, it has always been us two and it will always be the two of us. I have a lifetime to tattle on him.