Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [13]
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get to it tonight if I get the chance.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I answered.
“You don’t sound like you’re too excited about this.”
“I will be. When it’s time to go, I mean. Right now, I’ve got so much work that I haven’t had time to think about it much. I’ll get more excited the closer we get. Right now, I’m swamped.”
He took a deep breath. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you learned yet?” he asked. “The anticipation is an essential part of this whole trip. The excitement of going, the places we’ll see, the people we’ll meet. That’s part of the joy of this whole thing.”
“I know. But—”
He cut me off.
“You’re not listening to me, little brother. Never forget that anticipation is an important part of life. Work’s important, family’s important, but without excitement, you have nothing. You’re cheating yourself if you refuse to enjoy what’s coming.”
I closed my eyes, knowing he was right, but still lost in all that I had to do. “It’s just that right now, I’ve got different priorities.”
“That’s part of your problem,” he said, his voice steady. “You’ve always had different priorities.”
Whereas suspension came to be a regular aspect of Micah’s early school life, I found that I loved school. Everything about my first year was easy—my teacher was sweet, the kids were nice, and nothing we learned seemed difficult. Still, because he was a year older, Micah was nonetheless more advanced in most subjects than I. Or, so I assumed.
Our parents had us join the Cub Scouts, and one of our projects was to carve a wooden rocket, powered by a CO2 cartridge and held in place by a wire, which we later raced against other rockets made by other Cub Scouts. Micah and I walked the couple of miles to the recreation hall alone, both of us nervous about how we would do. My rocket lost in the first round. Micah’s won, however, and continued to win. In the end, Micah’s rocket ended up placing second overall, and I was both proud of him and jealous at the same time. It was the first time I’d ever experienced the feeling of jealousy toward my brother, and the feeling only grew stronger when he received a red ribbon amidst applause. He could not only do everything, I realized, but do everything better than I. Meanwhile, the ribbon I received—which was given to everyone who, like me, hadn’t placed, soon made me feel even worse. I was just learning letters and sounds—I could read small words, but longer words were often incomprehensible. I had no idea what the ribbon said; all I knew was that it was given to people who didn’t do well.
Still, I tried my best to read the ribbon. It had two words, and the second one was “Mention.” I knew that much right away, but the first word didn’t seem to make much sense, so I tried to sound it out. It started with an HO, had an R in the middle, and ended with BLE . . . my lips began forming the word, when I suddenly paled.
Oh no, I thought. It can’t be . . .
I stared at the word trying to blink it away. But it was right there, for everyone to see.
The world began to spin as it finally dawned on me. Of course, I thought, it made sense. I felt my stomach lurch and I wanted to cry. In the distance, I could see my brother proudly showing off his rocket and ribbon, standing among the people who’d done Great. Meanwhile, people like me had done exactly what the ribbon said. Horrible. They’d given me a ribbon that said Horrible Mention.
I don’t remember leaving, but I do remember walking home. Micah knew I was upset but I kept shaking my head when he asked why. Finally, when the feelings became too overwhelming, I thrust the ribbon toward him.
“See!” I cried. “I did horrible. That’s what the ribbon says.”
“Your ribbon doesn’t say that.”
“Look at it!”
He stared at the word, trying to sound it out like I had, then slowly looked up at me as if he were about to cry, too. “That’s not very nice,” he mumbled.
Oh . . . no . . . I was right. I realized I’d been holding