The way things used to be

You used to love sledding. It was the only thing you did from the moment you woke up to the moment you fought mom for putting you to bed. Don’t you remember? I had to chase after you because you didn’t bother to put on your snowsuit properly so all the snow just went inside. Then mom had to drag you back and redress you. What a little stinker you were. You were like a dog with a ball. You went up and down the hill thirty times, then you’d rest for five minutes and go another thirty times. It was just exhausting watching you. But you never quit, it was amazing. You were like the guy carrying the rock, up and down the hill, non-stop, except you were happy. After the accident I couldn’t ride with you anymore. And you seemed to be angry at me for that. You even ran into me once. That made me sad. But overtime you got over it, or maybe I did, and after playing in the cold snow we ran inside for hot chocolate. You drank it so fast you burned your tongue. We had hot turkey sandwiches with gravy. I told you not to eat so fast or you’d get a tummy ache, but you didn’t care. You went sledding just the same. One time you overdid it and I heard you moaning at the top of the hill. I heard you retch a few times, then you came sledding down. I asked what had happened and you said nothing, but I could see that you’d thrown up. Your face was pale, and there was some leftover puke on your coat. What a goof you were. But you were always like that I guess. As far as I can remember, anyway. I don’t remember much before Dad left. I don’t know if you remembered him. You weren’t old enough to talk about it, then you got sent away. It was a long time before I got to see you again, and by that time your face had hardened, I could see your skull bones, where before you had fleshy, chubby cheeks. Your head was shaved and I thought you looked so much older than you were, not only your appearance but your soul, the way you carried yourself, the way you spoke. I was sad the way you had changed so much, and I didn’t think it was an altogether good change. Maybe you didn’t either. You came back and stayed with us for Christmas one year. I was so happy. I showed you your old sled. How small it was! I couldn’t believe it. We used to both fit on it, now I’d be surprised if just one of us could get on it without falling off. You didn’t want to go on it though. It even looked like you snubbed it, as if it had feelings and was aware of the way you felt about it. Mom told me Dad got that for you before he left. I didn’t know that. And even though I could do it with you, now that my leg was better, you still didn’t want to go. We sat at the table and had so much food. We had turkey and stuffing, cranberries, gravy mashed potatoes, Christmas pudding, shortbread, nuts and bolts—your favorite!—chocolate mousse. You didn’t eat like you used to. You were very restrained. Mom hadn’t cooked like she used to, but when she heard you were coming home, she was so excited, we all were, and she took her recipe box down from the shelf and started preparing. She got a turkey from the supermarket instead of the butcher, and it had been brined. It was quite salty. But it wasn’t bad. And you got mad at her. You said she ruined the turkey. I’d never seen mom cry before, even when Dad left, she kept her composure. But when you said that about the turkey she got so upset and cried right at the table. It looked like you broke her heart. I know you felt bad about it, but at the time you were so stubborn and angry. I suppose you had reasons to be, but you had no right to be. You had no right to make mom feel that way. And then I confronted you afterwards about it and you snapped at me too. You even motioned as if you were going to hit me. But you didn’t. You still had some strength in you. After you left again, mom and I waited endlessly everyday for your mail. She didn’t even want an apology, just a greeting. She just wanted you to say hi. But you wouldn’t even do that. Or maybe you couldn’t. The you I always remember you as is the chubby-cheeked goofball running up the snowy hill and sledding down. Your determination was one of your strengths. Your stubbornness was not. I just wish we could have spent another time on the hill like we used to. Before everything happened. I’m not blaming you for the way you acted. I only wish you could have maintained some level of carelessness about everything. Not everything was as bad as you thought. Not everything was ruined. I still wanted to go sledding with you. Or at least be there with you when you were sledding. Do you remember the first time I took you sledding? I said not to be afraid. I said I was right there for you. And then, after the accident, do you remember what you said to me? Ha! You said the same thing. You said you would be right there for me. But you said it seriously. You were so worried. But I didn’t have the courage to do it. And you were so angry. I guess I should have tried, as you did when I first took you. I’m sorry for that. This is my last chance now, before you fly away into the air and snow. Let’s go sledding again. You can sit in front of me, like you used to. And neither of us will be afraid. When we get to the bottom, we can go right back up to the top.