July Christmas Tree

We were driving away from a 4H meeting, having a sudden departure. It wasn’t until we were three blocks away when our mother told us why we had to leave. Someone was making fun of our baby brother.

My brother, Julyan, has Asperger's. He waves and frets with his hands when he gets excited. Stimming is what I remember it was called. So, we, which includes my two younger brothers, are violently protective of him. To the point of attacking those who poked fun at him. I have gotten into full out screaming matches with grown men who teased and made of my brother.

Our mother knew our gang-like mentality when it came to our family, so she never told us until it was too far away to jump out of the car and shove my boot down someone's throat.

“We have to leave...Those were white boys, and I know you feral children.” My mother spoke softly, almost too soft for us to hear, even as I sat in the front seat of our Surburban.

I was conflicted, to yell and demand she heads back so we can fight, to check on my brother, oblivious to the horrible mocking, and my other brother, morose that he didn’t notice.

The 4H meeting was a bit out of town since I didn’t mention it before. Far enough that, while we also lived at the edge of the town, it took at least two hours to head home.

We rode in silence, everyone too keyed up to talk. I was thinking, plotting on my next move for the two boys who mocked my brother, when I remembered a scene from an old manga i enjoyed reading in the school library.

In the manga, the two main characters decided to drive by a factory, a plant if you wish to discribe it, and were in awe of the lights that glimmered in the dark.

“Hey, Rigo,” I turned to speak to my younger brother.

“what?” he replied, a bit irate. Rigo was my younger brother by three years, and a lot of the time we were at each other’s throats: shooting each other with BB guns, fist fighting after both eating nightshade on a dare, digging graves for each other and creating headstones if we succeeded in finally offing each other.

“You still upset?” I asked. Rigo scoffed.

“No shit I'm still mad!” he growled out.

“Language.” our mother droned, but her focus was somewhere else, not really caring if we cussed and swore at each other.

“Look, do you want to see a Christmas tree?” I asked.

“Where the hell is the Christmas tree? It’s the middle of July.” Rigo asked.

“I’ll show you. Wait until I say so, then you will see a Christmas tree.” I kept myself partially turned in the front seat, grinning like an idiot at my brother. I kept my eyes in the back window. At the same time watching my little brothers, all three of them, wriggling in excitement for this elusive Christmas Tree.

“Wait,” I said, smiling as they were now literally bouncing in place. I glanced over at my brother, witnessing her smiling after all the bullshit we went through tonight.

“Where is the tree?” Julyan asked. His hands were waving, redirecting the joyous energy.

“Hang on. It’s coming up,” I replied. Finally, as we rode up a steep hill, and finally reached the top, I perked up.

“Okay, turn around at look.” all three of my brothers spun around so fast, I know one of them tweaked their neck.

“Wow...” Rigo was in absolute awe. Julyan squealed, a happy sound. And Jo, he was quiet, but he was elated.

The old papermill in Frenchtown, while it was shut down a little over two years ago, still funneled electricity, lighting the multitude of lights. The lights flicked, giving off their illuminance of red, green and various shades of white and yellow. With how the lights were formed on the structure, they stood on a pyramid, a triangle.

“It’s a Christmas tree...” Rigo whispered. I smiled.

“It is.” He then turned back to me, his round, brown face grinning. It was rare, when we smiled and took joy with each other, so I relished the feeling and sight.

“Thank you.” he whispered. I smiled back, noticing that my mother was also smiling, soft tears in her eyes.

“No problem.”