Read All the Wild Children for Free Online Page B

bad men and did other heroic acts.  We were on top of a steep drive way.  I don’t know who took the parking brake off but I’m guessing I didn’t do it alone.  Roy jumps out, leaving Gabby to handle the driving while he runs into the house screaming  “Josh is driving the Jeep!”
    Now you can take all of these disparate acts and draw a line to Josh is a trouble case.  Or... just maybe... little JJ was smart enough to know he should run for the border, that the wheels were coming off this family wagon train.  Maybe. 
     
    I am 6 1/2, my father still lives with us.  We are still in the mountains in the house on the hill as we called it.  The hippies at Black Mountain commune called it The Land .  At six and a half, I call it home.  My big brother and sister are playing a game they like to call revving little JJ up and watching him spin.  It doesn’t take much to get my rage meter pinned.  On this particular day their tactic is to lock me out of the house.  And taunt me from behind the sliding glass door. 
    “It’s not fair!  Open!  The!  Door!”
    “Make us!”
    “Yeah make us!”  They are laughing. 
    My face is growing red. 
    My heart is pounding like a drum.
    I pick up a brick. 
    I feel its weight, blood pounds in my temple.
    “Open it or I’ll...” I cock my arm, ready. 
    “You won’t.”  Lilly laughs at me.  Lark laughs at me. 
    The brick hits the sliding glass door.  It shatters.  Sharp glass spears spill into the living room.  Nobody is laughing. 
    “I told you I would!”  I’m screaming.  I’m afraid.  No one is hurt this time. 
    When my parents get home, my dad is apoplectic, rightfully so I guess.  We will have to pay for the window.  We will have extra chores.  We will not be trusted.  We will still be left alone, just not trusted, I’m not too sure what that looks like in actuality. 
    In my bed that night I go over it in my head.  I wonder how broken I am.  I don’t feel guilt.  I feel righteous.
     
    I am 7.  My brother is walking away from me.  He and his friend Mark won’t let me come with them.  They tell me no babies allowed. 
    It is not fair. 
    They work their way down a steep incline. 
    “Wait for me!”  I am shouting. 
    My face is growing red. 
    My heart is pounding. 
    I pick up a rock.
    They don’t even look back. 
    The rock sails out into space. 
    My brother screams.  Blood pours out of his scalp, matting his hair. 
     
    “Sit in your room and think about what you did.  And don’t move until we get back.”  My dad is so angry he has gone past rage to calm.  I sit my ass on the bed in my room and don’t move.  Three hours is long time to think about what I did.  I don’t feel righteous.  I feel guilty.  I know I am broken.  In some fundamental way I am not like my brother. 
    They send me to Paul Warner.  The same man who isn’t helping their marriage, doesn't help me.  I don’t actually blame him for any of it.  Our family is FUBAR.  Who am I to judge him.  I am an angry child, who will turn into an angry teenager, who will turn into an angry young man, who will beat up refrigerators and yell and frighten his own small children.  I will never lay a hand on them, so maybe that’s growth.  Or maybe I’m just not as honest about how I feel as my father was.
                 
    My father left when I was eight
    Who I’d follow
    Was left up to you and fate
    I love you big brother
    You are infallible
    Most valuable
    To me
                 
    I am 11.  It is 1969.  I write a song for my brother.  For his birthday.   Forget the extra helping of cheese and bad wordplay.  Look at the sentiment.  In-fucking-fallible.  Try and live up to that big brother.
    I know I couldn’t.
    But what’s another pound to an elephant, right?   Hell the boy had the house on his shoulders, what was one brick. 
     
    I am 40.  It is 1998.  I call my brother in Texas where he now lives.  I have just