While relaxing on the couch of my grandparent’s recreational vehicle, I heard my grandpa and sister shouting outside of the home on wheels. Within five seconds of the blood- curdling scream, an odor reached my nose that I would never forget. The stench had me plugging my nose with all the strength my fingers could muster. I felt on the verge of passing out. Before I could do so, my sister ran up the steps of the R.V.
She was covered head to toe in something that resembled chocolate--chocolate mixed with onions, garlic, and week-old eggs that is. Then it dawned on me where the big stink was coming from; my sister and grandfather had been emptying the black and used water from the R.V. with a broken hose. This was going to be a ride to Yellowstone National Park meant for the record books!
After the stench of the dirty water was cleared up, thanks to an essential oil blend of my Grammy’s own making, and the R.V. pulled out of the campground that was used to relieve the extra large vehicle’s water tanks, I pulled out my laptop to play my favorite detective video game. Unfortunately, I was approached by my four-year-old brother, Nash, just as I set my portable computer on my lap. The disappointed look on his face let me know that his last requests to play a card game by the name of Pokemon had already been turned down by his older siblings. Not wanting to suffer the consequences of one of his signature meltdowns, and also from the kindness of my heart, I agreed.
Ten minutes later, we were both in the middle of a heated battle of cards with illustrations of mystical creatures on them. I held my breath as he told me what attack his Pokemon would use.
“Pikachu! Use Thunderbolt!” he shouted in his larger-than-life voice. Then he proceeded to put damage counters on my Pokemon, a dragon named Charizard. “Your Pokemon is knocked out! I win!” my toddler-aged brother yelled. Nash then proceeded to dance in a proud manner. He thought he had won based on his own skill... In reality, I had let him win.
“Nash, are you done with your victory dance yet?” I questioned, for the driver of the forty- foot long vehicle, that we were currently comfortably sitting in, was about to attempt a U-turn. Unfortunately, he was in his own world saying that his Pokemon were cooler than mine, and didn’t hear me telling him to take a seat.
Almost as if in slow-motion I saw the legs of a three-feet-tall-boy come up from underneath him as the motor home turned 180°. Unable to stand up because of the force of gravity on him, his body began to roll towards the bedroom in the back of the lengthy vehicle. Luckily he was stopped by a wall of pillows that had fallen off the bed in the chaos.
My mom and I rushed towards Nash after the R.V. had miraculously completed its nearly impossible turn. I faintly heard my grammy questioning my grandpa about his decision to make that controversial turn. My brother was immediately hoisted up by our mom. After only a few seconds of recovery time, he hopped up and said,
“My Pokemon are still cooler than yours!” I knew he was just trying to get attention, though I still couldn’t help but laugh.
Looking back at that experience, an exciting thought dawned on me. No matter what kind of annoying or crazy things he would say or do, he would always be my favorite four-year-old brother. This eventful trip only cemented that belief even deeper into my heart.