The wind blows past me as I glide through the air. The dusty old River Rider swing set with the swinging monkey bar gets closer. I see blurs of the Oak trees and colors of yellow and orange autumn leaves. My hands touch the small piece of white cold metal. I begin my flip holding on with a tight grip. I feel as if I’m in the circus. Everything turns upside down. I have a speeding adrenaline rush. I then hit the pile of leaves, jumping up with joy. I rush back to the fence to convince my brother to take the spinning ride, he stands there maybe only 3 ½ feet tall. A cute little boy, blue eyes and blond hair. He questions me but runs and grasps the metal tightly.

Within seconds flash, my brother is gone. Horror fills my body as I run. It’s like a zig-zag. A spiral. A coil. His arm lies crushed over. I begin to panic as he begins to cry, my short dad in a Nike t-shirt, and my taller mom with big poofy hair arrive, which seems like hours later..

“Joe, get the phone and call 911!” my mother commands.

“Should we call Mimi?”

So upset, she looks at him with a sour face. For Mimi is my little old grandma, what is she going to do? My dad is so clueless sometimes, I think of myself as the only adult. While this is going on, I’m sitting in a 1996 Plymouth Voyage van to remove myself from the scene, crying my eyes out. The red lights and loud sirens make my feelings hurt deeper. I feel the pain plus more for I have a guilty conscience, I knew it was me who caused him so much pain. Now I’m left with crushed, sour, sore feelings of myself and my brother only to have the physical pain. My brother’s broken arm has me in shame.