She spoke of him like she spoke of Jesus during our morning devotions. Every day a new story, sprinkled between handwriting and spelling and long division. Her son is tall and lanky. He wears glasses. He always holds his baby brother’s chubby hand as not to lose him. He is engaged to a godly woman. He reads hundreds of books, yet he always goes back to the Bible. One time, a police officer drove him home from a donut shop because it was dark and he didn’t believe such a tall, lanky, glasses wearing teenager should be out alone so late.

My mother brings my little brother and me to day camp. It’s an obscure Lutheran holiday and the real world (her manicure appointment, grocery list, and lunch date) never stops for those. Church school playgrounds on a day off are a glorious place to a nine-year-old, enough time to stop for a bagel and no chiding for lateness. The wet wood chips squish and crunch under our light-up Sketchers as we march across the playground to him. Tall, lanky, glasses towering over a preschooler on the tire swing. He is looking after us until he can find a real job, one to support a godly fiancé and a growing family. A well used book and a better used Bible abandoned on a bench, just out of reach.

I take a seat on the swing next to where he’s standing. I tell him about the glasses I wish I had, the stories I read every night, and the advanced literature group his mother placed me in. He tells me about dreams of a newborn, the four books he actually read in high school, and the Bible club he attends every week. If he goes to every single meeting, he will have read the entire, massive, ancient thing in only six months. How efficient it is to finish something so large in only 183 days.

My tooth falls out, staining cream cheese pink. We stop speaking because my tears mean I’m no longer a “big kid” who reads heavy books and holds her baby brother’s hand as not to lose him. He walks me into the empty church.
She still tells me of him, between volunteer events, graduations, and obscure Lutheran holidays. Her son is tall and lanky. He wears glasses. His godly fiancé and newborn baby live in their own apartment on the other side of town. His baby brother is overseas. He does not read anymore. He has not called.

How efficient it is.