Untitled......

I remember exactly when my childhood ended. It ended when my brother told me how long summer was. Until then I lived in a dreamy, sunshiney world of limitless days of playing.

My brother and I were the youngest of five and were very close. We were always together. My mother never called just one of us, it was always 'wayneandann', like we were one kid. We fought together and played togther. We fought each other's battles, no matter who was in the right. I wrote plays and we acted them out. We tormented our older brothers. We lied for each other. He got scared at the horror movies, not me. I made fun of him.

We spent all day once trying to find the footprints of the man, or monster, who knocked the screen off the window next to his bed. He woke up screaming...daddy, daddy, somebody's at my window. Turned out that one of the horses had knocked the screen off and nuzzled him in the face. Everyone started laughing at him so we got mad and set out to prove that it was not a horse. I could laugh at him, but no one else could.

My mother moved us a lot. Not from town to town, but house to house in the same small town. My brother and I buried time capsules in each yard, always positive that we would come back to dig them up when we grew up. I wonder sometimes if any were ever found.

He told my mother that he thought I needed to start wearing a bra. I strutted my stuff in that bra, though it was probably a double ought nothing.

He told me how awesome sex was and that I should try it.

He told me what to say to boys who insulted me. Say, not hit.

He told me which boys were good enough to date, and which were stupid.

The first time I read To Kill A Mockingbird, my brother was in the Army, stationed in Germany. I stopped reading in the middle of the book to write to him about it, telling him to get the book and read it. The day after I mailed the letter, I got one from him. There was a P.S. telling me that I had to get this great book, because it reminded him of us.

Somehow, when I am afraid or panicky about something, if I put my fingers in my ears, I can cope. Once, when I had to have blood drawn and only had one hand free, he came over and pressed my head into his stomach to help muffle sound.

He hated his name, Donald Wayne and I hated mine, Barbara Ann. So, of course, he was always Donald Wayne to me and I was Barbara Ann to him. Anyone else who dared call us by those hated names were either hit or ignored.

On July 12th, 2000, Donald Wayne called me to tell me that he had been diagnosed with cancer. He died July 19th, 2000. I was not able to get to him in time. The last thing he said to me was, hurry and get here, Barbara Ann, I really want to see you. The last thing I said to him was, I love you Donald Wayne.

I can now tell you exactly when my past disappeared. There is no one left who knows all the secrets. No one to sit and remember-when with. No one who laughs at 'tick-a-lock-all-way-round.

One of the saddest and proudest moments I ever had was when Donald Wayne's youngest son told me I was just like daddy.