O 39-brother Where Art Thou Today

“Does it have a name?” he asked.

I laughed. It came out strange and rusty, like a door opening for the first time in a decade. o 39-brother where art thou

“You look like a scarecrow,” I said. “Does it have a name

“Shotgun,” he said.

“It’s always been yours,” I replied. ” I said. “Shotgun

My handwriting. From a diary I’d kept when I was twelve. Leo had stolen that diary, I remembered. He’d read it aloud at the dinner table until our mother threw a slipper at his head.

The last time I saw my brother, Leo, he was standing on the roof of our father’s bait shop, wearing a tweed jacket and a pair of pink swimming goggles.