1

In a particular time and a particular place, there was a little cottage upon a hill.  It was built sturdily with a solid brick exterior and surrounded by the most beautiful flowers, each one boasting a shade so magnificently vibrant it was as if Mother Nature had come and painted the color onto the petals herself.  Beyond the hill, there were stretches of milky soft grass that ran some distance until reaching a rather dense forest that enclosed the cottage in a field of green on all sides.  The sun always set peacefully and luminously each evening in this enchanting world, and birds chirped joyously with one another until they too retired with the sun at night.  If a young couple decided to stroll through here, they would find that the breeze always blew perfectly, neither too strong to whip the skin on one’s face nor too soft to leave a yearning for something more.  Yet, no family inhabited the cottage on the hill and few passersby felt welcome enough to stay and stroll for more than an hour or so at a time.  Nobody really seemed to know why this land, which echoed with such a distinctive dreamy quality, remained virtually untouched by human life.  Some might say it was a retreat for the lonely - a kind of haven where they could come together and dwell in the stories of how sad they all felt, finding some relief in a sense of shared suffering before retreating back into separation.  In the town that lay on the other side of the forest, there seemed to be an unspoken recognition that none were truly deserving of the land and all its charming mystery.  It was sacred. 

                However, there soon came to be talk in the town that a certain gentleman planned to move into the little cottage upon the hill.  Although it came as quite the surprise that someone had finally decided to purchase the residence and all of the land surrounding it, there was no surprise in discovering who had decided to do so.  His name was Roger Pemington and he was a man well-known for challenging convention.  Of course, a decision as bold as this could not possibly go unmet by the opinions of prying strangers, and many of the other townspeople were quick to express their disapproval.  They thought surely the cottage and the land belonged to someone important, and the announcement that some fool planned to claim it all as his own triggered an innate jealous reaction inside them and bore a perfect stage for the unconscious battle over status that humans are apt to engage in with one another. 

“I think that’s the man my granddaughter was telling us about,” whispered one old lady to another as Mr. Pemington walked down the street one afternoon on his way to the market. 

“Who does he think he is?  And what makes him think he’s better than us?”  the second one asked in reply. 

“I don’t know.  But to think that he can just up and move in there... well, any reasonable man would realize that the idea is absolutely preposterous.”  They both looked at each other and nodded, clearly satisfied with the conclusion that they had reached. 

In a way, the ladies were right.  After all, a reasonable man might have slowly come to agree that perhaps what he dreamt for was, in all actuality, impossible.  But from the day he was first born, Roger Pemington came into the world with an unquenchable thirst for life.  In his early youth, he was small, energetic, and constantly on the lookout for a way to transform the mundane into something marvelous and exciting.  Bath time was actually a deep-sea excursion, meal time was when little, silver jet planes would deliver food directly to his mouth, and bed time was when friendly angels would come and take him away to a place where he could see and hear things in his sleep.  And during those times when he was supposed to sit still, he would wriggle about or bounce up and down, his mind brimming with all of the tantalizing adventures he could go on as soon as he was granted motion again.  More than most children, play brought out a pure happiness in him and he was a child who preferred to always be engaged in activity.  His vigorous spirit was so endearing, however, that it was hard for the adults around him to get at all bothered by it.

“That’s my little Rogey,” his mother would say.  “But don’t let his size fool you!  He’s much more excitable than your average boy.  You know, I can’t even keep up with him half the time.”  In fact, few children his own age could keep up with “Little Rogey” and he often told his parents how sad and lonely he felt for not having a real playmate.  Then, one day when Roger Pemington was five years old, his parents announced to him that a new baby boy was soon to join their family. 

“You mean I’m going to have my own little brother to play with?” he asked his mother and father with an honest eagerness.  He continued, with more and more excitement mounting in his voice, “I’m going to teach him all sorts of stuff and we can play together all day long and I’ll never be bored or lonely ever again!”  Mr. and Mrs. Pemington smiled at each other, happy to hear their son’s words and his elation over the idea of having a younger sibling. 

“What a relief,” Mrs. Pemington confided to her husband when they were in bed later that same night.  “I was almost worried he would be one of those children who gets jealous over a new baby.  You know, with him requiring so much attention as it is.”

Mr. Pemington chuckled, “No, dear.  That boy needs a young one who can run around with him all day.  It’ll be good for him.”  When the moment finally arrived and Mrs. Pemington gave birth to her second son, Roger could hardly contain his enthusiasm.  He greeted his parents at the door upon their return from the doctor’s, jumping up and down with desperate pleas to see his much anticipated sibling.

“Here you go, Roger.  This is your little brother, Lionel.  Would you like to hold him?”  Mrs. Pemington handed her son the newborn baby and watched him as he greeted his brother for the very first time.  Roger was bewildered.  He stared wide-eyed at the newest addition to his family that was sleeping quietly in his arms, and it was for a brief moment that he stood completely still holding his little brother.  Upon recovering from his shock, he handed the baby back to his mother and decided to switch from hopping to spinning around in circles.  “Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, sweetheart?” his mother gently inquired.  Roger, clad in his pajamas, stopped mid-circle and gave a little nod.  Mrs. Pemington let out a warm laugh and led Roger upstairs to his bedroom assuring him that his brother would still be there in the morning.

 As time went by, Roger waited for the day when Lionel would be big enough to join him on all of his many escapades.  “Come on.  Get bigger already...” he would whine into his little sibling’s crib.  “Just wait until you can walk, you’ll wonder why you spent all that time sleeping.” 

“Now, now, Roger.  Your brother is trying to rest so he can grow up to be just like you,” grinned his father.  “Just be patient.”  However, as the days and years continued to go by, Lionel Pemington did much to prove his father’s statement completely and utterly wrong.  He did not grow up to be just like his brother; in fact, it was fair to say that the two boys were absolute opposites.  Roger, who had outgrown his original smallness through all of his play, had brown hair with dark brown eyes to match.  Lionel, on the other hand, sported fair hair with light blue eyes and remained quite bony and weak throughout his childhood.  Roger’s skin radiated with a sun-kissed bronze tint, while Lionel’s skin had a translucent quality due to spending most of his time indoors.  When he walked, Roger took broad, confident strides unlike Lionel who scuttled about with a somewhat nervous gait.  But besides just their simple physical appearances, the Pemington brothers could not have been less alike in disposition.  Roger, with his boundless and uncontainable energy, presented a stark contrast to his younger brother who enjoyed reading and other quiet, solitary activities.  As Roger was running throughout the house chasing dragons, killing bad guys, and making a ruckus, Lionel could be found hidden under the covers of his bed pouring over the pages of some new children’s story.  This did not bode well with the elder Pemington brother.  Knowing nothing more than the pleasures of the external world, he developed a rather perplexed irritation towards his sibling’s tendency to stay locked up within his own mind.

“Give those back!” spewed Lionel at his brother one day.  “I need those to read!”

“Oh, you do?” Roger asked mockingly, holding his little brother’s eyeglasses in his hand.  “Well, if you want them, you’ll have to come catch me!”  And with that he took off laughing, secretly hoping his brother would spring up and join him in the game.  Much to his dismay, Lionel responded in his usual manner.

“MOM! Roger took my glasses, AGAIN!” 

“Roger, give your brother back his glasses now!  I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that it’s not funny.”

“Fine!”  Roger shouted.  He returned to where Lionel had been reading and angrily threw his glasses onto the floor.  “Why couldn’t you be like the brother I actually wanted?”  Without waiting for a response, the older Pemington boy stomped off to his room and slammed the door leaving Lionel stunned and confused. 

The fighting between the Pemington brothers only continued to worsen until one day it suddenly stopped.  It was as if both boys finally realized that they had nothing in common and instead of continuing to battle one another over that fact, they decided it would take far less energy to simply pretend that the other had ceased to exist.  Thus, from that day forth they each went about their own separate childhoods.   That was, until a few days before his twelfth birthday when Roger once more came up with a plan that he believed would finally forge a bond with his younger sibling.

“Come on, come on! I have to show you this secret I found,” he begged Lionel to get up and come see.

“I told you I don’t want to come with you.  Why won’t you leave me alone?” his little brother snapped.

“Please, it’s a few days before my birthday and I want to show you this.  You’ll love it.  It’s like something you could read about in one of your books.” 

With an exasperated sigh, Lionel gave in to his brother’s request.  “Oh alright, fine.  I’ll come with you, alright?  Jeez, this better be worth it.”

“Okay, good.  Let’s go!”  The two boys went downstairs, pushed open the front door to their house, and took off, with Roger running a little ways ahead once they were outside. 

“Slow down!  Where are you taking me?”  Lionel huffed and puffed as he tried to keep up with his brother’s swift, athletic pace.  With no reply, Roger led his brother down a dirt trail that sloped away from the Pemington residence into a slightly wooded area.  He knew the path well, having played there after school each day, but his parents had warned him not to go past a certain point since the trail eventually disappeared altogether into the woods.  However, Roger, in a test of his own budding independence, had ignored his parents’ command just a few days before, venturing off past the boundary they had made and discovering something he was convinced his younger brother had to see.  The boys continued a little further until Lionel, red-faced and exhausted, shouted, “I’m going back, Roger.  I’m tired and you know you’re not supposed to be out this far anyways.”

“Come on, don’t turn back now!  We’re almost there.”  Roger sprinted a few yards ahead and looked over his shoulder, surprised to see that his brother was slowly making his way towards him.  He beckoned him over with his hand and pointed.  “See, look!”  Lionel turned his head in the direction his brother was pointing and stood amazed at what he saw.  His brother had been right; it really was just like something he could have read about in one of his books.  For there, in one of the tallest trees in the woods, someone had constructed a giant fort.  Suspended in the sky, it stood atop a plywood base and had a doorway big enough for both of the Pemington boys to fit through at once.  Tiny windows were carved carefully in its sides and despite some minor weathering, the fort appeared far from dilapidated. 

“Whoa,” Lionel stood speechless with his mouth hanging open a little as he gaped at what was before him.  It seemed to be that this majestic structure had been built for him and his brother all along with some special purpose in mind. 

“See, I told you,” his brother replied.  “Now, come on.  We’re going to climb up into that thing.”  Without a second thought, Roger approached the fort eagerly, his eyes twinkling with wonder.  He stopped for a second when he reached a stepladder that had been propped up against the tree as a means of entry.  He bent his head back so that he could see all the way up to the ladder’s higher end, took a deep breath, and started to climb. 

“Roger?”  Lionel’s voice quivered from below.  “Are you sure about this?  I don’t know if I want to go up there.”

Roger reached the top of the ladder and pulled himself up onto the fort.  “You have to, Lionel!” he yelled down at his brother.  “How are you ever going to have any fun?”

“I do have fun...” he answered, an evident half-heartedness present in his tone.

“No, you don’t.  All you ever do is sit inside all day long and read those stupid books.  You’re so boring and it’s my job as your older brother to make sure you actually have some fun.  I’m about to turn twelve and I haven’t even taught you anything.”

Lionel was quiet for a moment, absorbing what his older brother had just said and then suddenly burning with an intense desire to prove him wrong.  “Oh yeah?  You think I’m boring?”  The younger Pemington brother moved towards the ladder and stood still at its base.  He felt his legs start to shake with fear and his breathing became shallower but he tried to maintain his calm so that Roger wouldn’t see.  He gripped the ladder with one of his hands and held it so firmly that his knuckles began to turn white.  He then warily placed his foot on the first rung.  Roger stood up on the fort’s plywood foundation, watching his brother and ecstatic that they were finally doing what all brothers were supposed to do together.  He tried to fight back a giddy smile as Lionel climbed rung-by-rung up the ladder.  He even imagined himself giving his little brother a hug when he made it to the top but decided that it would probably ruin the entire experience.  Instead, he observed silently as Lionel came closer and closer to the base of the fort. 

SNAP! It was the loudest sound Roger had ever heard before.  Just before reaching the final step of the ladder, the rung beneath Lionel’s foot had given way and his arms flailed up into the air as he lost his balance.

“Roger!” he screamed, extending his hand in an attempt to grab onto his brother. 

“Lionel!” Roger reached out his hand to save him but missed.  He watched as his brother plummeted through the air all the way down to the very bottom of the ladder where he hit the earth with a sickening thud. 

Once again, for a brief moment, Roger Pemington stood completely still.  He peered down at his little brother who lay motionless on the ground, and the image of holding Lionel as a baby flashed briefly through his mind.  He thought about how happy he had been when his parents first brought him home from the doctor’s and how age had only introduced disappointment and separateness into their relationship.  He contemplated the fact that they had never been close like he had wanted and how now they never would be.  It was in that same moment that Roger realized that the resentment he had fostered towards his brother had been fueled by a selfish need to push him into his own likeness.  He wished he could go back and change everything so that neither of them would ever have to live out this horrible nightmare.  But it was too late.  It felt like time itself had stopped moving, or at least slowed down to see what had happened.  Not a single sound echoed throughout the woods and Roger felt a slight queasiness creep into his stomach.  Lionel never walked again after that day.