My mother's trip back from Holy Land has inspired me to finally do this. With that half century mark nearer than it appears makes it the reality of time slipping by and the hope invested in my only brother's return.
Return from where?
If I knew I would tell you.
What I do know is that when I was eleven years old, I lost my best friend, the tall skinny guy I use to fight with when he would hide his Snicker bar in his sock. The guy that I use to run around the Pear tree with and away from our dad because he wanted to spank us with his belt for fighting for that Snicker candy bar. The guy that, when my mom would have my little birthday parties at home, he would suddenly abduct some of my friends and hold them hostage just for us to look for where he hid them. He made those parties exciting and of course, my friends crushed on him.
I remember thinking how handsome he looked in the picture we took of him in his JROTC uniform from the high school he attended as a Freshman at Central Catholic. My dad was so very proud of him and my mom still to this day, has his boots.
At times I feel as though I am stuck in some kind of unfair dream. Why me? Why us?
Junior, to me and his closest family members, Roger to his friends disappeared on June 29th 1975 at Matagorda Beach, Texas.
