My
little brother, Kyle, has been six years old for six years now. Ever since he
was bitten by that decrepit stray cat passing through our backyard, he has stopped
growing and smells as retched as that damn cat no matter how many times we
scrub him down. He’s always up for play fighting, wrapping his chubby arms
around my leg and his little jaws going for the thigh. But luckily for me, I
peel him off and throw him easily to the ground, where his little limbs flail spastically
in all directions. When he gets too aggressive and adamant about devouring the
family, he spends a timeout in his room. Zombie kids never learn and rarely
listen. But he’ll always be my little brother and I love him for who he is.
Since
he began eating us out of house and home, Mom had to go back to work to pay for
the extra pounds of raw meat he goes through daily. The butcher took sympathy
on the family and printed a rewards card just for us: One hundred pounds of meat and the next pound’s free! With Mom and
Dad away at work, I bring Kyle with me to school. I can’t just leave him home
alone to terrorize the neighbors, even though ridding the street of the Paulson
kids wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Kyle
follows me around the campus and stands beside me in class. Fellow students in
close proximity don’t always appreciate the staring, excessive drooling, and
gurgling sounds, but they’ve come to accept Kyle over the past few years. He’s
even become the school mascot. The games when he gets to run around like a
banshee in his personalized polar bear costume make me so proud and sometimes
bring a tear to my eyes. For those magical moments, Kyle’s in zombie kid
heaven. They’re also the times when he can’t hurt anyone no matter how hard he
tries to bite through the furry, padded suit. Have you ever seen a zombie kid
chasing his back zipper like a dog chasing its tail? I’ll try to remember to
post a video.
Now that I’m a
senior, Kyle and I run the school. He marches beside me like my own personal
midget bodyguard. The incoming freshmen have no idea what to expect when they
see us strutting down the hall. When I yell, “Sick’em, Kyle!” he charges their
huddled clusters, scattering freshmen like a murder of crows. Sometimes he
charges off on his own accord and I have to reel him back before he wreaks too
much havoc. Silly freshmen, as long as they’re wearing long pants, they’ll be
fine. That’s my little brother, always trying to take people out at the knees.
His persistence is inspirational. We can all learn a thing or two from Kyle, my
zombie little brother.
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