# Five Brothers and the Piano



## Autodidact_33 (Jun 26, 2015)

This is first chapter of a novel I am writing. Feedback wanted.

Five Brothers and the Piano


by William Pierce




Prologue





Though such an aspiration is not uncommon; this novel you are about to read is a record of the memories of the author for the man who writes this is aspiring to be a writer. A writer can only write something if he has experience with the subject matter so he can put is thoughts onto paper with any medium of authority. But this novel is not about who writes about these recollections, no these recollections are about a family the author had the privilege of knowing; mostly about five brothers who spent most of their lives in a country they where not originally from. A family who had five children and against statistical probability they all turned out as boys who grew into men. The Wilkinson family for those who might have paid attention actually lived a story which this writer believes is worth tell, like all real stories the Wilkinson’s tale is hard to peg down to any one genre; the story contains brevity, sentimentality and at times tragedy. Mostly it will be about manhood; about what characteristics define what it is to be a man and how these five brothers perfectly exemplify what manhood should be. The writer can write about this family and these brothers because he was fortunate enough to know them since the writer was young, fortunate enough to laugh during times with them since they are all clever when it comes to being comical so there where many times the author almost split his side. Boys in their youth need masculine role models to emulate; and the author learned much about masculinity and manhood from these brothers. Though these five brothers where not carbon copies of each other and for anyone who might have payed attention discovered that they all where very individualistic; but one thing that the writer always earlier on identified with these brothers was the piano. There father had thought his sons how to play the piano; and in youth the author always found that anywhere this family lived there was also a piano. Though this family and these brothers where in no way rich; the conducted themselves with a certain amount of class though one thing the writer noticed that even when relations between them broke down and how in their youth they settled things with their fists these brothers had a strong bond.

This family hailed originally from the British Isles; all had been born in a country other then the country they spent most of their life in. They where the sons of a British play write named Daniel who married a woman, Martha, from the country this family came to live in. Though at one point this family lived in a quaint stone manor in England; for reasons the author never discovered Daniel he moved his wife and sons halfway around the world and came to live in a sleepy small county in Eastern Ontario. One thing you will discover about this family is a strong attachment to a location that will figure very prominently to this story, a country estate which this family always called the farm and the place where the author and these brothers spent many good times. Money dwindles and evaporates; land you own is something that never depreciates. Now when I say farm I suppose the reader may envision fields of wheat or corn, in reality the farm consisted of a rustic cabin and barn surrounded by sometimes unforgiving wilderness; a land of swamps, dense forests and a large river. But as I said, there was always a piano somewhere in the story. If life where to have a soundtrack to which our lives who be presented to, the soundtrack of the lives of these brothers probably would be to the sound of the piano.

The author due to a single event in Grade 5 when the writer of this tail and the middle brother forged a friendship which lasted through childhood to their adult lives; a middle brother who those around him sometimes noticed was unusually strong. But this character of the story as well as his two older brothers and to younger brothers always had a tendency to display strength, both literally and metaphorically as well. If one where to read in a book about having a stiff British upper lip; I as one who knew them would say their picture should be in that book. These brothers where all characters who where colorful and all who possessed a sharp wit, to those who where fortunate enough to know them they might have noticed these brothers tendency to refer to each other and their friends with humorous nicknames. As I said, these brothers where all very different from each other and the type of humor they displayed also was very unique to each brother. If their life had been a sitcom like a particular British sitcom the middle brother liked, I as the writer would have to say that most of the story would be accompanied by the laughter of unseen observers. But like sometimes in life, tragedy sometimes intrudes into the story and often makes laughter subside.

Though like anyone, these five brothers are in no ways perfect; they often displayed commendable qualities which sometimes those around them may neglect to notice and who these brothers may not have fully been aware of themselves. Through all times, through thick and thin, through ups and downs, through good times and bad; they tended to be very close and the bonds which united these brothers never strained. These are the men who the author came to know as the main characters in this story as they grew from optimism of youth to the uncertainties of maturity. This is the story about some of the lessons the author learned from his friend and four other brothers, lessons about humor and lessons about ingenuity, lessons about being strong through the adverse times and lessons about how family should stand by each other throughout the unpredictable path we all walk in life.

That this is a true story, a story about five characters who always displayed strength; and who weathered all times together; both good and bad. Though it will be a story mostly about humor and about coming age; it will also be about what they mean when the say as steel sharpens steel, one man sharpens another. Sometimes siblings, such as the case of the author and his older sister, tend to drift apart as they age; this is about five brothers who where always there for each other even when relations between them broke down. And the author hopes he can convey how likeable these five characters are.

Mostly this is about the authors friendship, and friendship with a man called Jack.










































Chapter One: The Grade School Years




The first run in I had with these five brothers did not happen to be with the brother whom later I would be very good friends with, it was actually with the oldest of the brothers Chad; and it was the first memory of the humorous nature of the authors times with these brothers.

I was in my fourth year of Grade School. Though I had been born in the small country community of Dover, a hamlet of no particular importance in Eastern Ontario; I had actually spent my first years in a housing development on the outskirts of the city of Ottawa. But my family chose to relocate to the county in which Dover was located, and that was how to came to be in that Grade School the day I first talked to Chad. In Fourth Grade, I was in a class for students with learning disability since I had dyslexia which made it hard to learn how to read; though by this point thanks to an elderly female teacher who taught me how to read phonetically English was now my best subject rather then my worst. At the time I had barely any friends, the was why I was mostly keeping to myself one recess where a comment would prove to be mildly hurtful and largely humorous.

This grade school, if one to envision it, would be a bland construct of red bricks and windows with a playground and a athletics field; all located amongst scenic fields and picturesque country homes. Near the school was a farmers field and often at recess a pack of cows would eat grass lazily against the backdrop of the typical youthful hijinks that takes place in any Grade School playground during recess.

One recess, a student several Grade's above my own made a comment. Now any one in this school knew of these brothers; since five brothers all of which had English accents is hard for youths not to notice. The oldest brother had the thickest accent and would be the only of these brothers who did not lose their accent as they came of age in a place thousands of miles from where they where born and had spent their formative years.

And what was the comment this comment this older brother made, while I aimlessly wandered the playground amongst the students; this older student named Chad called me if I remember correctly booger maker. Chad was a guy who often laugh as he talked and I would discover years later possessed a sense of humor that some may not approve but who still could get a laugh out of you most of the time. Having allergies, I was somewhat hurt by the comment since in Kindergarten the students called me booger man and it was a sensitive issue. And I wanted to return the insult, as I would learn from these brothers later on sometimes a man has to give as good as he gets.

So what was my retort?

I called him a kangaroo maker since I thought he was Australian and that seemed like a sufficient insult. We continued to refer to each other with these monickers for the rest of recess; though if I remember correctly Chad seemed to be somewhat puzzled by the relevance of my insult.

That was the first time I had dealings with the Wilkinson brothers; but over the next couple of decades it would not be to the last.


Thanks to my parents adamantly telling the school principal that I should be moved to a class for regular students, in Grade Five I was put in a regular classroom since no longer not being able to read was an issue. I felt some trepidation about being in a ordinary class and feared if I would make any friends. Though someway through the year I had been able to acquire some friends amongst my male piers and was actually doing well academically; though already I aspired to be a class clown but who much later on would realize was not very funny. Sometimes I embarrassed myself trying to get the class the break up.

Jack Wilkinson was in my class, though I admit I had ever failed to notice him to be honest; being preoccupied with making friends once in a normal class I had not really take the time to notice Jack.

The first time I ever really took notice of Jack was during one class where the teacher asked her students in sit in amongst the other students who you considered to be a friend. Both the boys and girls sat in groups amongst their friends, and all the boys sat in two groups, one of which I was in. The only student not sitting amongst the school piers they considered as friends was Jack, he sat alone between the two groups of boys.

When the teacher asked Jack why he chose to sit alone between the two groups he replied that he considered all the students to be his friends and could not really decide which group whom to sit.

Though we had never talked, that was the first time I took notice of Jack.


The day a friendship between I and Jack was forged was during a class trip at the end of the year. From my recollection, I and Jack had not spoken once that year and may had never become friends had it not been for a roller coaster called the Boomerang.

The class went on a trip during the early days of summer when students count every second till summer vacation, a trip to an amusement park in Montreal. There where many rides as well as several large roller coaster.

That day, all my male piers stood just before a long line of people eagerly waiting to go for a whirl on a roller coaster called the Boomerang. It was a gigantic white contraption of steel which had three loops in it; those who dared bored it would go on the ride once forward then once backward. All my fellow male students found it to be rather daunting and dared each other to go on it; the only ones that had the nerve to risk boarding the ride where I and Jack. We sat side by side and had not talked before boarding, after we both disembarked the ride we triumphantly walked back to our male piers and I told them they where chickens. Then Jack told them that the restraints on the ride which kept passengers from getting hurt was defective and that he and I had almost been thrown off the ride to our certain demise. We often both talked of that ride later on; just how dangerous it was got more outlandish with each retelling.

After that early example of taking your first steps towards manhood by overcoming your fears; me and Jack became close friends. Yet our entire friendship may have never occurred had it not been for a roller coaster called the Boomerang.

Jack, feeling more brave when it came to the park's roller coaster, boarded the Monster; a gigantic roller coaster made from would which was many times more daunting then the Boomerang. I unfortunately did not have the nerve to risk my life to board the ride as well; though later on I wish I would have found the nerve to.

A friendship between two guys who where opposite in all respects but for the commonality of having the worst attendance record, a friendship which lasted several decades all started with a trial of youth of a young man overcoming his fear.


In Grade Six, I and Jack had become by this time fast friends and I considered him to be my best friend. As my years in a normal class progressed, I seemed to make friends and Jack was the one whom I talked the most with. Like in many youths, I developed a crush on a female student, Kate, though in retrospect I guess I should have had such feelings on girls who might have returned the sentiment rather then continually seeking the approval of the smartest girl in class who I had no chance with, though later Jack also developed a crush on Kate.

It was in Grade Six was the first lesson in something I learned much of from the Wilkinson brothers, the art of the running joke. A joke that begins with an initial premise that you evolve and change over time.

One class where I and Jack paid little heed to our academics, we decided to try and write a rap song since that somewhat rebellious form of self expression through song was beginning to grow more apparent in the public conscious. It goes like this.


“I went downtown to show her the gown.”

“And she said no way.”

“I said I must revive you before you blow your top.”

“Boom.”


That was about as much we ever went with that song. But several decades later I and Jack often still joke around about that song; making more humorous additions to it. That was the first running joke I and Jack talked about, but it was just the first of many.


Now as I would later learn, Jack's father had taught all his sons how to play the piano which I learned from my best friend early on. Jack and all his brothers played competently, but as with anything there is always one of excels.

During one student assembly for the school in a large gymnasium, different grades made presentations mostly with plays acted by students on a stage to the front of the room. But a student from a few grade lower then mine was going to play the piano for the school in the darkened gymnasium. Now I imagine most would expect someone still early on in life would be somewhat amateurish when it came to playing songs by hitting those ivory keys, still student played a jazzy song with the skill of someone who had mastered the instrument; I, the other students and the faculty could hardly sit still in their seats in the gymnasium as that frenetic song echoed in that room. It was a song played by someone who sounded like they had some mastery of the piano.

The student was Jack's next youngest brother Seth, and amongst five brothers who all had been trained by their father to play the instrument; he was the one who could have been a master.


In Grade Six, after Jack had gotten permission from his parents came to my families how one weekend for a sleepover; Jack's parents where protective of their sons and very closely watched over them. So one weekend at some point in the year Jack met my parents and it was the first time we associated with one another outside a academical situation.

My family lived in a house in the small town of Green Falls about ten miles outside of Dover; a town of about twenty homes mostly built on a hill. It was a house with two floors and green siding with a large yard with two towering trees in it, trees I would often clime. Nearby was a rail line and the sound of passing trains was a noise I was fairly acquainted with in youth. At that time, my mother Lilly had constructed a meager rock garden in the yard which she would ad to as the years went on.

Though my family is not what this story is about, I guess at this part of the tale I should speak of them a little. My father Alvin, son of a corporate lawyer who had spent most of World War 2 in a prisoner of war camp after the disastrous battle of Dieppe; worked for the government programming computer software as a way to provide for his family. My mother Lilly, from a family of over twelve siblings that had been mostly poor, had a father who was one of those strong silent types; Lilly had once been a manager of a fast food establishment but due to her poor health now refrained from work. The last member of our family was my older sister Veronica, who unlike I would tended to be a under achiever and somewhat lazy, was a straight A student and was somewhat of my antisepsis since she was an over achiever.

My sister was staying with friends that weekend in that house by the rail line. Finding Jack's proficiency with the piano to be somewhat, as you say in youth, cool; I urged Jack to play a melody on our electric keyboard. He declined every time, I believe out of modesty and he seemed somewhat embarrassed by my attempts to get him to play.

At some point in that night we watched a video tape which was two hours of film trailers from old horror and science fiction films and was a first installment of a series of three tapes. As we watched, I and Jack made jokes about the films. We both laughed and was the first time we watched films while making humorous witticisms. Though later Jack confessed he was not a particular fan of that tape, I found making jokes with him about what we watched to be entertaining.

That was the first time we hung out together outside a school setting, though it was just the first of many other times.


It was in Grade Six where I and Jack attended our first party, a female student named Kelly who was born during a leap year, had an annual birthday party. Some years before, like many times in youth, I fostered a crush on this girl and a few times came close to dating her; or at least the youthful and innocent version of such things which the simplicity of youth allows. It was I and Jack's first time to her annual party; though I suppose it should have only been once every four years since she was born of a leap year.

In the basement of her parents home was where she held her annual party; many students from our grade threw similar events yet Kelley’s was the only one which occurred with a regularity. Like most of the parties we attend in your youth, it contained the usual fare of dancing and a game of truth and dare. We would dance to music which now may seem dated but then was still fresh and topical to our generation. It was a party I and Jack attended every year until high school.

Jack's oldest brother, perhaps protective of his younger sibling, had been opposed to Jack attending such functions; but my parents assured his parents that it would be safe enough.

Though I don't remember much of that night aside from the dancing and the game of truth or dare; I remember that Jack really and some points was the life of the party and it seemed like it was a night he enjoyed. Though such times amongst people who you consider to be friends are always remembered with a certain degree of nostalgia, I also remember dancing with that girl Kate, whom I liked but who was out of my league, that dance was awkward for me and I assume it was not much different for her. Then came the game of truth or dare.

The game of truth or dare is where many youths experience their first kiss; and that age it always is very brief. Most of the attendees where dared to kiss a fellow class mate; and from my recollection both I and Jack where dared to kiss a girl in our class like many of our male friends did that night. Though from the expression on the face of the girl I kissed, it seemed she was uncomfortable with kissing me.

But those where good times for I and I assume for Jack as well. The was the first of many grade school parties Jack and I attended; though unfortunately for Jack he would miss out on one party that was crucial which I will speak of later.


One weekend that year, during a warm night; I and Jack would assume the identities of Nightshade and La Wind. Like many youths, especially myself, there was much appreciation for the outlandish adventures costume heroes seem to partake in the pages of comics; stories where reality does not interfere with the epic exploits conveyed through images and words. So one night while Jack spent a Saturday at my parent's home in Green Falls, we decided to don improvised costumes and go out into the night as the heroes Nightshade and La Wind. I had taken the name Nightshade from a character I had read about in a magazine about video games; not entirely original and some indication that electronic entertainment was a prominent factor in my youth. Jack took the name La Wind which was original. And we set out into the night to fight crime, though in reality just engaged in the sometimes trouble making antics youths often display.

With two cans of spray paint we left our mark on some posts near the railway crossing, which still could be seen many years later. Though I, having been somewhat of a trouble maker; came up with the idea of tying a piece of string across the road at the railway crossing and hide nearby to watch what ensued. But when a truck approached the crossing and came to a screeching halt upon seeing the string; both Jack and I ran off into the night fearing that our youthful antics may land he and I in trouble.

That was the only time Nightshade and La Wind decided to be super heroes, but was something that became somewhat of a running joke between us.


As I recall, there first time I ever met the entire Wilkinson family and was given admittance to that patch of wilderness this family owned and would figure so prominently into this story was in the summer after my sixth year of Grade school. It was during a hot summers day with a sky very blue and devoid of cloud.

A blue station wagon arrived at my parent's home, this car had seen better years from the looks of the vehicle but was large enough to accommodate a equally large family. In the driver's seat was the grandfatherly looking patriarch of this family Daniel, beside him in the passenger seat was his wife Martha who from her demeanor one could tell quickly she was good nature d and unlike many women of that time still wore a dress. I got into the back of the station wagon with Jack and several of his other brothers, though which ones where in the car I do not fully recollect. But it was that day I met Jack's next older brother Howard who many might agree was someone who possessed a very sharp, comical wit and from a picture I saw later looked very much like his father when he was young. I also met the youngest brother Tom, the youngest of the five. But what I remember mostly of that day was the farm.

During our friendship of the past year, Jack told me of this patch of land his family owned and I recall that he spoke about it with a certain degree of reverence. I could not understand why until I saw it for myself. In youth, you still have the luxury of seeing your antics like a series of adventures. Though I would learn later that this land they owned had covered both sides of the area beside the gravel road which allowed access to this, to me at least, fabled place; now the Wilkinson’s only legally owned the land to one side of the road. I saw the rustic cabin in which Jack and his brothers had once lived but had not taken much notice of it; though now the Wilkinson family lived in a large home of Hanover street in Dover which was much more accommodating to such a large family.

I was entranced upon seeing it. A dense, sometimes unforgiving wilderness with marshlands, dense forests and a river which you could only see if you traverse the dirt path which allowed you to do deeper into this wilderness. The path went through a swamp like terrain at first then came to a area which later on they would call the first island. After that was another marsh beyond which was an area where they had built a cabin near a river; an area where a field was in which was an old pick up truck. It was a land of towering trees, trees which had probably kept a silent vigil over this land long before the Wilkinson brothers had ever been born.

That was the first time I saw Jack drive a vehicle, and being behind the wheel of a car or truck was something which these brothers prided themselves as something they had a knack for. Jack's parents had given him an old beat up truck which they allowed him to drive in that field miles from any road; something safe enough. And at an age where most youths are still years away from getting to be behind the wheel of a vehicle; Jack did laps around the field in the beat up old truck as I watched. That was the day as a youngster I saw a place which was very conducive to the adventurous aspect of youth for young men.

My only other memory of that day was when I decided to be polite and called the patriarch of this family sir, and he seemed to take it well.

That day was the first time I saw the Wilkinson family together, and in retrospect though I really did not appreciate it at the time; this family of mostly men was very close.


To the best of my recollection, the events of which I'm about to write took place that same summer. Jack had spent the night in my parents home and we had stayed up through the night watching late night television. Though I do not recall whose idea it was, we both came to the conclusion that a fitting use of the summer's day that lay before us was to go on a bicycle ride. We packed some provisions, mostly sodas for the trek and we embarked on a long journey which in all was over twenty miles. We took to mountain bikes, one which was sleeker and expensive and another which was of poorer quality. Jack ended up with the better bike while I rode the shoddier one. And we bicycle ten miles to the area in the county where our grade school was, on the beginning of our trek we had chosen to take a paved road. During that summer's day when no evidence of the commotion and activity which goes hand in hand with any Grade School was present, we sat in the playground and drank our beverages. Though it was a summer vacation when a student probably at that age probably wishes that time would stop and hold back the reality of the sometimes stifling yet necessary reality of school, we spent one morning of our summer vacation in the place you are supposed to want to escape from.

Now I in youth was an aspiring artist who envisioned one day drawing artistic renderings for the pages of a comic book, though as my father often not so subtly pointed out my drawing was uninspired and bereft of merit; perhaps hurtful to hear yet in retrospect very accurate since I was not very good. I would fill countless blank white pages with renderings that even I could discern little from. How is that fact relevant to this story of that long bicycle ride through the county?

We took an unpaved road back which was much more arduous to traverse then the road we took to our destination; a secluded road that cut through one of the more uninhabited regions of the county. One the way back we came across and quarry or something of that nature which large trucks where arriving and leaving from. As I peddled on the older bike with less gears, I became somewhat antagonistic about having to use the poorer bike; partly because I was exhausted and partly because the trucks passing by kicked up small pebbles from the road which tended to hit me in the head. Like sometimes we exchanged words somewhat informed by the present situation until finally I hit Jack with an insult he would never recover from. I told him he could not draw.

Sorry if the written word does not allow for the obvious sarcasm I meant.

What I said would become another running joke amongst us for many years, funny because I could hardly draw at all and a indication of how sometimes I could be full of myself even when it came to something I was poor at. Something said out of the heat of the moment proved to be a joke we remembered for a long while after.

We arrived home, drained of any youthful energy we had begun our journey with, and slept for the rest of the day.


That summer before the seventh year of our time spent in school was one particular instance which later on donned on me as a fitting example of how men, even as boys, tend to have a somewhat competitive nature. This trait amongst males to try and out do each other even when friends was somewhat revealed in this tale one day when I and Jack tried to determine who could jump fearlessly from the highest elevation. It is also a example of how in youth many have a feeling of indestructibility which to a more aged observer could be chalked up to a lack of common sense.

Now I had climbed trees many times in my youth, and around that time often climbed high up into the pine tree behind my parents home. Funny, then heights did little to fill me with unease though later on I would find heights to be somewhat disquieting. Falling out of a tree was something youths who climbed trees would happen to them from time to time.

One summers day I recall as being overcast, me and Jack started climbing the small metal tower beside my parents home on top of which was the antenna. At some point we got into a game of who could jump from higher up on the tower. In a contest which required physical adeptness I would have no chance to best Jack, yet a contest of falling from heights without fear was something I thought I could best him at. So we dared one another and we continually jumped from higher and higher up on that metal tower to the grassy ground; I imagine each time landing making a dull thud. Up and up we had to climb the tower until we where slightly two floors above that grassy lawn. I clung to the tower and looked down, I realized I had bitten of more then I could chew and declined trying to jump from that height. Once I climbed down the tower, Jack then ascended the tower to where I had been and looked down at me. He then jumped and plummeted to the ground.

Now if Jack had been hurt this story would have been neither humorous or nostalgically memorable, yet when after hitting the ground then jumping to his feet he had prove like many aspects of life this was something he could best me at.

But this was one of the first times when we risked or almost incurred injury together and avoided any significant harm; many of more times like that would follow and sometimes I wondered if we where lucky when it came to such things or if it is like that for all youths.


Now if you had not come of age in the 1980's you as the reader probably cannot relate to how common electronic games where in the culture of youth. I from early on maybe spent to much time in front of the dim glow of a television screen with a controller in my hand. But it was around that time me and Jack encountered a conundrum which we did not unravel for many years, a conundrum you could only understand if you where of that generation.

I had sold one electronic gaming system for another, though both systems where identical mostly those who are aware of such things would know I had sold the better system for the lesser one. That taught me a lesson of how to barter, an ad in the local county newspaper resulted in I having a sizable amount of money placed in my hands which I exchanged for another electronic gaming system. It was all so I could play one game.

No if the reader has paid attention they might have gathered I was one of those kids who liked the outlandish tails of that medium of twentieth century mythology, comic books. It would not be to unexpected that I had gone through these steps of advertising, selling and purchasing just so I could play a game that was only on that electronic system; a game which featured my favorite characters from those colorful pages of unlikely heroism and far fetched adventure. And it happen to be a two player game.

I and Jack played that game many times that summer, and more times in the coming year. Perhaps there where better ways to invest that dwindling commodity you have in youth, time; but we invested a significant amount of time in that game. We could always get the second last level after besting countless villains but there we reached an impasse. Right before the level ended, it asked you to reset the computer. Clueless as to what exactly those vague instructions meant; we where faced with a game over screen thus denying us access to the last level. It would be a long time before a solution was given to us.

Now I don't speak of this tale of I and Jack's youth to talk about games, but more of how often we sometimes grapple with a problem and never take the time to realize that the solution is in front of us the whole time.


As grade school progressed, I came to the realization that I had neither talent or ability as an artist so I decided to think of myself as a writer. From the beginning after having to learn how to read, I wrote horror yarns that where both unsettling and highly derivative of other stories I had read. As grade school progressed, my grades began an inevitable decline though English was still by best subject; especially creative writing though the stuff I wrote could hardly be called creative. The only two subjects in school that ever compelled me to be anything other then a lazy student or an unfunny class clown was either creative writing or debate. But unlike with my rather uninspired attempts at art; I had received some encouragement from teachers about my writing although perhaps they where unaware that the plots of everything I wrote where lifted from other tales I liked.

In grade seven, the part of the year in English class which covered creative writing; Jack asked me if I could write a short story for him which he could hand in. I'll admit in youth I sometimes thought Jack was a poor student; though much later on came to the realization that he could have excelled in academics if he applied himself. Though like me he was somewhat disinterested in learning and like me would find any reason to be absent from class; sometimes wonder how differently both our lives would have been had we appreciated the necessity of school for a fulfilling future. But I had talked in class a lot about my writing to the other students; and said often that I was working on a novel though never really had anything to show other then a few poorly written chapters with plots lifted from books and movies I liked. I guess that was why I readily agreed to write Jack a story for creative writing; because it made me feel like a talented writer and allowed me to believe that though Jack was far more physically adept then I; I falsely came to the conclusion that I beat him when it came to book smarts. So I wrote two stories.

The story I write for myself was a horror story whose plot I had stolen from a reprinting of a horror comic I liked; a comic full of grotesque and violent painted images. It was the tail of a man with cancer, to save his own life he goes to a witch who makes him immortal; by the end of the story the man was a gigantic cancerous tumor. Not a very original effort but I liked somewhat disquieting horror stories in youth.

The story I wrote for Jack was a tale whose plot I had stolen from Moby Dick; I film I had seen as a child. It was a story of an older brother who sets out to avenge a younger brother who was slain by an albino mountain lion; but a quest for vengeance that eventually costs the older brother his life. Though the plot was somewhat derivative; the story I gave to Jack probably had more merit.

My story got a B+, which was a good grade because by this point my grade average at best was C and sometimes later on a D or lower. But I was somewhat perturbed when the story Jack had submitted as his own got a A. Though the teacher commented on both returned stories that the writing was very similar and she suspected that one of us had written both stories.

Of course, I would have never pressed on with my endeavor with writing had it not been for Jack.


In grade seven, I had acquired a rival for the affection and approval of that girl Kate I had a crush on; a girl who I guess I should have known I had no chance with. It was not that other smart, over achieving male student Jacob who she went out with most of that year; a student who was made an attempt to be rather friendly towards me but who, I guess out of jealously, did everything I could to make fun of him and turn the other students against him; culminating with I writing a letter which most of the other students signed which informed Jacob that we no longer wanted to be his friend. The author of this tale sometimes is a character which is very difficult to like; since that particular night Jacob phoned me at my parents home and asked if he could have his friends back; he got the girl I liked but never could win the approval of so that night on the phone I really went out of my way to be a, sorry if this sounds crude, deplorable prick. The truth was I actually liked the guy up until he dated Kate, or the rather innocent form of dating between boys and girls in grade school; after wards I considered him to be my arch nemesis. In retrospect I wish I had acted differently.

No, that fellow contender of Kate's approval was Jack, as one time when he came to spend the night in my parents home that year Jack told me that he sort of liked her to. Though I thought I would win her over eventually; it was Jack that would win her in the end.

And to be honest, considering how petty I had been towards Jacob I guess I should have been a rather disliked or picked on student; like that kid in our class Benny Lent who everyone made fun of and who everyone said was a real loser. I often made fun of Benny, though within a few years I would realize something that sort of made me depressed; I was a loser like Benny though in grade school I had been fortunate enough to think I was all that I would later on realize that I was no near what kids at that age consider cool.


Grade Eight started. Like most youths who start that year of school, they already are thinking of attending high school and leaving youth behind and taking the first tentative steps towards the more interesting and titillating aspects of being a young adult. But something would happen that year which would have a rather sizable impact on my life, and Jack's life to to some degree. That was the year I took my first steps to becoming a drug addict.

One day at home I had been walking through my home's living room when I tore my foot up on a carpet tack; after applying the bandage to my wound I was in pain in and in the bathroom. I looked in the medicine cabinet and saw the bottle of Demerol. All I knew was that my mother took it for migraine headaches; I was unaware that it was a powerful opiate. So I took one, reasoning that it was harmless. Several minutes later I had a feeling of well being and elation which I will never forget; I felt really good for about an hour. So the next day I took another pill and thus my journey down the path of a pill popper had started; though Jack would also join me to a lesser degree. I would later on reflect on two questions. Would my life be very different had it not been for that carpet tack; and would Jack have been better of had we never boarded the boomerang together and been friends since I would become a bad influence on the guy.

Of course such questions are questions you should never ask yourself, either because you'll never get a satisfactory answer or you'll get an answer you really don't like.


The first party of Grade 8 was at the home of a fellow class mate Betty. Like most parties, there was music and games though by this point these parties forgot games like truth and dare and was an event where students mostly fraternized with one another outside the class though there still was dancing.

I and Jack where talking with Kate, to be honest I had never really talked to her but as I remember Jack had her laughing. I had never found it easy to talk to her, since talking to a girl I like had always made me anxious which made talking eloquently difficult. But me and Jack did our usual joking around and she found it very amusing.

Later that night as I went to get another soda from Betty's kitchen, Kate came to speak with me and she even said my name and was looking into my eyes. A for a moment I thought maybe I could win the approval of a girl I had a crush on for more then two years. Then she asked me if Jack might want to go out with her and if I would tell him the next day because everyone new me and Jack where good friends. I said sure, though I acted like I was not really disappointed; in reality I was devastated.

When I told Jack about what Kate had said the next day on the phone, Jack was elated; he had won the approval of the sought after girl in class. Though as I told him, I felt a feeling of defeat and like with many aspects of life; Jack had surpassed me when it came to winning Kate.


Later that year during one weekend, something happened which to I and Jack was very humorous but had things been unfortunate could have been rather harmful to I and Jack, and event which sometimes leads the author to believe that in youth that feeling you have of indestructibility is more then a feeling, in youth you really are indestructible.

That weekend, Jack's parents had picked me up and dropped us both off at the farm, that untamed wilderness completely devoid of the rather inescapable presence of civilization. We had some food and where going to spend that night in the small, ramshackle cabin deep within the wilderness, standing amongst towering trees and not far from a majestic river. It was probably only October, yet like most Canadians come to realize; frigid cold is a companion for a good part of the year.

That night I and Jack where in the small, single room cabin; both feeling the chill of the night air. There was a small wood stove, though after putting in wood and kindling we had some difficulty starting a warming fire within the stove. Fortunately we had both gasoline and kerosine; so we put in a abundant amount of both fuels into the stove and filled it with twisted up old news papers. I was somewhat eager to be the one who lit it, expecting we would both soon have a warming fire to ease the chill of the night air. But what happened was something I and Jack would never forget and was one of the first times we both barely escaped mild to serious injury which allows such stories to remain humorous.

I held the box of matches and we both stood in front of the stove, but when I put the match into the stove; well that contraption of cast iron exploded. Now when I say exploded, I am not overstating what occurred. A giant plume of flame burst out from the top of the stove and the circular iron grates on its top where rocketed into the air and hit the ceiling of the cabin. I and Jack where thrown back, we must have been knocked at least six feet through the air and now lay on the floor. Of course when such events occur, there is that somewhat scary few moments where you don't know if you are fine or seriously hurt. We just lay on our backs looking at the stove which now had part of its top ripped off and ironically, had failed to ignite a fire within the stoves bowl. We just both lay on the ground looking at the stove, the formerly lit but now extinguished match still in my hand. But when we got up and discovered where perfectly fine, we both burst out into laughter. Sure, a possibly dangerous explosion caused by an unwise amount of gasoline and kerosine may seem something hard to see the humor in; but both I and Jack could not stop laughing for several minutes.

After resembling the parts of the stove we successfully started a fire; this time being patient and not letting over eagerness cause a sizable explosion. That was another story that I and Jack still talked fondly about many years later, but the explosion which in all honesty had sent us flying through the air. Of course, that was just one of the first of several events like that.


It was that October that a party occurred which Jack would miss out on, a crucial party for him since it was Kate's party and they where dating. Usually Jack would have my parents drive us to the party, but I remember him telling me on the phone the day before that his oldest brother Chad put his foot down and was very insistent that he not attend the party. Jack had been attending parties thrown by our grade school piers with some regularity for almost three years and I would never learn why Chad had been so opposed to him this particular party. So Jack missed out on the party thrown by the most sought after girl in class he was now dating. I was told at that party that Kate's friends amongst the female students of our class where intending to have Jack hide in a large box made up to look like a present. But he did not show, unbeknownst to everyone but myself because of a strict, over protective brother. As I recall, Kate seemed somewhat melancholy about Jack not arriving.

At that party, I struck up a humorous conversation with a female student, Tabitha; a conversation aided by a prop, a plastic mechanical claw. I remember that she was laughing.

A that party like all similar grade school functions, there was the usual routine of dancing. The only one who did not dance at that party was Kate; she seemed, like kids say, bumbed out.

So what could have been a very membership event for Jack never transpired because of Chad. Though in retrospect from what I came to learn about Jack, he might have found jumping out from a large makeshift birthday present to be somewhat humiliating.


The next week in class, another female student informed me that Tabitha sort of liked me and wanted to know if I would go out with her. Now Tabitha was a very nice girl and she would date almost any male student, even the classes biggest loser Benny Lent. I agreed, though I had dated girls a few times; this would be the most memerabal relationship with a girl. Not because it would be long lasting or meaningful; but because I would dump her twice that year.

Jack and Kate's relationship, or the simple and harmless version of relationships between men and women in youth; began to falter after that party. Jack's winning of the most sought after girl in class was something that made him have pride in himself; because of Chad now he realized that irreversible damage had been done to his situation with Kate. They would date for a month more, then break up. Jack took it kind of hard since up till that party he had been very enthusiastic and now realized that Kate was slipping from his hold. Outside of school he would talk about the situation with me, I tried to act like I felt bad for him; in reality I was sort of glad. Men, even as friends, tend to be very competitive about many aspects of life; and Jack had again beat me at something; winning Kate.

But this was just the kind of sentiments youths have towards each other in grade school. But a youth in grade eight is already envisioning the more adult realities between boys and girls in high school, when they progress from being youths to being young adults.


The next party we attended in Grade Eight was for a girl, Trisha. Trisha was another straight a student who happened to live only a block from Jack's family home in Dover. Like many parties, our class was in the basement as the adults where upstairs but still keeping a ever watchful eye on what was going on a floor below. That was the only party Jack and Kate attended while they dated. I recollect that they did not talk much, Kate seemed to distance herself from Jack. Probably because of the party he missed, she unaware that he talked about going to the party for weeks and that his stern oldest brother had prevented him.

It was at that party that I would dump Tabitha for the first time that year. To be honest, I was looking forward to seeing her. Now men, when it comes to the physical qualities they like it women seem to emphasize one above most others. For me it was a woman's hair, which was what I always noticed first. When Tabitha showed up to the party with her hair done up in a way I found to be rather distracting and not to my liking I tried to avoid her. I avoided her by talking with a female student from a grade below mine but who often attended parties of our class; Molly, in Trisha's bedroom with a few other students. I started to like Molly and decided to dump Tabitha. Of course, like I said, the character who tells this story is not a very admiral protagonist. I told another student to tell Tabitha that I was dumping her. Tabitha used that student to tell me that she still wanted to dance. That student, which was the means of communication between I and the girl I just hurt with my callous nature, had to inform Tabitha that I would not even dance with her.

Perhaps Tabitha would have not been upset with me, but I was going to dump again in a couple of months.

At that party, my class clown actually was able to get the parties attendants to break up, not by being humorous or clever; by using a lot of fowl language that youths should not use. Had Trisha's parents heard the foul language that should come from a rowdy sailor, they mighty have not asked me to attend.

That was another party, but a party that Jack seemed to not enjoy as much as the others. As I would learn in the coming years; Jack who always tried to act like that nothing could bother him never took a breakup well.


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## longknife (Jun 27, 2015)

Okay, I'm gonna be blunt about this - the introduction/prologue bored me to death. I don't care about any of that when I open a novel. I want the story. You can give me all this in an Author's Afterwords.

Then, there's this:
_
The first run in I had with these five brothers did not happen to be with the brother whom later I would be very good friends with, it was actually with the oldest of the brothers Chad; and it was the first memory of the humorous nature of the authors times with these brothers._

Run on sentences like this are death. You've shown me nothing and only given me a boring recital. Show me who Chad is and what he did that was so humerus. Then, perhaps I'll want to read more.


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## Autodidact_33 (Jun 29, 2015)

Ouch man. I guess be more concise is what you are saying.


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## longknife (Jun 30, 2015)

Autodidact_33 said:


> Ouch man. I guess be more concise is what you are saying.



No - I'm saying that you MUST SHOW who you characters are and SHOW us why we should care about what is happening to them.

The 1st five paragraphs almost completely turned me off. And, when you FINALLY got to the story, I was already looking forward to being critical. Nowhere in any of this can I envision the characters and hear their interplay.

So, he called you a  Booger Maker and you call him something about Kangaroos. Don't just tell me about it - show me the words - the faces - the emotions.


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## Autodidact_33 (Jul 23, 2015)

that is really good advice.


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## The Irish Ram (Jul 23, 2022)

Autodidact_33 said:


> Ouch man. I guess be more concise is what you are saying.


Hemingway was very successful with short, descriptive sentences.  Lots of adjectives.
 Grab the readers attention in the first paragraph or they are prone to leave. Make them want/have to find out who, what, when, where, and why...


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