Me Brother, the World, and the Horse

1980

My brother had always been destined for the footlights of the theatre’s stage and I, only to serve my fellow-man. As I was walking down my required path, I eyed that young fellow ambling towards me — decked out in fancy clothes, but staring at his feet.

As he approached me, he looked up and says, “Brother!”

I say, “Peter,” looking him up and down from head-to-toe.

He replies, “Sean, you ol’ son-of-a-gun.”

We shook hands and gave each other a bear hug. He, then looked troubled at me.

“What’s botherin’ you, Petie?” I asked.

“You,” he replied.

I didn’t understand what he was saying and I told him so. Then he motions me to a bench and relayed his problem as we sat there in the park.

“How come is it everyone likes an’ says ‘hello’ to you, more than I?” asked Peter.

I looks him in the eye, bluntly saying, “’Cause you think the world owes you a livin’ an’ that me brother, is wrong.”

To this he seemed to look backward into his head for something to say, searching for a thought, avoiding my look.

He then replies, “I don’t understand, I’m someone in this world — an’ I should be treated as someone.”

He suddenly stopped and started searching again.

Again I looked at him, “The world doesn’t owe you a livin’ an’ for sure no one owes you any recognition.”

“Do go on,” he inquired.

“Do you honestly think the poor fellow who earns five-pennies a day to feed his children an’ lovin’ wife would forgo one copper cent to you an’ leave himself an’ his family the rest to live on?” I asked.

“No,” Peter answered.

“Men don’t do that…nobody does that!” I continued.

“Ah, but you’re wrong, me all-wise brother,” began Pete. “Some folk would give me a penny – perhaps even a nickel, iffen I needed it.”

“Aye,” I said, “yer right, but people such as you speak of are either fools or Christians an’ because of their generosity aren’t long for this world.”

Peter squirmed in his seat and eyed me puzzling-like as I continued.

“Why?” I asked Peter. “Why are they not long for this world? ‘Cause I tell you, they’ll either starve to death or they’re jus’ too good of nature for this world an’ He’ll take’em away for being’ too good. That’s why!”

“That still doesn’t answer me question about why you’re more liked than me,” said Peter in an ill-natured tone.

“Aye, it does!” I snapped back.

Peter sprang to his feet, asking at the top of his lungs, “Oh, yeah?! How?!”

I stood and calmly looked him squarely in the eye, and coldly replied, “I’m more liked only to you, to everyone else I’m jus’ a flat-footed copper, who twirls his baton an’ tips his cap to all the ladies.”

I felt hot under the collar and I could see my brothers’ eyes turn red with anger.

All Peter could muster was an, “Oh, yeah?”

“And furthermore, Peter,” I started in, “while you’ve been on yer high horse, ridin’ about everyone, tryin’ to see beyond them – I was down here lookin’ ’em straight in the eye as a man should an’ not tryin’ to be something more than I weren’t.”

Perhaps I should have stopped there, for I could see his answer in his face, but I didn’t stop nor did I slow in my words.

“Also, iffen yer feelin’ inferior it’s probably ‘cause while you were tryin’ to be superior, you fergot what it’s like to be real,” and with that I turned and headed for my usual path.

I’d taken no more than five steps when I felt his strong hand clutch me at the elbow and spin me about on me heel. He narrowed in on my eye: “I’ve fallen from me mount – will you help me catch it?”

“Let that horse run, jus’ let’er run,” I answered him as I put my arm over his shoulder, “Now, let me buy you a mug o’ suds, okay?”