And so it began. With a small trickle of blood, we were brothers. We stood there on the playground with my mom’s sewing needle staring at the drops of blood on our fingers. It wasn’t my blood and it wasn’t his, not anymore at least; now it was ours. From that day on we shared a common bond. We were family, and nothing could come between us. Robbie and I knew that no matter where we ended up, we were always connected.

******************************

As my plane made its descent I looked out the window at the tops of the buildings below. The plane was low enough for me to make out Lyndon B. Johnson High School, and four blocks away from that, Baker Street Elementary. From this altitude everything looked the same as it always was. I could almost smell the steel chain of the swings that dotted the field outside the east wing. That scent had always made me sick to my stomach for some reason, and I never understood why. The recollection of the smell and the sudden lurching of the plane was making me uneasy. Why had I come back here? What is it that draws someone back to where their life started? These questions ran through my head. Against the fair warnings of the pilot I unbuckled my safety belt so I could reach below my seat and find my notebook and a pen, both of which I had bought at the airport gift shop before boarding the plane. On the front was a picture of Fenway Park and on the back, written in red Sharpie marker was the name Robbie Dolan and below that the last known number I had to contact him at.

I opened the notebook up to find fresh, crisp pages covered with pocks and imperfections, yet not tainted by the greatest imperfection of all, which was my writing. My writing wasn’t always imperfect; it’s just that the past few times I’ve attempted anything, it’s ended up in the trash can, or in a drawer in my desk, never to see the light of day again. I guess I just fell into a deep funk. The kind that you try to climb out of, but your hands just slide back down the walls until you get so discouraged that you do something drastic.

Two days earlier I had broken the lease on my apartment in Boston, given my dog to a friend (only to hold for a short period, him being my only companion) packed my bags and bought a plane ticket back here, where it all began. It’s funny that I had tried so hard to get out of Delaware for most of my life, only to drop everything I hold dear in this world just to get back there. I had no family left there. My father had disappeared when I was eight and my mother had died of cancer while I was in high school.

I wrote these thoughts into the fresh notebook on my lap, just as the plane thumped its back wheels onto the runway. This would be my sweet release.

I trekked through the airport, found my baggage and grabbed a taxi. One hour later I was sitting at the desk in my hotel room staring at the phone, wondering what was going to happen if I dialed the number on the back of my notebook. Would he still be living with his mother, ten years after graduating high school? Would he even talk to me? Of course he would, we were brothers, we had a connection, and the 400 or so miles between Boston and Delaware weren’t going to change that.

With this idea in mind I picked up the phone and dialed the numbers on the back of the notebook.

“Hello?” the sweet, but now rather elderly voice of Mrs. Dolan answered.

“Hi Mrs. Dolan, this is Jimmy Noonan, I don’t know if you remember me but I used to hang out with Robbie when we were kids.”

“Oh bless the lord, Jimmy, it’s been such a long time.”

“Yes ma’am it has. I was wondering if you could help me find Robbie. I’m in town for a bit and I was hoping we could meet up.”

“Why yes, of course, Robbie’s right here actually.” What amazing luck? I had caught Robbie at his mother’s house. Things were going to turn out alright, I could feel it.

“Hello?” a gruff voice filled my ear. In that voice though was the kid I grew up with. The one who chased girls with me, gloated when he had gotten laid before me and knew everything about me up until I was 18 years old. A lot of time had passed since then, but it was still one of the most amazing things I had ever heard.

“Robbie, holy shit man, it’s Jimmy! I’m in town doing a bit of, err, research. You want to head down to Jack’s, toss a few back and catch up.”

“Not tonight Jim. It’s great you’re in town and everything, but I’ve got some stuff going on here. I’ll just catch you the next time you swing back through town.”

What? I couldn’t believe this was happening. We were mates, he and I.

“Well I don’t know when I’ll be coming back through. It’s kind of a spur of the moment thing, you know?”

“It’s always a spur of the moment thing I guess, isn’t it.” He paused as if waiting for a response, but all I could do was sit at my cheap veneer desk with my mouth agape. “Bye Jim. Have a safe trip home, wherever that is.”

The phone went dead with a click. I held the receiver in my hand until the high pitched melody of the operator stabbed into my ear. I watched as my hand laid down the receiver, my mind still in shock from the conversation I’d just had. I stared at the receiver wondering what I should do next. All the images I had created of a perfect homecoming, hanging out at the bar, talking about where our lives had gone, laughing about the time when Julie Caulfield had rubbed Robbie’s face in the mud after he tried to kiss her during recess in fifth grade or when Doug Meeker had pissed his pants during junior prom. All of a sudden I was breathing in short rasps and the walls were starting to pulse with the escalating rhythm of my heart. This hotel room was becoming a bit too small for me. I grabbed my notebook and headed for the door.

I stepped outside onto the sidewalk and stopped, not knowing where to go. It was only 7 p.m., but the late fall darkness had come crashing in and the not quite chilly, but not quite mild air felt strange against my skin. My feet began to move on their own and I walked down the street heading for some unknown destination.

Twenty minutes later I was standing looking over the chain link fence that surrounds the Baker Street Elementary School playground. I walked to the left and unlocked the gate, wondering if some silent alarm was going off sending the police in my direction. They’d think I was some drunken teenager with a thirst for vandalism. I figured that if I told them “My feet did the job, I was just along for the ride” they’d think I was nuts and that would add another depressing scenario to the evening.

As I crossed the concrete threshold of the gate, a feeling of calm swept over me. I walked across the lawn and sat down on the swing closest to the slide. That smell of metal and oil came into my nostrils and I began to feel sick. I considered getting off the swing, but stayed, trying to recollect the golden days of my youth, but also I was tired. I never walked in the city, strange as that sounds. The furthest walk I had in Boston was to the market, and that was right next door. I rode in taxis and took the subway whenever I needed anything else.

I had been sitting for about ten minutes, gently swinging in a smooth even tempo when I heard the squeak of the gate. Way to go, you’re going to get arrested. Those cops are fast too! A single figure began to walk towards me and my muscles began to tense. I sat there though, swinging, knowing I was too old to try to run. I’d just explain to the officer that I wasn’t aware of any laws prohibiting me from being on school grounds after dark.

As the figure drew closer, I saw the utility belt, with its gun holster on one side, and a billy club swinging on the other. I could begin to make out the distinct features of his face. The familiar nose, bushy eyebrows and a scar along his left cheek from when he jumped off a rock and landed on his face all came into view as he walked towards me.

“You know it’s a bit late for being on school grounds don’t you?” the officer asked.

“Silent alarm?” I responded.

“No, a custodian spotted you from out a window, gave us a call on a suspicious person. He thought you might be one of the high school kids we’ve been looking for.” He paused for a moment. “How the hell would we put a silent alarm onto a playground?” Robbie was always one to second-guess me on my stupid presumptions.

“What the hell was that all about on the phone earlier, Robbie? I thought you would be excited to see me.” I asked, almost furious. The emotion and confusion of the evening was starting to break free.

“What the hell is with you leaving right after high school? You head off to Boston University and no one ever hears from you again? I mean c’mon man! That’s bullshit. We were brothers. Nothing could break that; we said we’d always be friends no matter where we were. Then you go running off and not speak to anyone else again? It’s all bullshit.”

I stood there staring at him, trying to swallow what he had said. I had left and never looked back. When I left high school, Delaware was dead to me. Baker Street Elementary was dead to me. It was all dead.

“Who was at your side after your mom died, Jimmy? Who? Who would never ditch you no matter what happened? Who?”

“I…” I choked over what he had just said. “I’m sorry.” Robbie scoffed at this and lowered his head in disgust. “What do you want me to say? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think about what was happening. I just took my chance and left. I’m sorry.”

“Not one call in eight years.” He approached me as he said this. My eyes were beginning to well up with tears and I turned my head down, ashamed of everything I had done. “Come here, man. Welcome home.” I looked up to see his arms open around me. We embraced each other like brothers. “I’ve been waiting a long time to say all that to you.”

We broke our hold on each other and he took a seat on the swing next to me.

“So what have you been up to, man?” he asked. We sat there on those swings for almost an hour catching up on everything. I told him about Boston and writing; and how I had lost touch with everything over the past few months, and it had driven me back to Delaware.

Robbie had his own stories. After school, he’d gone to a community college and gotten a degree in criminal justice. He had become one of those donut-stuffing pigs that we’d spent all of high school running away from. Ironic isn’t it? Although a ladies man in high school, he’d had trouble making any waves with women in college and stayed with his mother for convenience. He’d given up on women for now.

We got up off the swings and started to walk back towards the gate. I hadn’t noticed he’d stopped walking.

“Jimmy, wait up.” I turned and looked at him, finally noticing he had fallen behind. He had removed a small pocket knife from his belt. “Try it one more time?” He pricked his finger. A spot of blood began to form on the pad of his left index finger. He passed the knife to me and I followed suit, pricking my finger. We looked at each other.

“Brothers?” Robbie asked.

“Brothers.” I responded.

We pressed the tips of our fingers together.

I went back to my hotel room. The next night I headed to Robbie’s for a homemade dinner by his mother. We laughed about things that had happened in the past and I began to feel homesick knowing I would have to get myself back to Boston soon. At night though, I wrote down all these experiences in the notebook with the Fenway cover.

I left Delaware a few days later and began working on my book as soon as I got back to Boston.