The Last Time I Saw Him
I was reminded of an incident yesterday that took place with two of my cousins. At the time they lived in High Point, NC. The older brother was David and the younger brother was Forrest (yes, different last name). They couldn’t have been any older than 9 or12 at the time of this story.
One Summer day the two of them were enjoying their bicycles outside riding, jumping, leaving the longest tire marks possible, when they decided to take off up the road they lived on. Their mother knew they were outside and wasn’t to concerned. They were very good at entertaining themselves and keeping safe.
After awhile, Forrest comes back inside, fixes a bowl of cereal and sits down in the living room to watch television. After about 10 or 15 minutes, my aunt walks into the living room with a look of curiosity, and asks Forrest, “Where is David?”
Forrest replied, “I don’t know, the last time I saw him they were putting him into the back of the ambulance.” A bit annoyed that his cereal eating was interrupted, he went back to eating his cheerios.
Of course my aunt took off running out the front door and down the street. It turns out Forrest really had no reason to be concerned. His brother was alive. He had only received a broken arm from the car that hit him on his bike.








When I was growing up my mother did quite a bit of painting. She was very talented. I can recall her always having her paints and brushes handy and working on some kind of project.