4 childhoods 2 adolescancys and next year i wont quite die.

the first time i remember it i was nine. My brother Pete was six. He was a weird kid just sat there staring into space most of the time. Kinda vacant looking anyway i used to take him to the park and push him on the swing.

Anyway one day we noticed that our Neighbour Mrs Brice was pregnant and thats where my problems began. On march the 3rd 1944 I was born again. I remember all of it except for the birth. Its like i woke up and i was a baby again. Between the years of 1944-55 i was Tracy Brice and went to school like any other kid. On the turn of my 11th birthday i awoke again.

I was a cute but precocious child who often played in the vacant lot behind 452 Maple way. This time my name was Tabitha Wood. The house that used to be here was demolished years ago and the family had moved on. I knew the lot was important somehow and it always felt like home. I had been a child now for 20 years. Other children didnt like me much and adults were just weirded out by the fact that i knew about the Korean conflict. I had a closet of dolls that went untouched and my ‘parents’ thought i was a tom boy.

When i turned 13 for the first time my name was Brendan Scott. It was my third childhood and 33rd year of actual life. Its an important year because it was the year i found Pete again. Pete was now a neighbourhood weirdo. Our parents had died years ago and he lived alone staring out the window. I like to think he knew it was me but we never spoke. We weren’t to meet again untill i turned 49

I turned 49in a spotty geeky spectacled 16 year old body. It had been a pretty traumatic coupla years and i was unpopular with the girls. Pete had been made homeless and was wondering the street. It was about this time that I figured out the plan.

Pete needed help and i had 9 months left before my switch. Prime numbers were the key 9,11,13,17, this was my last year ‘alive’ So it came to pass that with 3 weeks left on the clock i robbed a Bank 2 towns over and made off with 10 grand in cash. It wasn’t enough to look after Pete so i robbed a couple more with a Pistol i bought from a coke head behind a bar. i had 45 grand and 2 days to live.

On the last day of my life i took pete’s drunk body in a shopping trolley to the St Stephens hospice and paid for life time internment.

So thats my story. Now I’m 18 and working at St Stephens. Pete’s 55 and next year we’ll part for good. I remember promising my mom all those years ago that i’d look after Pete. I like to think that the promise is faithfully discharged.

Does he know who i am? Who can say, he barely speaks a word. But sometimes when i take him to the park he mutters “Steve” after a long lost brother.