Philadelphia by Peter Kapp

“Peter... Peter…” She waits a little longer for a response this time. “Peter. PETER!” My sister, clearly impatient, rolls me over and rather violently shakes me awake. I reluctantly squint open one eye to find her face oddly close to mine, then rub both with my fists, willing them open. “Hey Emily,” I say sluggishly. “Peter. Look outside. Grandma’s car is here.” I’m confused, but not complaining. Nothing bad ever seems to come from Grandma and Grandpa. I decide today is the day. Mom had explained the whole thing to me. Her belly would get bigger and bigger, and one day it would get so big that a baby would burst out. I wonder if Emily understands all this as well as I do as I sit up halfway and turn to the window to see the silver Jaguar in the driveway. Emily, still very close to my face in an effort to wake me up faster, shakes my arm for a few seconds before I’m fully upright. “Come on! I wanna go see what they’re doing here. Get up!” She pulls down the covers, revealing the rest of my red and white striped Christmas pajamas that match hers. Throwing my feet over the edge of the bed, I have questions: Do babies eat? Where’s it going to sleep? How long until it can walk? More importantly, how long until it can throw? How can such a small thing go to the bathroom without falling in the toilet? Emily and I walk out of the blue room at the end of the hall and run down to Mom’s room, making far more noise than one would think two people of such little size could

26 produce. We open their door slowly and quietly, as Mom always instructed us to, before running loudly to each side of the bed only to find Grandma and Grandpa sitting on the couch, each with a newspaper. They stand up to give each of us a hug before explaining everything. Grandpa cooks the eggs and bacon as he talks. He explains in his low voice that Mom and Dad, who are apparently at the hospital, will love us just as much as they always have but will also love Jack now. I guess that’s what we’re going to call him. That works for me. I can pronounce it well enough. When we finally arrive at the hospital, my head swivels on my neck; I don’t think I’ve ever been in a hospital before. It smells weird, almost too clean, but looks mostly like a normal room, a couch below the window on the far wall, a few landscape photographs on the left as you walk in, but on the right side there’s a fancy bed with a bunch of tubes and pipes sticking out. Sitting up in the bed is Mom. She hears us walk in and looks up, her eyes light up and she smiles. She waves Emily and me over to the bed. I begin to launch myself onto the bed but the nurse puts her hands gently on my shoulders, and I stand back on the ground, maybe a little embarrassed. Mom puts a hand out for me to hold as she introduces us to the newest member of the family. I look around the room, trying to find where Jack would be before Mom lowers him a little bit so I can see over the side of the bed. “Emily, Peter, meet your new baby brother, Jack.” “He’s tiny,” I say without thinking. “No, he’s so cute!” Emily says, clearly very excited to be in the presence of a real baby. I don’t see what she’s so excited about. He’s all swaddled up and all I can see is his scrunched face. I quickly determine he is pointless to me. Mom places

27 Jack in my arms, telling me to support his head and to be very careful. I don’t really get why everyone cares quite so much, but I definitely don’t want to break him, so I hold on tightly. Grandma and Grandpa agree to take us home. Emily seems to want to stay, but I’m ready to go. We watch TV at home for a few hours before Mom and Dad return with Jack. Dad goes into the attic and I follow, curious about the wonders hidden within the plywood walls and the ceiling with the nails sticking out. He begins to pull parts to what looks like a crib out of a back corner. “Why don’t you go get me a screwdriver and we can build it together,” Dad says to me as he begins to build what looks like Jack’s crib. Not one to turn down a chance to use a screwdriver, I run down the rickety ladder to the garage to find it. Dad puts all the screws in place and as I tighten them with the screwdriver, I wonder if I have to share Dad time with Jack now. “Dad? Building stuff is always my job right? Not Jack’s?” He gives me a long tight hug and stands back up, struggling to respond. Everything he does is documented on the little Flip camera Mom seemingly bought for just this purpose. I’m always excited to be on camera but often find myself asked to leave the frame to make room for Jack. I don’t get it. If you ask me, he’s pretty boring usually. Sometimes I have more time to figure things out myself, Mom tells me when I bring my grievances to her. As time passes and Jack begins to walk on two legs, we transition from two playmates and a spare to an inseparable trio. He sits on Emily’s shoulders to place the last few Lincoln Logs on top of our tower or guards the base when we play manhunt with the neighbors.

28 We sit together on car rides, playing Minecraft side by side, discussing the play by play of our game throughout the journey, much to the dismay of the other riders. We play LEGO Star Wars on the Wii for hours on end, pausing only occasionally to find some pretzels to sustain us throughout the marathon session. We ride our bikes in laps around the driveway, somehow entertained lap after lap on bikes far too small for both of us. We pass time in boring department stores together, playing chopsticks or ‘I Spy.’ We wrestle frequently, Jack unaware of the flaw in that plan but never failing to enjoy it nonetheless. Mom says he lights up every room he walks into. I wouldn’t go that far, but he certainly is a happy presence. He can wear my shoes now and will soon surpass me in height, but he is and forever will be my little brother, no matter how smart, how fast, or how big he gets. Though I’d never admit it to him, there’s no one with whom I’d rather ride endless laps of a small driveway or watch Star Wars: A New Hope for the 19th time.