My Dear Laurens (Lams)

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The street was busy and hot. The heavy air stifled your breathing and left you gasping. Masses of compacted flesh moved from store to store, bar to bar, park to park. They filled the thick gravel line like sheep in a herd. If a dog came barking or growling, would they listen to its orders and do as the dog pleased? The kid knew they would. He understood what humans would do when an intimidating enough figure gave orders. People were simple. Predictable, boring, and so easy to trick. The kid, but better known as "Hey, Kid," by his older brother, crouched on an angled roof. He scanned the crowd beneath his folded wings. He craned his neck to the left to focus on an alleyway. The midday light did not reach this passage. It was skinny and, frankly, the perfect size for him. He stood up, then flew from the roof, down into the alley. The second he landed; a hand gravitated to his shoulder. The kid did not need to face who grasped him. He already knew who held him the second they made contact.

"What are you teaching me today?" The kid asked, facing the steaming, claustrophobia-inducing street several feet past the alley's slim opening.

"Manners might be a good start."

The kid flipped around to face the one-foot-taller, ten-year-older, deeper-tanned, darker-haired, one-black-eyed, fool of a man before him. His brother, Jean. Like every day the kid saw Jean, his tightly-curled hair was in four French braids, the ends of his hair grazing the nape of his neck, his clothes wrinkleless and clean, despite living on the streets, and a perfect, pearl-white smile. Only one corner of his lips raised as if it took too much work to just smile completely.

What an idiot, the kid thought, glaring at Jean.

Jean grabbed the kid's chin with one hand and lifted it so the kid's face was diagonal to Jean's, then he pushed him away. "Try this: hey, Jean, how are you? I'm so happy to see you today. Similar to all other wonderful days I spend with you, you have taught me valuable lessons I will use later on in my life. So, with my boundless excitement and appreciation, what will you teach me today?"

The kid rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He wished for an apathetic expression, but it would not appear. Nothing but a struggling smile, and taut brows. "You know I won't say that."

Jean wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulders. "Ah, don't worry, kid. I'll teach you anyway. Before we start, though, I gotta little something for you."

The kid paused. "What is it?"

Jean put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out a small journal. Jean smiled. "Found this and thought you might like it. You always got so many things to say, so I thought you might want to write... something. To be honest, I'm not sure what people use things like these for, but I thought you could find out."

The kid ripped the journal from Jean's hand. He held it between his hands, and kept his features expressionless. "Of course, I can find a use for it. But, thanks. I, um... I like it."

Jean raised a brow. "Wow, you don't have to struggle to compliment my gift, ya know."

The kid scrunched his face. "Well, it's not like you just found this anyway. You probably saw it in some store, then stole it. Why should I thank you for a gift you didn't pay for?"

Jean narrowed his eyes at the kid. Only for a moment, though, because his customary grin broke through in seconds. He scratched the back of his neck. "Alright, you caught me. You still like it though, right?"

"Yeah, whatever, I already said that."

Jean raised his arms to stretch. He yawned. "Ah, good, then. I knew you would. Now, let's get to learnin'."

As the kid put the journal into his pants pocket, his pent-up excitement seeped through his skin. He loved the lessons his brother taught him each week. Every Sunday, Jean would begin a new lesson, and they would spend seven days ingraining that skill or thought or whatever new piece of information it was into him.