Jami's First (of Many); A tale of young rejection

Jami’s First (of Many); A tale of young rejection

Childhood is a realm of adventure and exploration that adults can’t fathom and teenagers wish they still lived in. Kids view the world differently, by a law of nature that no one has ever bothered to reverse (thank goodness). The following story is a trip back in time, to the tender year of 2001, when James Isaac Vandal and Timothy Albert Vandal were only six years old, and the world was still a sweet and friendly place to them.

  James—who strictly went by Jami then and forever will—was a boy who was big for his age, and strong. He looked like a little man, in fact. His features were decently cut through his baby-fat, his little nose already sporting its jockish bump. His eyes were their same stony gray as when he’d been born; they shown defiantly out from beneath his mop of short yellow-blond hair.

  Currently, he was turning around to face his brother on the center of the tar basketball court outside of their school. He clapped a chubby hand on Tim’s nearly nonexistent shoulder. Unlike James, Tim (sometimes called Timmy) was hardly there at all. His body was thin, although childlike, and he was shorter than James by two solid inches. He gave his bigger brother a weak smile, exposing that height wasn’t the only thing he was lacking. His two front teeth were missing, too. “Hiya, Jami,” he said, flapping his entire arm in an exaggerated wave. He giggled.

  Jami rolled his eyes. “Dork,” he grunted, crossing his arms. “Look, Timmy, I got’a…got’a…proposition to make.”

  Tim’s eyes widened in surprise and fascination; he asked, “What’th a propothun?”

  “I’unno.” Jami shrugged. “But I got one to make. Follow me.” He started off towards the BigToy (a large, plastic and black steel structure that was outfitted with bright orange slides and a number of different other, unsafe things for the kids to play on), heading in the direction of the Twisty Slide (the biggest and twistiest slide, of course).

  Tim stumbled after him, his awkward scarecrow legs tripping over themselves every so often. “Jami,” he whined, becoming distressed. “What’re we doyinnn’?” He pouted, tugging at his Oshkosh overalls. “Mommy thayed that we can’t get our ovahawlth diwty, ‘member?”

  “We ain’t gonna get them dirty,” Jami grumbled, rolling his eyes again—because, of course, he was dressed in the same pair of overalls as his brother, along with the same white shirt beneath them and light up Buzz Lightyear sneakers below. Why? Well, who doesn’t dress their identical twins the exact same way when they’re little?

  “Then what’er we gonna do?” Tim bounded through the woodchips around the BigToy as fast as his little legs would take him.

  “We’re gonna get some chicks.” Jami cast a large grin back at his younger brother, who just looked confused.

   About a week ago, the boys’ nine-year-old brother, Warren, had brought a girl home from school with him. Naturally, the twins were baffled. Didn’t girls have cooties? How dare Warren bring a cootie infested girl into the house! Their mother just seemed amused, but they themselves were flat out horrified. So the boys did what any concerned little brothers would have done; they hid in Warren’s closet so they could spy on him.

  The girl was only over for an hour and a half, and during the time Warren had told his mother they were going to be working on a project. James and Tim had seen no working on project, only what older kids would have labeled as “flirting.”Warren first brought the girl—whose name the boys didn’t catch, but was something cutsie and ending with an “ee” sound—into his room and lightly shut the door. Then he started cracking some jokes as they laid out their project stuff; a sheet of poster board and some markers. Time progressed as it always will, the little twins’ faces to the floor so they could peek under the door at the fourth graders.