Every little sister loves her big brother. In my family it was the exact same way. I loved my big brother and he loved me. He was ten years older than I was and that gave us the distance in age to be able to not fight as often. He watched out for me and I came to him with my problems. Our parents left us alone when they went out. When I was about five, I first noticed. I asked him what the red marks on his arms were. He told me that they were tattoos. But tattoos were pictures, and I knew it. I told him they were silly and he told me they were his red balloons. They are red and they swell up. Oh, how I would remember that response for the rest of my life. At first I was kind of worried. He never went to a tattoo place to get them done. He got them in the bathroom, or in his bedroom. Sometimes I saw him, with his small metal tattoo maker; slicing deep and letting them swell. Once mother saw his arms she got really mad and he started making them on his belly. Momma didn’t notice after that. But I still thought his tattoos were weird. I asked my kindergarten teacher Ms.Hanson, what made tattoos and she explained that a needle filled with ink poked you really fast and it left a picture. But randy doesn’t use a needle, I had argued. I told her exactly what he did for his tattoos. She looked worried, and asked if he saw anybody. I said yes. He saw me all the time.
