Brother

So I was watchin' Tombstone the other day. ( Great western. Val Kilmer is a genius as Doc Holliday. Prolly his finest performance. "I'm your huckleberry.") It's about the shootin' behind the O.K. Corral in Tombstone, Arizona. It was the Earps with Doc Holiday against the Clantons and other ne'er-do-wells.





The Clantons called out the Earps. The Earps are deputized and Doc tags along with his friends. Things are tense as only an alley way stockpiled with six-shooters, shotguns, and ill-tempered men can be. The firing starts and with gunmen like these it doesn't last very long.



Men died. So it goes.



The bad guys want revenge as everyone does sooner or later in westerns. They shoot at the women. They cost Virgil Earp an arm. Poor Morgan Earp looses his life.



That was an intense scene for me. Poor Morgan. I have three older brothers you know. The oldest a big fella, often accused of not bein' the brightest, but the man does damn well for himself and is freer than most. The second is highly intelligent and talented, but in my opinion could use some self-discipline and an honest look at himself. The third is troubled by lots but creeps along anyway. He's a talented writer as well but suffers from terminal laziness. Their younger brother is a bastard among bastards though. A talented writer in his own opinion, but lazy and self-loathing in a class unseen by mortal men. Just the same he piddles around hopin' maybe one day he'll look in the mirror and believe he's really not such a bastard. Just a son of a bitch.



They all have their problems and their talents. The parts that make 'em shine and parts they try to hide. My brothers. I love 'em all. Every one of the bastards.



That's why Poor Morgan got to me. Poor Morgan was alone playin' pool. A loud crash of thunder and his arms go up in the air as he collapses. Wyatt, his big brother, comes in. Wyatt gets a doctor. Morgan is held down by his big brother as he writhes in pain on the pool table. The doc tries to fish out the lead with oversized tweezers. No dice. Blood pours outta Poor Morgan onto his brother's sleeves as well as his own and all over the pool table.



There's no savin' Morgan. He speaks his last words to Wyatt. "Remember what I said about seein' a light when you're dyin'? It ain't true. I can't see a damned thing." Gone forever is Morgan Earp. Never to dance, or love, or fight, or drink again.



Wyatt walks out into the rain covered in the blood of his baby brother and howls for his poor brother's lost soul.



And I'm watchin' this in the same room as my big brother. All I could think of was the number of times he'd done somethin' stupid where he could've come home with a bullet in his back or not at all.



He was involved with gangs when he was in high school. A means of survival in a city that at the time was overrun with cholo-style machismo bullshit. Every young latino tryin' to prove all the statistics right. I'm not gonna live til I'm 18. I'm not gonna graduate. I'm gonna have kids before I'm ready. I'm gonna carry guns and knives to protect me. I'm gonna go to jail more times than I go to class this year.



He says it was a necessary lifestyle. Either join one side or fight both. He picked a side. He started carryin' a gun. Started stealin' car stereos. Got into fights. Got into car accidents. Got kicked out of a town. Joined the army to keep him outta trouble. Tried to kill a man and was convicted of it. Locked away.



While he was doin' this I was still young. Still caught up in my own world of cartoons, toys, video games, and school. All I knew was that my brother was the epitome of cool. He wrestled with me and was really smart. He was tough and had a lot of friends. Girls liked him. He was stronger and braver than me. There's no reason anyone would have to want to take his life.



But the reason a fella would was simple enough. Wrong colors. Wrong side of town.



And just like that. A crash of thunder and at any point in time it coulda been over for him. One bullet is all it ever takes. One lucky shot and any fighter can can get knocked out. One misspoken word and a politician is shunned. One stray bullet and anyone can die.



I was lucky, as much trouble as my brothers have been in, I never lost one and they're all still healthy. But still that scene reminded me that they're mortal and one day, hopefully far from now, I will lose them. I will loose a piece of myself on those days.



Sooner or later we all lose enough of ourselves and everyone else that we just get tired of hangin' around waitin' for the rest to leave so we head out first. I'm stubborn. Odds are I'll be a gray, old man when I go and I'll go fightin', on my own terms. But I will go one day.



'Til then, my brothers and I can enjoy our strengths and weaknesses and each other.