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This memoir has to do with the last days spent with my brother and the days leading to his tragic death. *******PLEASE STAY TUNED I WILL BE UPDATING!!!*******

Submitted:Aug 29, 2012    Reads: 19    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Those Last Days

By: Dianesa Sanon


This is the story of the last several weeks I've had with my only brother. My best friend. These words you will be reading are all true. I'm telling the story of a life, although short-lived, was great. As you might've guessed, this is no my own biography, but maybe in a way it is. As the writer everything will be written in my point-of-view. This story is factual and completely non-fiction but it is also far from boring.

-Before it All… (Chapter One)-

It was a Sunday. Wornall Road Baptist Church was the place. It was the beginning of summer but the coolness of Spring still lingered. Top floor, second door to your right, or sixth to your left depending on which stairwell you came up on.

My brother and I sat in the back of the room as far from the front as you can get. Church service had already begun and my brother and, out of sheer boredom, passed silent notes to each other. Our friend, Gael C. Chrispin, was sitting on the right of my brother but was oblivious to the fact, as his attention was on the handheld PlayStation he was holding.

Let's back track. Why did I give Gael's whole name? Who is he and why is he important? Well, he and his mother, Paulette, survived the earthquake that destroyed Haiti's Port-au-Prince in the January of 2010. I met him for the first time when he came to youth Bible Study before church services.

Joshua Reynalds, our youth group leader, just go finished saying that we should get together to go bowling or something. So Josh, short for Joshua, duh, passed around a piece of paper on which we were to put our e-mail, Facebook, and phone number. Gael came in as we were passing the paper around. He came and sat in the available seat next to mine. I said nothing to him, he said nothing to me. I rarely ever talk to new comers. I'm not really a people person. The paper made it around to me and I filled it without hesitation and passed it on to Gael. Gael sat staring at it, not knowing what to do. I leaned over and explained to him what to do. "Se pou ou ecri non ou la," I pointed, "e mete telefone ou la." I pointed again. (Did I mention that I'm Haitian-American? Huh. I thought I did.) Translation: "You're supposed to put your name here and put your telephone number here."

Gael nodded silently and wrote down his name. He was going to write down his number next but his pen hovered over the paper and his face was unsure. Gael got up and left the room only to come back a minute later. He resumed writing and with the pass of the paper he explained why he left. "I was getting the phone number from my mom." He told me in Creole with a smile on his face. His smile was an uneven one but it was a very nice uneven smile. Gael seemed shy to me; shy and very friendly.

I didn't ask his name he didn't ask mine but I had a feeling we were going to be good friends; I could just feel it.

Back to before…

While me and my brother's attention was diverted, him writing me back and me reading a book I brought with me, a tall man in his late forties (it seemed like) made his way to the front.

The man introduced himself in somewhat fluent French. He said he taught at Lincoln College Preparatory Academy. Those words alone got my attention. I went to that school my sixth grade year but was kicked out because of my low Grade Point Average. I didn't catch which of the two schools he worked at; the middle or the high school.

The pastor called for the youth's attention. I thought about ignoring that but since this was an event that rarely happened I closed my book, placing my finger in between the pages as a bookmark.

John Pouge was the man's name. He stood before the church with a slouch and told us about the summer camp he thought we should, the youth, all go to. He mentioned it was a Christian camp and it was known nationwide. Young Christian youth ranging from the ages 12 to 18* could come to spend a week of summer to train and play a sport of our choosing for the glory of God.

Pouge continued to babble on about the information about the camp and how great---blah, blah, blah. He also mentioned that completing the camp would ensure the camper some type of scholarship. That got me interested; sports and schooling? An awesome combo. I looked over to my brother. His face was calm and his eyes were indifferent. I'm not a good people reader but he looked, to me, a tiny bit interested.

My parents weren't on board with the whole thing at first but after thinking carefully and praying they couldn't find anything wrong with it. But the camp was in Iowa. That right there should've been a red light for all of us… but that red light was too dim for us to notice.


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