It was the United States of America’s 200^th birthday:  July 4, 1976.  Luke, my older brother, was thirteen.  I was nine.  We had watched our town’s colossal “Spirit of ‘76” bicentennial parade, and attended its free barbeque and fireworks celebration.  We watched EVERYONE we knew get drunk and I am not kidding!  It was a heady time when the liquor poured freely and the air was thick with cigarette and marijuana smoke.  Luke and I had even scored a few beers and joints with the older boys from high school.  For a nine year old, this was a big deal.  Most of the kids my age were mercilessly picked on by the high school dudes who enjoyed tactics that bordered on the sadistic by today’s standards.  I was privileged to be part of their clique, only because of Luke.  He was the tall, thin, boy all in black, with Jim Morrison-like tousled hair, who knew all there was to know about the “it” bands of the day. Luke was the lead singer and guitarist in his own garage band called, Divine Order.  He was the oldest thirteen year old I have ever known and even the older kids looked up to him in awe. He had the air of a cat and this seemed to attract all sorts of girls, too. Girls were always calling him on the phone and stopping by our home.  

“It’s late; we should head back,” Luke said to me.  He put out his Marlboro cigarette.  The beer and weed was starting to get to me.  I think Luke knew that and wanted to get me home safely, in one piece. 

We walked seven blocks in the humid July heat of the night.  People were still going strong with their private outdoor celebrations; and bullhorns, fireworks, and laughter pervaded the evening.

“Let me just get a soda,” Luke said as he walked into our town’s late-night market that stayed open until twelve P.M., even on holidays.  Luke paid for two Cokes and opened one for me.  “Here, drink it.  It will help your stomach.”  He smiled and handed me the soda as we were crossing the street.

Suddenly, a brown sedan went straight through the red light at high speed.  It hit Luke and he fell to the ground screaming the most frightening sounds that I have ever heard from a human being.  It ran right over Luke. 

A brown car literally ran over my brother’s body and took off! I screamed. Luke’s head was smashed. My brother’s body looked like a rag doll that had been haphazardly thrown onto the ground.  I frantically tried to pick up his brain matter.  I guess I somehow thought the hospital could put it back. I kept screaming and passed out.

I woke up that evening in the hospital.  My parents were at my bedside, screaming and making guttural moans.  Luke was dead and I was recovering from traumatic shock. The coolest boy in the world to me was dead at thirteen. 

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