The Price of Magic: Part II

I have a twin brother named Matthew. I am nineteen minutes older than my brother, and he is at least five inches taller than I am. In case you are wondering, we don't look very much alike (I do get asked this often). We do share the same pale, freckled complexion (although he still tans better than I do in the summer), and my father says we have the same smile.

Even though he went off to join the army, survived basic training and his technical training, and is now stationed in North Carolina (so I don't see him so often), I still remember him as the third to shortest kid who loved Star Wars. Still, my favorite memory of him arises from a time of large toys, crayons, and being the primary playmates for one another.

I remember playing in the backyard one day near the end of the day when it started to get dark out. The porch light came on a few moments later. After our mother yelled for us to come inside, we started to make our way to the porch before pausing in front of it.

The top of the porch was made of wood that had been painted blue, but the paint was chipping. I remember the stairs being made of concrete, but it's equally likely that they were made of wood. We paused, because between the top step and the porch, there was a hole, a pitch black hole with the exception of two eyes that glowed a menacing yellow.

After staring at the eyes for what seemed like hours and with my little heart racing, I looked at my brother. Neither of us had moved, and suddenly, the glowing disappeared. My brother grabbed my hand, and we raced inside without saying a word.

The next morning, we looked and peeked into the hole as best we could, but we didn't see anything. Since then, our relationship has stayed relatively the same. We may not always talk, but I know that when I need him, Matt will be there to grab my hand and drag me to safety.