Copying

He climbs. Hand over hand. Foot after foot. His fingers feel slick against the cool metal. His shoes squeak every time he moves higher – squeak, squeak. He is not used to climbing this way. He usually takes the steps, but his brother went this way. Mommy stands below him, her arms held out “just in case,” she says. He tells her that he won’t fall, that he is big, that he doesn’t need any help! But, she continues to stand there as he climbs, and he finds himself checking to make sure that she doesn’t move. He climbs higher and higher up, towards the top of the playground where his brother has gone. He tries to follow his brother’s exact steps. He tries to place his hand where he saw his brother place his hand, place his foot where his brother had placed his. He even whispers the words that his brother shouted to him and Mommy as he climbed, mouthing them quietly so that his brother won’t know that he is copying. 

His brother gets angry when he copies. Mommy reminds him to be nice and that copying is a way of learning, but his brother stomps off and yells at him to stop. He hates making his brother mad, so he tries to copy quietly. To copy without his brother knowing. He doesn’t copy to make him angry, although he does like the way his brother’s face grows red and his eyes get squinty and his mouth turns into a slash – lips thin and downturned. He thinks it makes his brother look funny like they are playing some kind of a game to make each other laugh. But, when he makes his brother mad, he won’t play with him anymore, and he loves playing with his brother. He loves doing all the things his brother does, loves playing with the same toys his brother plays with, loves spending time in his brother’s room.

At the top of the structure, his brother is about to go down the slide. “Backwards!” his brother shouts, only his torso and head sticking out. His brother disappears and he launches himself after him, feet first as well. His brother shouts in front of him and he shouts with him, their voices echoey and loud in his ears. To him, it sounds like they share one voice. He likes the way their voices thread together, move together, swallow one another until it is just one constant sound.

Every night, he asks Mommy to leave his door opened a crack so that he can hear when his brother wakes up and the two of them can play together before Mommy and Daddy wake up. Sometimes, his brother lets him play with him in his room. He brings his cars and his brother lets him roll them across his rug with the winding streets and buildings laid out across his floor like a giant map. His brother makes up a story about how their cars are traveling to their grandmother’s house and the two of them roll across the streets until one of them catches on fire and his brother brings in his fire truck to save them. Or, the pretend that they are racecars and they jump and slide and crash into the houses until bulldozers and excavators come to haul them out of the wreckage. When he plays with his brother they go on missions and adventures and everything is always exciting. 

The slide spits him out at the bottom, his body colliding with his brother’s, the two of them landing in a pile of twisted arms and legs. His brother wraps his arms around him and the two of them roll around the mulch until it is in their hair and mouths. Then, his brother hops up, shouting back at him to, “Follow me!” His brother is faster, already climbing before he even reaches the bottom of the metal rungs. “Follow me, follow me,” he whispers as he moves his arms the way his brother moves his arms, his feet the way his brother moves his feet, and eventually reaches the top where the two of them can slide down together once again.