As I walked away, all I could think about was the eulogy. My little brother, Joe, died to protect my way of life. My sister was here, and we helped each other get through this even though he was killed a little over a year ago.

“Leslie, how can I wrap my head around Joey dying? Can this make us a better person? How can I become a better person? We buried him near our great-grandfather and great-grandmother. (Joseph, and Shelly Portillo). We don’t know shit about them. All these people here say he died for us? Kind of like Jesus.”

She gave me a strange smirk. “Are you done? I have had my own stuff going on.”

We just sat in silence for a while.

“Do you have any regrets?” My sister asked.

“I probably do, but maybe I won’t know them until after I die.”

“I think you have smoked too much pot. Do you wish you and Joey had done something together or did you need to tell him something?”

“I don’t feel like that we missed out on something.  Maybe I think that he was a bit favored over us.”

“Because we were adopted?  We were never treated any differently”

“They bought him a car!”

“It was a used piece of shit, and they wanted him to be able to drive home if he wanted to see us while on leave.”

“I wish they had bought me a car.”

“Ha Ha. What kind of car do you drive? A Lexus.  You have money and don’t need anything. It is not as if they did not spend time with you.”

“Yes, I suppose. ”

“Suppose? That is a lame response. He took you to baseball and worked with you all through the year.  And you say suppose?”

“Okay. Mom and Dad were good to me. You, too, with gymnastics and fucking piano lessons.”

We both laughed at the many hours we spent practicing for Mrs. Bonner. Mom was always listening to us practice our scales.

“I am never doing that to my kids.”

“Serious. Look at the weird shit our grandparents did.