Now theres a story I’d like to tell and although it meddles with the moments of life I fear it also delves into a bit of comedy. Now that I’ve peaked your intrigue I must introduce myself as Henry Chawn, I know you must already be wondering ‘what kind of last name is Chawn’ and I’ll tell you right now I have absolutely no fucking clue, however I can tell you that I come from a white trash family so maybe somewhere down the line someone spelled their name wrong. Whatever my last name may be is beside the story in question which is the story of how my brother Vance dropped a letter down a storm drain and wouldn’t let it go.
It began on crystal clear night, not what you'd expect of a tragedy like this one. We had been drinking a bit too much in our backyard after the 4th’s fireworks lit up the sky. The family had drifted off to bed an hour ago but Banner hung out for a little while longer before padding off to bed, probably without brushing his teeth, that little shit. Pardon me, any who, the night was special but it wasn't anything more than another 4th just like the last one. And the only reason you remembered the last one was because for days, weeks, months later people asked you about how you spent your time because they had nothing else to talk about with you. Yeah it was looking to be like that kind of 4th which ain’t so bad except for the issue that Vance was gonna go back to the military after this.
Yeah my little 19 year old brother with his skimpy arms and goofy, freckled grin is expected to be a soldier, but every time I look at him I see the drunk, sappy, goofball he is and not this warrior he's turning into. Well, whatever he was turning into, I had sworn to myself that I would bring him back to his drunken, romantic, silly ways and help him take off that iron suit that our country put on him. So that night I pulled out a couple cheap whiskeys and a gin to share and we sat under the shimmering sky, just waiting for anything to happen. The night grew darker and our packs grew lighter, until we were scraping at the ground for any fallen, half empty beers from earlier. I don't deny we’re savages and I never promised to lie so with all honest truth in this account, my brother stood up and half ran, half fell towards the long picnic table in the yard, slammed into a bunch of half eaten plates and dry beer cans towards something on the table. The table groaned as Vance dropped his beefed up body across the straining table when suddenly a snap rode out into the night and a clanging of dishes echoed amongst Vance’s disgruntled yelp. I sat back in my chair as the night that had previously bore witness to my brother’s embarrassing spectacle, now bore witness to my untamed laughter that sounded like a blunder bear mixed with a cackling hyena were fighting a battle. My laughter faltered as my brother’s arm twisted above his head and bore a milk-white hefty looking envelope with one word on it: Vance.
