Personal Narrative: Grandpa's Funeral

I got the phone call last night. A phone call that I had not expected. It was Grandpa. His voice sounded grim.
“Your brother Paul is dead. Don’t be coming to the funeral, you were not invited”, he muttered. That was all he said before he hung up.

My body stiffened and every inch became numb. I opened my mouth, but I was surprised by what had come out. A choked sob; a sob that had never escaped my mouth. I stared at the floor and let the tears flow down my cheeks. I didn’t understand why I was crying. I hadn’t even known Paul although he lived with me for 18 years; he was my little brother. I paused for a moment, thoughts rushing through my brain. I wasn't his brother! I was his enemy, his worst fear, and the reason he was blind! I fell

onto the floor and let out a wail. I am a monster, a demon, a devil! I hugged my knees and I wept harder than I ever did before in my life. I had never loved my brother, but now it was too late to say that I was sorry for everything I had done to him.
Nothing had changed since I received the phone call, except for the guilt that lived in the pit of my stomach as heavy as the blackjack I had used when I was younger. That was until the package came. The box contained a CD and a small note attached to it.
“Read this and you will understand his life.”
I stared at the note for a while. My face was expressionless. I kept on repeating the words in my head over and over again. I popped the disc into my computer and read. I read each word over and over again until I understood who Paul was. I understood what I had to do to be his brother.
***

I stood at the front door of the Quonset hut and knocked. A boy appeared at the door and he was too familiar to forget who he was.
“Hello, my name is Erik Fisher,” I stated quietly.
The boy looked up and I could see his eyes were clouded with tears.
“I am here to help plant the Golden Dawn Tangerines. This is what Paul would have wanted.”