Color-Pencilz

I. The first memory I have of my older brother is of him fishing me out of a pool. I don’t remember if I jumped in or if I was pushed—all I remember is I couldn’t swim and I was thrashing around thinking I was going to die, when out of nowhere, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me, coughing and choking, to the surface. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said. “I gotcha.” The memory’s remote. Nothing comes before and nothing comes after until years later. I used to suspect it was just a dream, until my brother brought it up. He was on a date and I was sitting in the backseat of his car because our