Jeffrey was a year younger than me. He hadn't even reached the wisdom of a double-digit age. My older brother Matt seemed ancient and stoic at the ripe age of fourteen by comparison. I looked up to him and any kid who had to use their hands twice to show their age. Matt always seemed older than he actually was. I don't remember too many nice things we did together back then.
Once we told Jeffrey that all the bird poop on our car was caramel. We sat on the hood and pretended to pinch some in our fingers. We brought our fingers up to our lips and pretended to chew and smack our lips. We were convincing and Jeffrey smeared some into his tongue. Where does it come from, he asked.
We said that when rain drips from certain trees, it becomes caramel. My mom won't let me eat caramel, he said. Except he said "car-mull."
We won't tell her if you won't, I said.