The Guardian
Nicole Brouwer
“We, the jury, find the defendant, Julianne Warner, guilty of the offense of murder in the second degree.” The whole side of the room let out a sigh of grief and disgust. “Thank you,” declared the judge. “This court is now adjourned.” As the people dismissed, I looked out the courtroom window. The sun was rising and the waves tumbled along the shore under a blue, cloudless sky. Tears ran down my face and my heart filled with sadness as I looked away from the ocean. I grew up here. I have felt, tasted, and seen blue water my whole life. But from now on, the only things I would be feeling, tasting, and seeing were stone cold floors, the same, old food day after day, and thin, metal bars for the next 20 years.
Mom and Dad named my twin brother Raymond for a reason. Raymond means “wise guardian,” which was to resemble what he would be. He was supposed to be my guardian and protector. I was his other half, and he was mine. From the day we were born, it was our job to look after each other. We were two perfect mixtures of our parents. My mom always told me, “When God creates a face he really likes, He makes two of them.”
For most of my childhood, wherever Raymond went, I went, and most of the time, that’s how it had to be. I couldn’t help it that I was always with my brother. Sometimes, I just felt stuck like glue to him, everywhere I went. And as any twin would say, when you’re with someone that much, you learn to love them no matter what they do or how bad you argued with them the night before. Pretty soon, it becomes hard to do things and go places by yourself. Raymond and I grew extremely close.
As Raymond and I grew up and entered school, we made friends of our own. Throughout the years, Raymond became really close friends with a guy named Lawrence Taylor. They were the exact definition of best buds. Lawrence was such a nice person to my brother, and he was also very good to me. This friendship has continued on through today. School was very normal for us and just seemed to roll on by. Neither of us really got into any trouble, but we weren’t nerds either. We were just average teenagers.
It was towards the end of our junior year in high school, however, when Raymond developed some bad habits – habits that no one wants to see their sibling go through: drugs. I first became suspicious of his behavior one night after my parents went to bed, and I saw him sneak into a car with a person I didn’t know. The next morning, I found him on the couch downstairs, looking very tired and sick. He was clearly hung over. When I asked him where he had been the night before, he admitted that he had driven off with a black man that he happened to meet after school. Well, this black man, supposedly named Maurice, started to sell him alcohol. The last thing he remembered was feeling really light-headed and then passing out.
I was confused and didn’t know what to think. That wasn’t who my brother was. It didn’t really sink in until things got worse. Raymond kept getting more and more sick, and pretty soon, he couldn’t go to school anymore. He became so immune to liquor that it started to take over his life. Finally, I told myself that I had to do something – I wanted my brother back. So I took him to the local rehab center, and he was going to stay there for thirty days. The process was tough, but so was Raymond.
On the third Sunday after he started his therapy, I took him to church. We were raised going to church every Sunday, but his recent addiction had pulled him away from all of that. For some strange reason, I remembered what that day’s sermon was about. It was about Psalm 23. The one that says, ‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.’ I remember the preacher saying that with God, we have everything. Like David describes in verses two, three, and four, He is always with us no matter how hard life seems to be. God is the only person we can look to for true comfort. But, maybe I just remembered the sermon because Raymond was there with me.
Even though Raymond seemed to be away for eternity, he eventually came back home. I was so happy that he could enjoy a family dinner once again, but I was even more excited that he was completely sober. He was no longer dependant on those drinks that could have killed him. Finally, he could come back to school. Despite having to catch up on piles of homework, life was back to normal.
It was exactly 12 days after Raymond got back from rehab, when I was sound asleep in bed, and was awakened to hear him arguing with someone downstairs in the kitchen. “That’s weird,” I thought. “Who would he be talking to at this time of night?” So, I slowly made my way down the steps, still not used to the bright light. When I turned the corner, I felt the color drain out of my face. My heart suddenly started to race, as if it had just been brought to life. There Raymond stood, up against the counter, face-to-face with the black man, Maurice.
“Maurice…please, I can’t do this anymore…” Raymond begged, sounding terrified. Then I heard that harsh voice, the voice of a very heavy smoker, utter, “It’s over.” And with terror in his eyes, Raymond started to shake his head, but it was too late. Maurice drew out a knife and thrust it into my brother’s chest. Raymond tumbled to the ground with a yelp of pain.
“NO!” I screamed. Maurice spun around, just noticing that I was there. “No,” I said again, rushing over to him. I held Raymond’s head up against my chest, as he was gasping for breath. With the only strength that he had left in him, his right hand started to reach for his belt. He pulled out a gun, and started to raise it.
“Julianne…” he croaked, still trying to breathe. I turned around and saw Maurice starting to advance towards us. I put my free hand over my brother’s and helped him point it in the right direction. I shut my eyes, and with the sound of the trigger being pulled, I heard the black man fall to the floor with a loud clump. He was dead. I let go of the gun and looked back at Raymond. Though his head was cradled in my arms, he was still alive and breathing.
My eyes filled with tears as he was dying with every second. I sat there, crying, not believing what I had just witnessed. Then, miraculously, I heard my brother’s voice. With his very last ounce of life, he whispered slowly “You prepare a table before me..in the presence of my enemies…You anoint my head with oil,” he gasped. “My cup...runs over. Surely..goodness and mercy..shall follow me..all the days of my life…and I will dwell….in the house of the Lord…forever.” And with that, he breathed his last breath…
