The cry of sirens in the distance, the whimpering of the injured and deadly silence of everyone else. "No survivors," the cop, who had knocked on our door that fateful day, had said. Slowly, helplessly, I look around knowing with a heart-wrenching certainty that any chance the broken bodies strewn all over the road had had of surviving was lost. Lost in the five minutes it took for the ambulances to arrive on the scene.

I look around, searching for the dark brown mop that I had patted and kissed just this morning while saying good-bye. There. Next to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunch box that he had helped our dad pack last night and the Avengers backpack he had picked out at the beginning of the school year.

I stop unsure if I want to see him like this knowing if I do, my last image of him a live will be of him broken and bleeding, struggling to breathe. My feet almost on their own accord, carry me towards him, needing to be the last thing he saw, even if he couldn't actually see me. As I kneeled down on the asphalt, shattered glass digs into my knees, adding physical pain to the pain of my already shattered heart. "My brother, my baby brother," I think brokenly. I grab his little hand and hold it in mine, as the tears that I had tried so hard to hold back began to roll down my cheeks.

With a trembling hand, I brush his hair, matted with dirt, rain, blood, and glass shards away from his face. Slowly rubbing his cheek, I began in a rambling whisper, "You know you've always been my favorite brother," I whisper, choking up at the end. "You're my little buddy, my teddy bear, and personal space heater. You-," my voice breaks off. I pull my brother's hand up and place it on my cheek.

All around me the cries of the wounded begin to subside.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"We're investigating what happened, but we believe that the engine combusted, blowing the bus apart... Your son's belongings will be released in a week or two," the cop had gravely whispered to my parents, trying to make it so my other little brother and I wouldn't hear.

"Why so long?" I had quietly asked from across the room.

"Because whenever there is an explosion of this caliber, we like to make sure it wasn't an act of terrorism," he hesitantly replied.

"Terrorism?" I repeat getting angry, "This wasn't a terrorist attack!" I say getting to my feet. "If it was then it was a bad one," I'm pacing now, "What terrorist group would think, 'Hey, let's blow up a school bus filled with first and second graders on a back road in a state most people haven't heard of at a time when most people are asleep,'" I'm breathing heavily now. Grabbing my phone, I head towards the front door.

"Amanda! Where do you think you're going?" my mom says, sounding just as angry as I feel.

"Out," I tightly reply, walking out the front door and slamming it shut behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As I sit there holding his hand and crying my eyes out, I'm assaulted with memories. Each one a knockout blow to the gut.

"Remember that night, a couple years ago, right before you went to summer camp for the first time? You couldn't stop crying," I attempt to take a calming breath; "You were so scared that you wouldn't see mom, dad, and I until the end of the summer. You came to my bedroom door begging me to let you sleep with me, "I give his hand a squeeze. "I couldn't let you sleep in my bed because you still wet the bed at night. So, I calmed you down and explained to you that it wasn't a sleep away camp it was a day camp. I tucked you back into bed, and fifteen minutes later you're knocking on my door again, crying because you had just realized that in two years I would be leaving for college. You always were a worrier," I say with a gasping chuckle.

"I remember the first time I met you, it was a few days after you were born. You were in NICU at the hospital. There was a feeding tube taped to your face and you were under a blue light," I pause looking down at him. "You had so many challenges to overcome: a heart murmur, a hole in your lung, high blood pressure, and cleft palate. You were 11 pounds, 8 ounces and had so many chins we weren't certain you had a neck," I let out a pained chuckle before continuing, "You weren't the most attractive baby but were unique, you know? You had the prettiest and most vibrant blue eyes I had ever seen. And you just drew everyone's attention, like moths to a flame. You had this one white-blonde streak in your hair, and the hair on the back of your head always stood up in a Mohawk much to dad's displeasure."

Looking down I can't quite squelch the small amount of hope that I have that maybe if I talk to him enough, if I tell him enough, that he'll respond, that I haven't already lost him. But as I look down at him, his glasses all a skewed and broken, it finally hits me: he's gone. He's gone and I'm never going to hear him talk or laugh again. I'm never going to see him smile with that dimple in his right cheek again. He's never going to do those complex math problems he so loved to solve; or obsess over numbers, or go on and on about what the weather is like outside, ever again. When I sit down at the dinner table and look across the table, he won't be there taking forever to finish eating because he won't stop talking. He's gone, and all his little quirks and nuances that I've come to take advantage of are gone too.

As I bend down to give my baby brother a kiss, I think about the good bye we exchanged just this morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"'Manda," came a little kid's voice from the other side of my door.

Getting up to open my door, I bend down so I'm at eye level with him, "What?"

Holding his arms up in the universal gesture for a hug he says, "I'm leaving for school, and wanted to say good bye."

I smile and give him hug wondering if he could possibly be any more endearing. "I love you like a love song, buddy," I say as I squeeze him tight, quoting a song by Selena Gomez he used to go around shouting-singing when he was younger. Giving him kiss on the top of his head, I give him my cheek so he can return it. "Have a good day at school, and I'll see you when you get home," I say as I watch turn and run down the stairs. Not knowing that he wasn't going to be coming home.