David came to fix things. I have been saying, “My brother is here.” Actually I have been saying, in a boastful way, with capital letters and italics, “My BROTHER is here to help fix things at the house.” I am cool and luckier than you because my brother is here to help. My big brother, who had this great idea one time that I should sit on his bicycle handlebars, at the top of our very steep hill in front of our house and balance there as the bike flew down the street with me on the handlebars. My big brother who had an idea about me riding next to the brick wall beside the school with him beside me to see how close we could get to the wall. My big brother who drove me to my old school when we moved to a new town and I was too scared to go to a new school. My big brother who sat on my bed as I packed my bags, preparing to run away to live with our dad, and said to me, “You don’t leave mom. You just don’t do that.” My big brother who came after I had to make the phone call from the hospital saying “Davey, dad died.” My big brother who carried my couch up the stairs when I got married and moved into the second floor of an old duplex. That brother. That one, who sliced and diced the meat and cheese for our wedding and put it on platters and laughed and joked the entire time. That brother who nearly killed me and saved me over and over again. My brother is here. Fixing things.