What I lost, and what I refuse to lose again

The day my brother was killed, I didn't know what to do with the rest of the morning. I had a chemistry exam at ten.

I went. I sat down. I wrote my name at the top of the page. And then I stared at the wall for forty-five minutes.

This is not the story I expected to tell. But it's the one I'm telling, because his is the one I refuse to let disappear.