The President’s Plaque: Part 8

Entering the Room

In the distance, I hear a faint, familiar sound. I nearly trip over my own feet as I stumble desperately toward what could be my brother.
“Mike…. Wait for me…. Don’t go… anywhere….” I whisper breathlessly. I continue to go toward the sound — toward everywhere, anywhere, somewhere, nowhere.
I gather up the last of my energy to run forward and yell, “MIKE!” as loud as I can, while tears stream down my numb cheeks, and my glasses are fogged. And a little way to the left of the place we parked, Mike is sitting on a tree stump, with his head down. But as my voice echoes, he looks up. His face is not red.
I jog as fast as I can to him, and he runs up to me, throwing his arms around me. I hug him once again, and Dad joins us. Surprisingly, I’m the one crying. Mike is showing extreme bravery and control.
“I-I got lost….” Mike says with a raspy voice. I can tell Mike is on the verge of tears, but is holding it back well. I hug him tighter and say, “I almost l-lost my ff-favorite broth-th-ther… I’m so glad you’re safe….” My voice becomes strangely high-pitched. Dad pulls us into a group hug.
We both burst into tears (Mike’s face turns red), and continue to cry while Dad lets go and leads the way again. About 10 feet from the entrance to the room, I turn to Mike, who is keeping a firm hold of my right hand, and wipe the last traces of tears off of his now-normal-colored face with my left hand. I do the same for myself, and we let our hands drop.
We walk with straight backs into the room, royal expressions on our faces. From this moment on, we must act like the most sophisticated people in the world.