The King of the Jungle

        When my brother and I were kids living in Puerto Rico, we played outside all day long. Our neighborhood was small and tucked away from the rest of the world. It was easy to miss the small entrance off the main road. There was just one block of houses. Instead of another row of houses across the street, we had a “jungle.” At least, that’s what we called it. It was probably originally meant to be a dog park, just a big green field surrounded by various trees. There was a clearing right in the middle, in front of our house. It felt like we were hidden from everyone in there, and in some ways, our imaginations transported us to worlds no one else could see.

    

        I hung upside down on my bunk bed one afternoon, staring lazily at the fan that did little to combat the humid air. I had been lost in the world of Alice in Wonderland, but the heat kept distracting me until even the Mad Hatter was sweating. I debated turning on my little box AC unit for five minutes when my brother, Siah, burst in.

            “Sweety, open your window!”

            I shot up too fast and blinked hard until the only stars I saw were the ones pasted to my ceiling. I pushed my sweaty bangs off my forehead and said, “It’s open already.”

            “Good,” he said, and he vanished.

            A few seconds later, I heard his voice from the window. I scrambled over to my ladder and pressed my face against the mosquito screen. His room was next to mine, and we always planned through our windows.

            “What’d you say?” I called out.

            “Did you finish all your school?”

            “I’m still reading,” I said. I glanced at my book lying face down on my bed, “But actually, I’m done now.”

            “Okay, wanna play football?”

            “Did mom say we can?”

            “Yeah, probably.”

            “Okay, let’s go.”

            “Don’t forget your playbook,” he called out before I could jump off the ladder.

            “What playbook?”

            He sighed loudly. “The notebooks we got, remember?”

            I nodded and shoved my shoes on, then scrounged through my desk until I found the little red notebook that matched his blue one.

            Out in the clearing, we sat on the bench, writing our plays. I peeked over his shoulder and pretended to make my own plays. I wasn’t completely copying his x’s and o’s, but I took ideas from him. Finally, we started our imaginary Super Bowl.

            When it was his team’s turn, he was the quarterback, and I was the running back. We weren’t supposed to tackle each other, but when I was close enough to the mango tree to score a touchdown, he brought me down anyway. I fell on the floor like all the rotten mangoes. Siah was cheering, running around the tree, arms up in victory. I was sticky and angry, and the only logical thing to do was launch one of the mushy offenders right at him.

            This catapulted us into our next game, "Warriors." We chased each other into our respective forts, my favorite tree, and his secret bush. But just like every game we started; we weren’t opposing partners for very long. As soon as he discovered a tree with giant leaves that we had never noticed, we were part of the same army. At first, we pulled leaves out of the trees to make swords, but soon the clearing was littered with green bodies. Each giant leaf was a soldier that had sacrificed everything for our cause. As we yelled and tore apart the battlefield, the birds squawked along with us. The parrots transformed into phoenixes and fought with our army.

            My brother ran to the middle of the field and threw himself on a pile of leaves. I followed his lead without hesitation like I always did. Siah used some smaller leaves to make a necklace for himself. I got a bunch of tiny red flowers and put them in my hair. I climbed to the top of the pile we made and yelled, “I’m the king of the world!”

            Siah cracked up laughing and fell on the floor. “You can’t be the king,” he said in between laughs.

            My triumphant smile dropped off my face. “Why not?”

            “Because you’re a girl,” he said. “Obviously, only I can be the king. You have to be the queen.”

            “I don’t wanna be a queen. I wanna be the king.” I sat down on the floor and started pulling stalks of grass out of the soil.

            “Well, you have to. We have to be on the top of the world together.”

            “I don’t wanna play anymore.” I stared out past the fence covering the clearing at the cars that zipped by on the main road. Suddenly the field felt very small.

            “C’mon, Sweety, I was just kidding,” my brother said. “It doesn’t matter if you’re the king.”

            I glanced up at him, unsure. “What will you be?”

            “I’ll be the king, too.”

            Although I was still embarrassed, I believed him. I ran over to my favorite tree and called him up. We both stood on the biggest branch, and I yelled, “I’m on top of the world!”

            “I’m more on top of the world!” My brother responded, “Way more on top!”

            This time, I was the one that burst out laughing. We used the long vines to swing off the tree and resumed our game until our ancient neighbor came out of her house to yell at us.

            “Oye, chamacos,” she yelled. “Deja la mata quieta!”

            My brother looked up at the sky and sighed. She had to have been ninety, at least. Her wrinkled face scrunched up even more when she was angry. She told us to clean up the field and stop messing with the trees, or else she wouldn’t let us play. We both nodded, and she left us alone.

            “This isn’t even her park,” I crossed my arms in defiance. “She can’t tell us not to play!”

            My brother shrugged and said, “She pays for the people to clean it, so it’s kinda hers. But I’m still the king.”

            “And me too, don’t forget.”

            “Yeah, sure,” he said. “C’mon, let’s use the big leaves to sweep.”

            Cleaning the field was just another game for us, and we raced to see how many leaves we could pick up. Then my dad got home. When his van pulled into the driveway, Siah dropped his makeshift broom and ran back to our house. I dragged my leaf behind me and stood on top of the bench to watch them.

            My dad said something I couldn’t hear to Siah, and then they both went inside the house. I sat down on the bench and watched the parrots flying around their favorite palm tree. The parrots were my favorite family. The brother and sister fought all the time, especially in the morning, but they were always together.

When Siah came back outside, he wore basketball clothes. He ran over to me and said he was going to play with my dad and some other boys. I didn’t want to stay at the house, but I knew he wouldn’t let me play basketball with him.

“What about the leaves? We have to clean them up,” I reminded him.

“Who cares? I’ll do it later.”

My dad walked out of the house and waved at me.

“Let’s go, Siah,” he called.

“Look, I’ll help you when I get back.”

He reached his hand to give me a high five, but I turned away. “It’s fine,” I told him. “I’ll be fine without you.”

“Alright,” he shrugged. “See ya later.”

I watched his blue shirt walk away and get into the van. They drove away, and the parrots’ calls mocked me and reminded me to pick up. I told myself I’d be fine without him, but all I did was think about our game. I cleaned the rest of the field by myself and wiped every trace of our memories and games out of the clearing. Our notebooks had been abandoned by the mango tree. I picked them up and took them back to the house. I left both of them in his room, hoping that he would remember our game so we could be on top of the world again tomorrow.