Make a narrative essay with 500-600 words including
Dialogue
Transitions
Beginning/Middle/End
Not too many people remember the sound of the milkman's horse clopping done the village streets in the early morning or the gentle knock on the door, but I remember. As a child this would usually be the time I would get up to scrounge the glass milk bottles, freshly delivered for the creamy delights from the top; milk straight from the cow. It was a daily race to get there before my older brother did and stole the ‘top of the milk’ all for himself!
There was never any solid reason as to why he would do this, perhaps it was his way of asserting his dominance, or maybe it was boredom. Or maybe it was simply just to see how much he could infuriate me before I snapped. Regardless of the reason, the end result was always the same: he never managed to disturb me.
"What are you smiling about?" Tim asked one morning. His eyebrows furrowed into their famous V-shape, an expression he wore whenever he felt suspicious.
"Nothing," I replied.
"Nothing? Really? That must be some kind of record," he sneered sarcastically, a grin tugging at the sides of his lips. He raised his eyes, staring me down with an intense yet playful gaze. "Come on, spill it."
Even though I was still a child, I somehow knew that sharing my secret with my brother would only inspire more competition or ridicule. For all those years and through all the harassment from Tim, I had kept a secret to candy-like treasures found in nature: the precious, unmistakable, delicious ‘top of the milk’ would forever remain my secret pleasure.
There was something about the morning ritual that made me wonder whether my brother knew, deep down, and whether he secretly indulged in my secret, his V-shaped brow giving nothing away. Was it that competitive rush that got him up in the mornings knowing that if I was awake before him, I would have already enjoyed the cream from the milk?
Time passed by, and we grew older, the milk deliveries slowed, and the world moved on. Our childhood fights became nothing more than distant memories. Two brothers who had once put each other through hell and back grew into mature and respectful adults.
One day, everything changed. It happened one sunny afternoon as we had gathered at our parents' house to celebrate our mother's birthday. The backdoor slowly creaked open, and in walked Tim, one of those rare smiles spread across his face.
"Gather around everyone," Tim announced as he set down an old-fashioned glass milk bottle. The milk looked like it was from a different world, another time. My eyes widened with the memories of the mornings we had shared in silence, both of us knowing what was at stake.
Tim had walked up to me and put his arm around my shoulder. "We haven't seen one of these in a while, eh?" he whispered, as proud as can be. He then turned to the rest of the family and shouted, "Everyone, gather round for the taste test of our childhood!"
My head swiveled to face Tim, disbelief coursing through my body. He had known all along? The shock must have been evident, for Tim laughed openly at the confusion on my face.
"Come on, I didn't think you'd actually last this long without telling anyone." He shook his head in amusement, a twinkle in his eye, as he separated the milk's cream from the rest of the bottle.
"But why?" I stammered, unable to piece together the story I never knew. "You could have talked about it, shared it, enjoyed it with me - as brothers."
"Well, you see," Tim sighed, passing me a spoon of the precious 'liquid gold.' "Some things just become better when they're treasured in secret. And besides," he added hesitantly, "It was always more fun to see you maintain our little secret."
The story of my childhood had come full circle in that one moment. Tim was right; some things were better kept between us, the memories and the bond we shared only made stronger by our unspoken secret. The creamy sweetness had done its job and passed down new rituals, bringing our family closer as we silently shared in the mysteries of those glass milk bottles.