This is a story about kites, Sunday School cards, a spooky ten days in Mexico, and about instinct. Actually, two instincts. One that belonged to a middle-aged man in a wheelchair who was known as Mad Eddie. And another instinct that belonged to my six-year-old brother, Joel Kidd.

Even now, all I can tell you about instinct is that I have no idea how it works. There isn't much use asking Joel. He'll just shrug and vanish. He's like a ghost, coming and going as quietly as smoke and disappearing like that same smoke whenever he's finished whatever he just did to scare you into a heart attack.

Instinct. Somehow from the start -- a blue-skied and windy day in the spring, two days after my thirteenth birthday -- Joel knew. I believe Mad Eddie knew too. Like maybe they shared a special world and both knew how it would finish nearly six months later on another blue-skied and windy day at the same place -- on top of Leighton Hill.

All because of my kite, Killer Tomatos

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The Killer Tomato was red, of course, with wide curved wings and a streaming tail that flicked and snapped in the slightest of breezes. It was a present from my birthday two days earlier, and I'd only flown it once -- enough to know that Mike Andrews was making a mistake when he skidded his skateboard to a stop in front of my house. He spun back to face me and our friend Ralphy Zee with his challenge.

"Ricky, I'll tear you to shreds." Mike grinned as wide as a Halloween pumpkin.

Ralphy and I didn't bother getting up from the porch steps. All three of us knew what Mike meant. His kite, Black Shark, mean and sleek, was tucked beneath his left arm.

"Actually," Ralphy broke in, "correctly speaking, you'll tear Ricky's kite to shreds, not him."

"Whatever, Einstein. The Killer Tomato won't last more than 12 seconds against this." He pointed at the Black Shark.

I grinned back. A person can't help not grinning back at a guy in mismatched hightop sneakers and a Hawaiian shirt gaudy enough to make your eyes hurt. That was Mike Andrews. Red hair. Freckles. A perpetual New York Yankees baseball cap. And born to try anything that looks impossible.

So that's what I told him.

"The Killer Tomato lose its first battle? Impossible."

"That mean we've got a fight?"

"Mike, you're on. Consider your kite doomed."

He nodded at us. "Leighton Hill? Five minutes?"

Ralphy and I nodded back. Two blocks away, Leighton Hill was the highest place in our small town of Jamesville. Hardly any trees. Perfect for sledding in the winter. Perfect for kite flying in the spring and fall when the wind was blowing.

"Go ahead, Ralphy," I suggested. "I'll get my kite."

Ralphy hopped to his feet and joined Mike. They'd have his kite in the air by the time I got there.

Except my kite was not where I had left it in my bedroom closet.

Joel.

It could not be any other reason but him. Silent and terrifying, he's like a personal ghost, the way he follows me everywhere. It seems he can get through locked doors and closed windows. Joel never says much when you do manage to spot him -- just stares and watches. He disappears as soon as you turn your head, and then reappears when you least expect it. Which is mostly when you're doing something you shouldn't.

To make it worse, Joel has no sense of property ownership -- except, of course, for the teddy bear he carries everywhere. Joel does, however, have a great sense for finding any of my things that look fun. Like my kite.

"Moooommmmm!" I hollered from my bedroom. "Will you donate Joel to an adoption agency?"

She told me to quit yelling.

I grumbled all the way out of the house, ran the two blocks to Leighton Hill and explained why I might be another five minutes. Sure enough, Mike's kite was already a speck in the sky. But Ralphy and Mike understood. Joel terrifies them too.

It took half an hour, and by the time I found Joel on a quiet side street, it was too late. Too late to meet Mike before supper. Much too late to ever use my kite again.

Joel's efforts might have been funny to a stranger. Unfortunately, it was my brother trying to get his teddy bear to fly on the tail of my kite so it was tough to do anything but sigh. Despite the condition of my kite, his determination was so amazing, I stood hidden by some bushes at a corner and watched, half angry, half-admiring.

This is how it worked. Joel would patiently prop up the kite. Then he'd carefully back away from it and keep the string tight. When he was ten steps away, he'd turn to face forward and run, his tiny legs churning like pistons.

For someone smart enough not to quit, he sure was dumb. It would have taken anybody else only one or two runs to realize that the teddy bear was too heavy for the kite to make it into the air no matter how fast you ran.

Not Joel. As I watched, he made five attempts. I knew he had made many more before I had arrived because of one small clue. My kite was torn to shreds from dragging along the asphalt.

He looked so determined and tired, I didn't have the heart to yell. Besides, the damage was done, and yelling wouldn't help.

Instead, after watching for five minutes, I simply walked up and said, "How much money do you have in your piggy bank? Enough to buy a new kite?"

Joel knew I was joking. He grinned through a smudge of dirt and sweat. "Can you make teddy fly?"

I groaned. "Not when I'm busy skinning you alive. Let's go to Leighton Hill and tell Mike there won't be a kite fight today."

When we turned around, there he was. Mad Eddie. Blocking the middle of the street with his wheelchair. Scraggy hair, dark bags under his eyes, gray in his beard, torn dirty shirt, and crippled useless legs. I'd forgotten he lived two houses down.

He ignored me. "You want that teddy bear to fly, kid."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't directed at me.

Joel nodded eagerly.

Mad Eddie held out his hands for the kite, and Joel brought it forward to him.

"Be here tomorrow at four," Mad Eddie grunted. He removed the teddy bear in silence, handed it back to Joel, and then set the torn kite in his lap.

Then he finally looked at me. "You too. I'll need help getting up Leighton Hill."

He didn't wait for an answer. Didn't ask if it was okay to take my kite with him. Just scowled and turned his chair to slowly and quietly wheel his way back to his house.