Brothers

There family favorite stories that get told and embellished at every family gathering, the How I

tortured Kelly-Belle when she was Little.

I feel his presence before I see him and my heart starts racing. Mom’s out! thats almost always bad news for me. My spine stiffens and I brace myself for the tickle, the punch, the inevitable attempt to terrorize my personal space simply for his amusement. He leans down close to my ear and says, “We’re playing Don’t Flinch star…ting…. NOW!! And a fist comes flying in my direction. I stand ram rod straight and slowly look him directly in the eye without moving as the enormous mitt of flesh stops a hairs edge from my shoulder. I swallow the baseball in my throat trying to exhale. He laughs out loud which alternately terrifies and thrills me. “You think your tough huh?” Knowing whats next I try to dart from his grasp, with the unnerving reality of the futility of my attempt to escape. With one quick hand he grabs me and I am on the ground flat on my back with his knees pinning my legs, his one hand restraining my two small hands above my head. No please, please, please, don’t I plead with him as he sits poised above me with a wide grin on his face. “What do ya want to play now Kelly bel, Mommies prissy girl”. I shrug the insult off and brace myself for what I naively believe is the bargaining process of OUR little game. “I think we should play puppies, you want a play puppies?”, he says. No, No, No I beg him as tears spring to my eyes even though I’ve tried with every ounce of my small being to will them away. I’m not sure why I do this other than the belief in my childish mind that I am being punished for being weak. I close my eyes against the horror as he snorts the snot from his nose to his mouth and begins lapping my face with his tongue like a giant, really evil, puppy.

Horrified, I run through my options; scream No he’ll just spit in my mouth. I squirm and fight just enough to show him I’m tough but not hard enough to really piss him off. Another one of life’s lessons I have learned the hard way in my baptism by fire childhood. I pray for my Mom to walk in the door or maybe my oldest brother. He occasionally came to my rescue but it seemed more frequently he would instead join in to make my humiliation a family event. “This Looks like fun!”, I hear the voice of my wanted rescuer say. With that I am spent to my last option, I start sobbing-hard. An ugly hiccup, desperate cry and my Saviors heart weakens at the sight of my helplessness. He reaches over and in one swift, heroic movement makes the brutality cease. Overwhelmed with gratitude I leap into his arms and know that at least for this moment I am safe. My torturer attempts to reclaim his dignity, “Your such a fucking baby” he says with a playful sneer.”Leave her alone asshole”, “Oh Come on I was just playing with her….right baby?” He addresses me combatively but my body seems to sense that I am in the clear.

Hey, Ya Wanna work on the fastball the boy-man says to me He’s not actually asking as much as warning, were gonna play fire fastballs at our little sisters head and with that the torturer leaps up with a whoop. Oh Yeah I’m In! They high-five and there I am once again, contemplating an escape!

Shit!