O Brother, Where Art Thou

You are invited to an evening showing

See this, if you will:

It is just past the drawing down of dusk, and the streetlight is on—time for kids to be inside. The boy you see is eight or nine years old, playing in the street outside after the streetlight is on, the night air spicy and electric, looking at his big brother with an amalgam of love, fear, and awe.

You're seeing me.

I'm watching my brother as he sails a frisbee down an entire block. I 'm lucky to just throw it straight; he throws it like a pro, a big black UFO sailing silently over my head. I run to get it and bring it back like a pet dog. What little brother hasn't felt that way at some point?

"Go ahead; throw it back from there," he says with a sarcastic grin, knowing my aim is terrible.

I toss it to him; he catches by lunging far to the left. "You're such a goat!" he playfully chides me, and I grin.

He throws one more, and it fades into the dusk. I find it when I check in the Guckian's yard, and I trot it back.

"Alright, let's head in. It's too dark to see anymore."

"Please? Just one more?" But no; we head inside, jostling each other good naturedly, each trying to nudge the other off the narrow front stoop.

Drink in this scene, my friends. In less than a year, the yelling will begin; Dad will become his rival, not a father; Mom will withdraw as Dad has dalliances behind her back; the brother will turn mean and the younger will become a sad, confused shadow no longer tacked to anyone's heels.

Things are about to change, so see this clear and hold it dear. Good times are lost so easily.

(Word Count: 300)