A Mind Retreat

Excuse the deviation from the norm, but I thought that I would take a "mind retreat" today. I am actually thinking about doing this on Fridays. Read the post and take a minute to drop me a message. Register here, it is FREE. If you are a member, log in.

I grew up in the very same town where I live now. Sometimes I wonder why I did not leave this small town and go somewhere, anywhere but here.

So, here I am. I have one older brother. He is seven years older. He is the perfect child. No matter what, he never does anything wrong. It has been that way all of my life. Yep, it is still the same today. It will never change.

As a child, we had a very small house. (I live in that house, now.) My brother and I had to share a full-size bed. Our house only had two bedrooms. Imagine growing up and having to sleep with your older brother that hated your guts. He hated my guts. (He had never seen my guts, but he hated them just the same.)

Being seven years apart did not help anything. Well it did make me the "whipping-boy" many, many times. When I tell you what he did to me, you will probably laugh.

Look, I was the younger brother and I wanted to be like big brother. You know, I wanted to hang out and talk and feel like a "big boy." For some reason, he was against that idea.

One day, okay, I will admit that I was being a pest. I just wanted some attention. You have to know that my dad never had time for us. He worked lots of hours and was always on call. (One week a year, we were together as a family. It was called vacation in Panama City. Then, my dad lay on the bed in the motel room and slept. We went to the beach.)

Time to get back to the story. I do have attention issues. I get distracted. One day, I was in the bedroom. I kept going by my brother and saying things to him. Look, all I wanted was for someone to pay attention to me. (Mom and dad did not.) I was acting kind of crazy. After all, I was seven years younger.

My brother said, "If you do that one more time, or touch me one more time...I will knock you through that wall!"

I could have been the good little boy and walk away. I could have gotten a book out to read. I could have even took the time to plan a trip to Siberia, but Nooooooooo, I did that "one, last thing."

He back-handed me and knocked we through the wall. My entire body went into the wall. Now, before you think that he was some kind of "Hulk,” you have to know that we had sheet rock walls. (I hate sheet rock walls.)


My entire body went backwards into the wall and made an impression of my entire body. My brother had this look on his face. I grinned. I knew that he was going to get killed. He was dead meat. I tried to fake a wound, but he said that he would kill me if I did not stop it. He meant it. Mom and dad were not happy campers. They did not say, "Yea, you did good son. We can see his complete outline in the design." They were very, and I mean very, upset.

My brother had to give a pint of blood, have two finger nails pulled out by the roots, and he was locked in the trunk for an entire day. (I lied! I wanted this to happen. He was grounded. He had his toothbrush taken away, or something stupid like that.)

Several days later...mom and dad had to go somewhere. They left me at home with my brother. DANGER!

They told him to wash the dishes and have the kitchen clean, when they came back. Most of all, they told us to "be-have." (Is that spelled correctly? It was used to tell kids to do what was right, and stay out of trouble.)

My brother was washing dishes and I as in the living room. In our home, the living room and kitchen were connected. I was taunting him, I think. He had to do the dishes. I was going to lie and say that I was not doing anything, but I am an honest person. I was standing in front of the couch. I was saying something to my brother about him doing the dishes. I did not have to help.

It was best not to have us around dishes at the same time. Mom wanted to have some for the next meal.

Honest, truth...It was not that I was mean. My brother just hated my guts.

It did not take long and he got his fill of me.

He said, "If you say ONE MORE WORD, I will sling this knife through you!!!"

Please, oh please, he should not have said "say ONE MORE WORD." That was his fault. He should have known better. He tempted me. I could not help it. I tried to hold back. I groaned and grabbed my mouth and mentally, I said, "NO!" I gave my brother THAT LOOK and said in my clearest, seven years younger, voice, "WORD!"

He whipped around and all I saw was a blur as his arm swung in a perfect arch and something zoomed over the table, through the door, and across the 14 feet between door and me.

It was almost like The Matrix, only different. I did some kind of uninvented-asian-kung-fu thing and slipped out of the way of the butcher knife.

That is right. It was a butcher knife. It missed me and lodged itself into the back-support of mama's couch that was strategically placed in front of the Spanish painting of the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria. (Mom was into Spanish decorating.)

This was going to be so good. This time he was bound to lose a liver or something. If not a liver, maybe he would have his spleen ripped out. I smiled and said, "You're gonna get in trouble."

Then, he reminded me of something. Why had I talked? I knew better. I should have only given my name, rank, and serial number. I had told my brother something a while back. Hey, I did not think that he would remember it and drag it up in a time of need, but, he did.

My mom had this PRIZE, and I do mean prize, painting behind the couch. It was "gi-normus." (giant with a twist) My mom loved it. It was her prize. (She paid $75.00 for it at a furniture store and made me swear on a stack of sale papers not to tell dad.)

I had taken "glow-in-the-dark" crayons and added color to parts of the painting. That way, when mom and dad were not home, I could get out my "black light" and make the painting glow.

It was beautiful. It was like WOW and Spanish all wrapped up together. My brother knew that mom would kill me or make me walk three days in a desert without water.

He said, "If you tell mom and dad, I will tell mom about the "glow-in-the-dark" crayons.”She will kill you. She will make you swallow a razor blade." (Yes, he was cruel.)

Then, he pulled out the trump card of all trumps. I am telling you the honest, truth.

He said, "If you tell mom and dad, Soap Sally will come and get you and make soap out of you!"

I was scared to death of Soap Sally. (Soap Sally was a legendary woman that lived in the woods. She had a pack of wild dogs and she captured bad little children and made soap out of them. No one had ever seen her, but I was told that she existed. I cowered-down, when Soap Sally was mentioned.)

Fear took a hold of me then and there. I froze for a minute. I tried to keep my brother from noticing how it affected me, but being the emotional-wreck that I was, I could not help it.

Hey, if you had grown up with him as your brother, you would have been a wreck, too.

He smelt blood. No, he smelt the fear that was rushing though my veins. I was scared. My brother removed the butcher knife from the couch and arranged the cloth so that it was hardly noticeable.

Of course, I would have been sitting there with my finger in the hole of the couch, when mom and dad came in, but...He only had to look at me and say..."Soap Sally."

When mom and dad came home, I was in the bedroom reading. My brother was just finishing the dishes. Mom and dad never found out.