Word Count: 197
Brothers. Sometimes close, sometimes not. Depends on how big a pain in the ass the younger one is growing up.
Teddy was a whiner. Three years younger, a span that hits hard on bedtimes, toys without small moving parts, crying or quietly planning revenge.
The warnings, the watch-outs!, the keep-an-eye-on, they all start to grind down any hope of a bonding. Any chance of a wink of shared knowing.
James plotted too. With the wisdom of three years over Teddy. With experience of eight to nine p.m. TV. With the freedom of riding his bike into town and a pocketful of saved up allowance.
His plan was unique and quite complicated. He fancied himself an engineer. Balance, weight, timing, all integral parts. All carefully thought out and tested. Poor Teddy did not stand a chance.
His only fault was in lying in wait. His only mistake was in execution. He waited too long, set the date too far in advance. Went back for one final test, not noticing how the weak plank had been moved. By Teddy who giggled in blackhearted glee as James was squashed by the beam he’d so carefully hung.
Yeah. There were 4 years and a bit between my sons …
So you surely understand. There were 2-1/2 years between me and my older sister.