Michael Smith - Siblings

I pretended I was kicking off in a football game and caught him solid and hard in the crotch with my steel-capped toe. His mouth opened but no sound came out, and the blood disappeared from his face. He fell heavily to his knees, clutching his balls – crushed, I hoped – then hunched over and vomited stale-smelling beer all over his driveway.

Since his head was already down, I switched from football to golf. Getting a firm two-handed grip on my club, I swung it up into the creep's face, hitting him squarely under the jaw just as he started to raise his head. His teeth clacked together loudly and his head snapped back. All my hours of swimming practice had made me stronger in the shoulders than I looked. I stepped back as his eyes rolled up and he slumped sideways into his own puddle of vomit. Very appropriate, I thought.

I prodded him a couple times in the Adam's apple with the rough end of the cable and he gagged as he returned to partial consciousness. I poked him again to get his attention.

"That was for Alex, creep. If you ever come within five feet of my sister again, I'll kill you." I didn't scream or threaten; I spoke almost conversationally. Perhaps it was the cold, calm tone of voice that made him look at me as though he believed me.

"And if you decide to come after me to get even, or if you send your friends to beat me up, you'd better make sure you kill ME. Because if you don't, you're dead.

"Listen carefully: My sister is the most important thing in the world to me. Where she's concerned, I really don't*care* what happens to me. You might say I'm a little insane on the subject. I'm prepared to commit murder, if necessary. Are you?" From his expression, I was sure he believed me now, which was the first smart thing he'd done this evening.

"Just so you won't forget," I added, and suddenly raised the club and smashed it down across the center of his face, flattening the cartilage in his nose.

He'd have a splint on it for weeks; let him try to explain that to his buddies. Beaten up by a kid two years younger and probably thirty pounds lighter. But he was clutching his nose with both hands, retching from the pain, and staring at me like I really was crazy. And I probably was, for a while there.

The entire encounter had taken less than three minutes and made very little noise, and the street was still quiet. And I had learned some valuable lessons. Let them underestimate you and then take them by surprise. Then, hit 'em first, hit 'em hard, and kick 'em while they're down. When you're outnumbered or outsized, that's the only way you have a chance of winning.

I quickly wiped the bloody end of the club on the grass and stuck it behind my back again. Then I climbed on my moped, started it up, and headed for home without looking back. Halfway there, though, I had to pull over to the curb for a few minutes, to stop shaking. I had gone through the entire incident on automatic, and now the adrenaline rush was catching up with me.

I coasted silently into our driveway, parked by the back door, and slipped inside as quietly as possible. Alex was dozing on her bed, sprawled on top of the comforter. She was wearing one of my old sport shirts, unbuttoned, and I gently opened one side. Her bruises had deepened in color but they didn't seem to have swollen much; probably no cracked ribs or anything. The blue on her breast had gone purple and it made me angry all over again, that her body had been abused so. Alex stirred and her eyes flickered open.

"I tried to stay awake," she yawned. "You went over to see Allen, didn't you? What happened?" She struggled to sit up, grimaced, and pulled me down beside her instead.

"Are you okay?" She searched my face anxiously for evidence of a fight. But I didn't intend to tell her, in any detail, what had happened.

"We had a little talk. I think you and that creep are even, now. He's not going to bother you anymore." Her expression was full of questions, but she sensed that I wasn't going to talk about it, not yet.

"Why don't you pass the word around among your girlfriends about that guy? Show them your bruises. His potential dates ought to be warned."

She looked solemnly into my eyes a little longer and when it became obvious I wasn't going to say anything more, she took my head between her hands and kissed me long and seriously.

Then she flashed that loving smile and murmured, "I usually*can* look after myself, Michael. But when I can't, I'm glad you're there to take care of me. I love you…" Then I settled her in bed and pulled the covers over her, and by the time I switched off the light she was asleep again.

And as I climbed into my own bed a little while later, I thought over the incident and wondered if I really*would* have killed Allen Stone, given a weapon and the opportunity. And I finally decided 'Yes' – I would have. It was a useful thing to know about myself, both good and bad.

We almost always walked home from school together, so on Monday afternoon I met Alex out in front of the main building, as usual. She was wide-eyed and gave me a strange look.

"I saw Allen in the hall after Third Period – and he saw me and turned around and went the other way. He had a cast on his wrist, and a plastic splint on his nose, and a very black eye! What*happened* the other night?"

I didn't think she sounded displeased, but I felt uncomfortable under her questioning stare. "Was he walking kind of funny?" I asked. "I kicked him in the nuts, too."

She blinked at me and said slowly, "Are you telling me you beat up on Allen Stone? Michael, he's a LOT bigger than you are – you could've gotten hurt bad!" This was becoming embarrassing.

"Well, he wasn't expecting it. Neither was I. And I don't have to fight fair. Alex, it was partly luck, and yes, I could have gotten hurt – but I didn't."

I slung my book back over my shoulder and started across the street. Alex found herself hurrying to catch up. I was trying to avoid further discussion, but she wouldn't let go of it.

"Michael, wait a minute! Why would you DO something like that?" I stopped and looked her in the eye.

"Did you look at yourself in the mirror the other night?" She nodded slowly.

"Alex, when I saw the bruises he put on you, and the way he ripped your clothes,… well, I got angry. I mean*really* angry. I couldn't stand the thought that someone would do that to you." I lowered my voice. "I went over there with a weapon. I was going to kill that geek if I had to."

She couldn't decide if I was serious. "You would've*killed* somebody because of ME?" Her voice had risen almost to a squeak. "Michael, I can't believe that!"

I set down my book bag, took hold of her biceps, and gave her the most serious expression I could muster. "Believe it! Alex, you have to understand how I feel about you. Yes: I WOULD kill to protect you. Don't ever doubt it. And if it were a choice between you and me, I'd die for you, too. That's just the way it is, okay? I know it sounds melodramatic, but it's the simple truth."

I picked up my books again and set off at a slower pace. Alex matched my stride and glanced over at my face several times. Finally, she took my arm and squeezed it possessively.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know. It scares me a little, that you feel so intensely, but it feels good, too. It makes me feel secure."

I smiled back at her. Now she understood.

[NOTE: From Chap 5 of the "Siblings" novel; set 1971; he's 16, she's 15. Some minor correcting and rewriting for continuity has been done since this section was first posted…]

One comfortably warm afternoon in October, I was taking a nap in my room, having exhausted myself with several hours of freestyle practice. There was no one else in the house, so the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by girlish giggles on the stair, half woke me. Then some part of my brain registered that the giggling was a conversation between two different voices and I came fully awake, though some instinct kept me from moving.