My friend commutes throughout a big city,
Where drivin’ an hour is considered a pity.
He laughed when he found
I lived two hours from town,
And said the country is really quite pretty.

While in a public restroom, I was barely sitting down when I heard a voice in the other stall say, “Hi, how are you?”

A little embarrassed I answered, “Doing good.”

“So what are you up to?” the person in the other stall asked.

“Uhhh, I’m like you,” I responded, “jus’ sitting here trying to take care of business”

“Can I come over?” the voice in the other stall asked.

“What?!” I nearly shouted as I shot back with a quick,”No!”

Suddenly the voice in the other stall went quiet.

A few seconds later I heard the voice say in a whispered tone, “Listen, I’ll have to call you back. There’s an idiot in the other stall who keeps answering all my questions.”

“Darn liquid sunshine,” Tommy said as they stepped off the bus. It had rained all the way from Cheyenne to Denver as the bus traveled throughout the early morning.

The horses were already in Denver. A caravan of horse trailers had started out two days before. Tommy was supposed to be down there with them at this time but he could not get away from work.

Minutes after their arrival the skies started to clear and the rain stopped falling. All around the stabled horses the sound of water dripping from the eves and falling to the pavement could be heard. But the air smelled clean and crisp and the horses’ ears were all pointed forward.

All twenty were looking forward to the Saint Patrick Day Parade. The horses had no idea that it was called such. For them it was a chance to get out and stretch. It was an opportunity to show off their skills.

The same could be said for the riders. They too had been looking forward to this day. This was the Fifth Cavalry reorganized. And this group of twenty horses and riders had practiced hundreds of hours for this event. It was their first time riding as a unit and this was the pay off.

Once the horses were saddled up and ready, it was time to mount up. The sharp sound of sabers striking against the hard saddles echoed through the city streets between the buildings.

The blue wool itched against Tommy’s skin. He had decided to discard the long handles for this ride. The humidity was high and he could feel himself sweating with the underwear on. Now he was sweating and this time he had nothing to prevent the wool from rubbing against his skin. Tommy reached up and grimaced as he raked his hand over his chest several times. “No time to change,” Tommy thought as he stood in his stirrups and waved the signal to form up.

He moved his horse out and onto the parade route. “Hard Tack, lets do it right,” Tommy muttered lowly to his horse. Hard Tack’s ears flipped back for an instant and then back to the forward.

It had been a stormy relationship between these two, rider and horse. Neither had selected the other. Both were simply assigned to each one another. It was a random act.

The first day Hard Tack decided he was hungry and that Tommy had climbed out of the dusty corral and paused to lean against the fence rail. That’s when Hard Tack struck. He reached over the top rail and bit into the straw hat on Tommy’s head. Tommy jerked away but it was too late. Hard Tack was bounding around the corral kicking up his heels like a kid at play.

“My hat!” Tommy screamed as he piled back over the fencing. But before he could get the hat away from the horse, it had eaten most of the brim and was working hard at chewing off the crown.

Tommy pulled the cowboy hat away from Hard Tack. “You stupid horse!” he shouted as he slapped the animal on the rump and climbed back over the fence.

The entire outfit laughed long and heartily at the incident. A couple cried and one rolled on the ground as Tommy placed the chewed-on hat back where it started. With the hat on his head, Tommy knew he looked more like a rodeo clown than the commissioned officer of a Calvary unit.

The crowds were thick and the cheering full as the Calvary unit moved through the streets of Denver. There were several flag laden viewing stands and as the senior officer of this unit Tommy relished the act of pulling his sword from its scabbard and saluting the symbol of the nation.

Midway through the parade they were scheduled to have a demonstration about how a fight was fought during the Indian Wars period. Upon attack the bugle would sound. Every rider was to dismount and force his or her horse to lie down. The dismounted rider would then pull out their carbine and commence to fire on the attackers.

The signal sounded, a single black powder rifle fired into he sky. And as planned and as he was trained the bugler sounded his horn and riders jumped from their mounts and using the reins pulled the horse over on their sides.

With carbines pulled and laid over the saddles of their horses the twenty members of the Fifth Calvary Reorganized commenced firing on the imaginary attack of plains Indians.

Tommy remained mounted on Hard Tack. He was directing fire from the high position, which was the custom of the day. His saber drawn and flashing in the sunlight Tommy pointed out where the hostiles were. They continued for five minutes, firing frantically as their horses fought them for their heads and attempted to stand up. Lying down is not the natural position a horse will stay in for a lengthy time.

Just as the announcer was explaining this and just as the riders were regaining their mounts, Tommy noticed Hard Tack’s ears were twitching wildly. He reined the horse back to the left a little but Hard Tack kept drifting to the right.

Suddenly and without warning Hard-Tack jumped forward. Tommy was preoccupied with trying to re-sheath his steel sword. As he managed to hilt the blade and just after cutting the back of his left hand on the razor sharp edge, Hard Tack bolted. He raced head long towards the crowd.

And as if Moses had raised his staff against the Red Sea, the line of people parted. This allowed Tommy and his run away mount to pass through them unencumbered.

Hard Tack broke to a dead run through the open park as Tommy struggled to reach for the reins and keep his seat at the same time. With one hand, wrapped and threaded through the mane Tommy leaned forward as he stood in his stirrup and grasped one of the reins. He pulled back.

Suddenly Tommy found himself tumbling through the air. He landed on the ground with a thud. The breath was knocked out of him. Hard Tack fell as well. He rolled over on his back with all four legs thrashing wildly at the now blue skies. He rolled over on Tommy as he came down. Tommy relaxed as Hard Tack struggled to get to his feet.

Once Hard Tack completed his roll and found his footing he stopped running. He just stood there as if feeling the limp weight of his motionless rider. Tommy’s feet were both in the stirrup and he had his bloody left hand still tangled in his mounts mane and a single rein gripped in the right.

Tommy gulped in air as soon as his lungs allowed him. Hard Tack shivered. A mounted police officer stood next to the pair. “You okay?” he was asking Tommy as he reached over and gathered in the other rein.

Being a solid trooper and the senior officer Tommy headed back to his unit. They had moved on without him as the parade could not wait. And other than stained in grass and little bruised he joined up with the Fifth Cavalry Reorganized.

Tommy reached down and patted Hard-Tack on the neck, “Its okay, boy.” The horse flipped his ears back for a moment then back to the forward position.

The rest of the parade continued with out a hitch. Tommy dismounted his troopers then slowly and painfully climbed down out of the saddle. “What happened?” was the question at the moment. All Tommy could do was shake his head silently because he did not have an answer.

“He never acted like this before,” Tommy said to Dave. Dave was helping to get the horses back into their trailers for the ninety-five mile trip home.

Other than a minor abrasion on his right fore shoulder and a small blister on his left rear flank Hard Tack was fine. The vet walked out of his stall, “I think it was a piece of cap in his hair that caught fire, causing him to act so wild.” He turned and latched the stall gate shut. Then he continued by asking, “How’s that slice on your hand?”

Tommy held up the bandaged hand and replied, “It’s a little painful and the Doc says I’ll have a scar, but other than that it’s okay.”

“You sure you’re alright?” Dave asked Tommy.

“Yeah,” he responded as he led the horse to the trailer.

Dave stood there a moment watching Tommy load the animal, then said, “That was a nasty wreck,” as he handed Tommy a small bag of oats.

“Yeah, and the only thing that hurts is my pride and this stupid cut,” Tommy replied as he held up his left hand. He had sliced himself with his sword during the fall. Then he added, “Want to go have a beer?”

Dave smiled, “Let’s go and I’ll buy the first one.”

Darkness filled the bar as they stepped inside from the bright glare of the afternoon sun. Within moments their eyes had adjusted well enough to notice that there were several women in the bar. All eyes were on the two men in their cavalry uniforms as they walked towards the bar.

The woman on the end of the bar turned in her seat and got up. She walked around the corner of the bar and asked, “What’ll it be gentlemen?”

Dave cleared his throat and answered, “Beer, one each, please.” He leaned against the wooden structure, placing his back to the wall-full of liquor.

The tender placed two brews full of head running over on the counter and Tommy reached into his trousers and pulled out a ten spot and slid it to the barkeep. Dave just stood there looking around the room and at all the women.

He leaned over and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “There’s go to be a least ten women here.” He paused to sip his beer then added, and they’re all beautiful!”

Tommy took a mouthful of beer and turned around to have a look.

Within minutes Dave was standing in front of the jukebox fishing change from his pant pocket. A young woman quickly joined him. She had on tight fitting jeans and a halter-top. Her skin was tanned a light brown to match her auburn hair.

She leaned against him as he inserted coins into the slot of the machine. It was obvious to Tommy that she was helping Dave make a selection of music and Dave was enjoying the assistance as well as her company.

Tommy turned back to the bar and nursed his beer as well as his hand. “That’s a nasty slice on your hand,” a woman’s voice lilted from beside him. He looked up and in the direction, smiling relied, “Yeah, not a good day in Bedrock.” She laughed.

Tommy noticed her dazzling white teeth and the long blonde hair as she tossed it back and forth. “Names Tommy,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Angie,” the blonde returned. Then she added, “Your friend doesn’t waste anytime.” Tommy looked back where Dave was and discovered he was sitting in one of the darkened booths. To Tommy it appeared he was doing more than talking with his new friend.

Angie asked, “Want to go sit down where it more comfortable and more private?”

“Sure,” Tommy responded. He picked up his beer and took another drink of it. Then they walked over to a booth that Tommy allowed Angie to pick out.

As they walked to the booth he noticed that the women were all talking to each other. He was being checked out and he felt certain he was the topic of conversation. The looks followed by hushed whispers and giggles told him he was right.

“So, is this your first time in Denver?” Angie asked.

“Naw, been here several times,” Tommy answered. “But it’s the first time we’ve had a chance to visit a bar, though.”

Angie smiled, “Knew you’d never been in here before, because I’m a regular.”

“Well, Dave and me thought we’d died and gone to heaven when we first set foot inside this place,” Tommy said, “I mean, so many women and we’re the only guys.” Tommy sipped at his beer.

“Oh you’d be surprised,” Angie said. She took a drink of her beer. “How’d you cut your hand?” she asked as she reached over and lightly ran a finger over the gash.

Tommy gulped a mouthful of beer. Her touch had sent a shiver through him. Then he replied, “I cut my self on my saber.”

She just looked at him. And after a few seconds she asked, “You’re kidding right?”

“No,” Tommy came back. Then he explained why he had a sword and how he came to cut the back of his hand.

Angie moved closer to Tommy. He could feel his excitement rise as she sat next to him listening to as he told her what he did for a living.

She rubbed her had gently on his thigh. “Want another beer?” Tommy asked as he slid away from her. She nodded her head up and down. Tommy got up and walked the few steps to the bar.

He could feel his head swimming as he thought about how friendly Angie was. He turned to look back at her as the woman behind the bar got the two beers.

Angie smiled and Tommy smiled back. He turned back to the bar and paid for the beverages. His eyes swept over the room and slight cold washed over his person. He picked up the drinks and headed back to the booth where his new friend sat waiting for him.

They sat and talked a while more and drank their beer. She sat next to Tommy all the while.

After Tommy had gotten them each a third beer, Angie asked, “Do you always take your time when a woman throws herself at you?” She smiled.

“Sometimes,” was the only thing Tommy said in response.

“So why now?” she asked. Angie sounded nearly impatient with Tommy

Tommy smiled, then leaned back in his seat and replied, “I don’t know exactly.” He paused a few more seconds then added, “Things just don’t quite add up.”

Angie started fidgeting with the cocktail napkin in front of her. Then Tommy looked at Angie. She wasn’t smiling now.

“First,” Tommy started, “Dave and me are the only guys here or as you said earlier ‘I might be surprised’,” He sipped at the frosty mug. What would I be surprised at?”

Angie looked down and leaned back with a large defeated sigh. Then Tommy asked, “Would I be surprised to find out that Dave and I aren’t the only males in here?”

Again Angie sighed. Then she looked up at Tommy and smiled. “You’re pretty cool. Most he-men type would have figured it out and started throwing punches.”

Tommy interrupted her by asking, “So how far along are you in your gender reassignment?”

Angie pulled open her blouse and exposed her breasts. “They’re mine. What do you think?”

“Th-th-their beautiful,” Tommy stuttered. He felt his face burning red from embarrassment.

Then she said, “Why, you’re blushing!”

“Well, it’s not everyday a woman pops her breasts out at me like you just did,” Tommy said as he continued to blush.

“You’re so sweet, Angie said, “You called me a woman. You’re so sweet.” She reached out and grabbed onto Tommy’s hand and gave it a tender squeeze. “Let’s go rescue your friend.”

So far in my tale of woe, I had my power steering hose torn off and a hole punctured in my radiator from this errant computer monitor as I was going to the dump. And when Last  left you, my wife had jus’ come home and announced both of my front tires were flat.

I had to go out and see for myself and danged if she wasn’t right!

It was too late in the evening to do anything about it , so I went to bed worrying and complaining about the situation. While it doesn’t do any good, it does make me feel good to be able to worry and complain.

The following morning I enlisted the help of Kyle’s God-mother, Kay as I needed her to transport me and my tires. I decided to take them down to the corner gas station and pump air into them instead of running all the way to town, back again and them into town again to get them worked on.

It cost me only a dollar and fifty cents to pump both tires up enough to feel safe to drive my truck into town. I can hear my Grandpa now — “In  my day, air was free and nobody had to pay for water.”

I got them back on my truck and headed into town. Once at the tire repair shop, the guys checked them out for any damage, tightened the lugs down and sent me on my way. That cost me $25 and most of my morning.

The entire ordeal of taking them off and putting them back on by myself left me hot. and sweaty, not to mention dirty. My back was also giving me fits from the strain of doing exactly what my doctor said I shouldn’t be doing — lifting, bending, twisting and stretching.

Kay took pity on me. She decided to go with me back into town so I could finish up my list of chores .

She also has air-conditioning and I don’t. It was nice of her to think of that.

That means I came back home and parked my truck for the rest of the day. And I drove back into Reno/Sparks with Kay, enjoying the cool breeze. of her A/C drying the mixture of sweat and grime on my face .

I couldn’t have been happier than a pig in mud at the time, but the feeling wasn’t to last. When we got back to the house, I could see my left front tire was completely flat and the right-front tire was low.

I cussed a streak, bluer than the color of my pick-up, I was so mad. I would have to repeat the day I jus’ had and I was not looking forward to it.

To be continued…

Luke A. Wildgrube Jr., was born on September 9, 1935, in Woodland, Washington and passed away on August 9, 2008, at his home in Dinsmore, California. Luke was my Uncle.

Luke moved with his family from Washington to Humboldt County at the age of 12, were he attended grade school at Cuddyback School in Carlotta. In 1952 his family moved to Dinsmore, Luke then commuted from Dinsmore to Fortuna just to attend Fortuna High School, graduating with the class of 1953.

Luke married his high school sweetheart Daisy Smith on April 8, 1955. He spent many years working in the local lumber industry ranging from running the Debarker, working the Green Chain, finally ending his career as a Lumber Shipping Clerk.

In June 1978, Luke went to work for the Trinity County Road Department. He worked as a Road Maintence Worker III, Heavy Equipment Operator and Truck Driver until he retired in September 1997.

Luke’s hobbies were digging in old Homesteads throughout the counties looking for old bottles and arrowheads with his family and longtime friend Max Bradley. His brother in law of Adam Smith of Fortuna, CA, and long time friends Tony Castro, also of Fortuna, Buck Fike of Arcata and Harold Uhl of Rio Dell, traveled many miles hunting and fishing together with Luke.

Luke was preceded in death by his father, Luke A. Wildgrube; his mother, Dorothy Wildgrube Harkey. He is survived by his wife, Daisy Wildgrube; son, Neil Wildgrube, wife Kathy, son Travis of Rio Dell; daughter, Nadine Hartman, husband David, their children Luke and Lisa Hartman of Fortuna,; and youngest daughter, Marilyn Wildgrube of Dinsmore. Brother-in-law, Ozzie Smith, wife Joanne; sisters-in-law, Emma Mendes, husband Albert, and Barbara Smith.

May I Speak? Can I speak?
No, I can’t for my voice is weak,
Weak from the life that I seek.

It is weak for no sound comes.
Not a tune can I even hum.
Nothing to save me from the glum.

For it’s the music I won’t say.
It’s not the time or the day,
Not the day, but the way.

Is it so bad to be so silent?
No, no, that’s not what I meant.
What I asked is where I went?

The last couple of days have been busy ones for me, not an excuse, jus’ statin’ a fact. If I had been better organized I would have not missed writing yesterday .

The big news of the day is that Keon passed his driving permit test after eight tries. Finally!

I told him that it would happen and he was at the point of not believing that he could pass the test.

We went to lunch to celebrate his success at Genghis Grill in Spanish Springs is delicious and I can’t wait to go back for more of their endless bowls of fresh cooked veggies, meat, fish and spices.

Yesterday, Kyle and I took his God-mother Kay to see the movie, ‘The Dark Knight.’ At first she didn’t want to see’ it because of its dark nature, but afterwards he said she hope we could go see it again.

Both Kyle and I are willing–it’ll be our third time.

My sleep pattern has been thrown completely out of whack this last week. I have been working overnight and sleeping for a couple of hours in the morning, getting up and doing odds and ends of stuff around town or at home and then going back to bed for a few more hours in the late afternoon.

But I’ll be back to my normal routine come this weekend–and then I’ll screw myself up by working a single overnight this Monday morning. Hey, that is the life of radio.

Radio isn’t so bad.

Its jus’ a weird business of people with big and little egos, lots to no talent, bad coffee, poor hours and strange business practices. It is more fun than digging ditches though.

Today, Kyle and I are picking Keon up, and we ‘re gonna go see the new mummy movie with Brendan Frazier and Jet Li. Then Kyle heads back over to his mother’s house until I pick him up to have him drive me to Crescent City for my 30-year class reunion next Thursday.

Getting ready to lay down for a nap as I have to be on-air at midnight, so I figured I’d get an early jump on this as there’s a couple of things on my mind…

Kyle received an invite from an organization called, ‘People-to-People,’ to go over to Japan for 14-days of study. I don’t know much about this group or even how much it costs to do something like this, but I’m pretty tickled for him.

We have a general information meeting to attend in September. That is when we’ll find out more info on this opportunity.

I was never offered a chance like this when I was in high school, but then I wasn’t a good student like Kyle.

The second thing on my mind has created some consternation within me. I emailed an ex-girlfriend, whom I had not seen since 1998 and then 1982 before then.

She emailed me back, and in one of the most polite drubbings I’ve ever been given, she said she didn’t want to keep in touch because her memories of me were not all that happy. I seem to recall that ten years ago she glared at me as we sat in the dance hall of the convention center where our 20-year class reunion was being held, but I didn’t put much thought to the look of dislike or hatred, but it was there and I put it in the back of my mind.

So much has happened with my life, that I am unable to remember every detail that has occurred, so I have always kept a journal. I have an entire book case and wooden box filled with journals of all sorts.

Sometimes I wrote about events in a straight, orderly fashion,  at times in the form of a poem and other times as a short story. In the case of this former girlfriend, I detailed the ups and downs of our relationship in both poetry and short stories.

My early daylight hours today were spent researching what had happened way back then and why she’s so bitter towards me. Now I wish I hadn’t opened that Pandora ‘s Box.

Back then I got blamed for smashing in her brother ‘s car window because I was seen running past the front windows of a local grocery store. The ex was at a popular restaurant/bar in Crescent City with a friend, her brother and his wife, when the car was trashed.

Oh, I was there, but I didn’t cause the damage. That’s not to say that I don’t know who did the dirty deed.

But when it happened I ran as fast as I could from the scene because I know in that I’d get blamed for it. Perhaps I should have waited for the police, then maybe the remainder of the night wouldn’t have gone as it did.

Shortly after dark, I was with my brother Adam and his friend, when they got into a fight over a car and Adam was severely slashed. It was so bad that his right kidney hung from his lower back and it became a real battle to keep him from bleeding to death before getting him to Seaside Hospital.

It took several hours and hundreds of stitches, but thankfully the doctors and nurses saved his life.

With all of that going on I had forgotten the car widow smashing and what followed in the same parking lot a couple of weeks later. My former girlfriend’s brother and wife confronted me and the three of us got into a fist fight.

According to my notes, I threw the first punch. And while I’m sorry for what happened, and if I could go back and prevent it, I would, but I can’t.

As of yet, I’ve not been asked who damaged the car and now, so many years later, I wouldn’t tell because it would jus’ open another wound for someone else, and who needs that trouble. I’m happy to take the blame if it means keeping the peace — hated or not.

I wrote this for my dad, Thomas Junior Darby (1933-1995,) shortly after returning home from having buried him. It’s based on my eulogy given at the time of his funeral. I took what I said and reworked it into a poem. Red refers to his once wavy head of red hair…

It’s for sure Ol’ Red went to God,
For a chance in heaven to promenade.
But ol’ Red found him a hitch
In his git-up and had him an itch.

Ol’ Red knew this was one chance
To meet the Devil and bet the ranch.
Saint Pete would have to wait
‘Cause Ol’ Red, he had a date.

So Ol’ Red met the Devil that day,
Gabbin’ along in his mischievous way.
And if you hear thunder a-soundin’
It’s just the Devil, he’s just a-poundin’.

It’s the Devil whose mad as Hell,
Not jus’ ’cause he’d been slickered well.
It’s from his tail he tied in a-knot,
When he found Ol’ Red could talk a-lot.

“That danged washer is broke down again,” Mom said over the phone to Dad. He was working at the Requa Air Force Station. Earlier that year he had been able to get permission from the Base Commander to use the station’s laundry facilities.

A few minutes later Dad called back. Mom lifted the receiver from its cradled and answered. “Sorry,” Dad started off, “the laundry facilities are out of order up here as well.” After a few more minutes of conversation, they hung up one from the other.

“Tommy, Adam,” Mom yelled out.

Both of the boys were in their bedroom when she called. They rushed to her immediately.

“I’m going to need your help with the laundry,” she said.

She picked up the telephone and called Camp Marigold to see if they could use their washing machines. Camp Marigold was just over the fence in the back yard.

It was an RV park during the summer and not much of anything else during the winter. It was long past summer and using their laundry room would prove to be no problem.

The plan was to take the laundry over and wash it. Then they would haul it back over the fence and dry it, since the dryer was still working. And after a weeks time with four children and two adults, there were fourteen piles of dirty clothes laid out in masses on the floor.

Adam looked at Tommy and said, “There goes our day.”

They both sighed because each knew the younger brother was right.

There were only two washers available in the campground’s laundry room. And each took nearly twice the time to wash as their washer did at home.

The going was slow and the coins in their pockets burned even slower yet. However they continued to climb back and forth over the fence, each with a load of laundry in tow.

They were down to their last three loads of laundry at sunset. The summertime day had grown into a winter-like evening. Finally the back porch light was turned on.

The yellow glow from the single bulb cast long shadows towards the fence. There were actually two fences. Theirs was set higher by two feet with a foot and a half gap to the lower fence built by the owner of Camp Marigold.

All that day Adam and Tommy had climbed over their fence and down to theirs and finally to the ground. Then they climbed up the camp’s fence and then higher yet over theirs then down into their backyard.

After dark there was very little lighting on the Camp’s side of the fence. And from behind the top of the higher fence to about ten feet out on the Camp’s side, there was no light at all. In fact it was absolutely dark.

Having noticed this, Tommy set about with a devious plan. He would wait for Adam to start climbing the fence and then he would scare him.

Tommy chuckled to himself, for the very thought caused an image in his brain. He saw himself reaching out into the pitch-blackness and touching his younger brother on the shoulder.

And even though he knew he would not be able to see his brothers’ face, he imagined the frightened wideness of his eyes. He imagined his inability to scream as panic choked off any sound he would have started to make. Meanwhile he could see Adam running in place from fear.

He crouched down in the darkness, between the light of the porch and the shadow of the fence. Tommy sat and waited.

Suddenly Adam appeared from the corner of the old building they sat near-by. He approached the fence. He set the basket full of wet, clean laundry on the top rail of the Camp’s fence and proceeded to climb up it.

That’s when his older brother reached out and grabbed his shoulder and in his scariest voice, half whisper and half growled, “Little boy!”

Adam’s body stiffened at the touch and unleashed at the sound of the voice.

The older brother could see nothing of the scared brother’s face or body. The darkness blanketed everything, including the lightening swift right fist Adam hurled at the sound of the voice. Adam was on target and Tommy never saw it coming. He had punched him squarely in the nose.

Tommy fell backwards as Adam clamored over the fence. The basket of wet, clean clothes toppled from the fence rail and landed in the mid-section of the wounded boy. He gasped for air and could only breathe through his mouth.

He laid there for a few second in the dew-heavy grass, beneath the apple tree, next to the old building, by the fence. Tommy awakened to the stabbing pain of a beam of light shining in his eyes. He tried to lift himself up, however he could only raise up on his elbow, his head heavy and swimming with confusion.

Dad had a flashlight. He was looking down at Tommy from a top the fence. He quickly climbed over and down to be next to the boy as he lay on the ground. Tommy leaned back, hoping that Dad would have pity on him and the sorrowful state he was in.

“Cripes! I think you broke his nose, Adam!” Dad yelled up towards the fence.

Adam’s silhouette rose up slowly from beyond the fence at that moment.

“Well, he shouldn’t have scared me like that,” he said in his defense. Then he added, “I didn’t know it was Tommy.”

Dad helped Tommy sit up and then eventually stand-up. He felt sick to his stomach and his legs were weak.

“The only reason I don’t give you a whipping’ is ‘because your brother already don it for me,” Dad said.

Tommy thought to himself, “I wish I could have taken a trip to the wood shed.”

He would have preferred that over being beaten to the ground with a single punch to the face from his kid brother.

His mother was less sympathetic. After cleaning him up, she sent him back out to finish the wash. That included re-washing the wet, clean load of laundry that had fell on top of him.

The load he managed to bleed all over.