The Benton Brothers WC 269

The Benton Brothers

Arms folded, my brother, Stan, and me were at an impasse.

“You’re a lousy rotten chicken!” I said, hoping he wouldn’t slug me, but I had to get it off my chest.

He didn’t smack me; he just stood there, inches from me, lips pursed. The veins in his forehead were popping out. I had a feeling I should back up. He is bigger than me.

Twenty minutes earlier, he had backed away from a perfectly righteous fight with the neighborhood bully, Eddie Smutz. The Benton brothers never backed away from a fight. But, because Stan walked away, I had to. Eddie would have pulverized my fourteen-year-old butt.

“Lousy, rotten chicken!” I said again.

Was I that mad or that stupid? This could mushroom into something like Hiroshima. We have been on this ledge before.

“Well say something, Stan!” I screamed. “Do something!”

I waited for the smack in the head, or at least a reason why he wimped out.

After a bit, his face became the picture of calm and cool.

“You’re right, Matty, I was a chicken. Maybe not a lousy, rotten one, but I did wimp out.”

There was something wrong with my brother; I felt helpless.

“Are you okay?” I said, finally.

“I guess I’m just realizing as I get older, that fighting is no answer, Matty.”

As he gets older? He’s only sixteen. Yep, there was something wrong with him.

“And, anyway, Eddie Smutz is not worth the bother,” he said. “Let’s go get an ice cream cone at Tasty Treats.”

Well, that did help my mood, but this growing-up stuff really sucks.