The air hung dusty and hot. The summer sky arched pensively above us, waiting for the conflict to begin. I imagined the same sky holding audience above man’s great conflicts: Waterloo, Normandy, Fenway Park. This wasn’t going to end well, but I couldn’t back down now. Something was at stake, though I wasn’t entirely sure what.

Ben’s tune changed, shifting to the heroic part of the anthem, the part they play at the medal ceremony at the end of ‘A New Hope’. I thought he was being inspirational until I heard the clatter of a rusty bike chain approach from behind us. Several pairs of feet were padding along behind the noise. And then I saw it; Shane blinked.

He blinked; that could mean only one thing. I didn’t even turn to look. I just locked eyes with Shane and waited. I waited for the inevitable taunt from that anathema to any bully, the older brother.

“Whatcha’ up to, Purple Shane?” And there he was, my older brother, God bless him. I paid in pride but kept my teeth, and that was okay by me.