I Almost Killed My Brother....

Oh, don't look at me like that.  It wasn't intentional.

I don't think.

It just would have been a nice little side bonus.

I feel it is necessary to post this today.  Perhaps my mom has forgotten some of the trauma we caused.  I think she has locked deep into her subconscious the times it would have been easier to go to some foreign country with a one-way ticket.

So, Mom, this memory is for you.

I like to think I was a perfect little sister.  Well, maybe except this (see number 1).

My brother, however, was a little difficult.  Okay.  He was a lot difficult.

For the duration of this memory we are going to refer to my brother as "Buddy"**.

I was around 14.  I was downstairs in my childhood home playing pool with my friend and listening to music on the jukebox.  

Buddy was working nights at the time.  After he finished work, instead of coming home to sleep, he went to his girlfriend's house.  He came home at around 7:00pm.  He decided that he wanted to catch a couple of hours sleep before his next shift.  (Like the whole world needs to stop in the early evening because he NOW wants some sleep.  Not all day when the house was empty and quiet...)  His bedroom was right by the pool table/jukebox.

You know where this is going, don't you?

Buddy walked right over to the jukebox and turned it off.  Not down.  But off.  

Did he ask me first?  No. 

Did he nicely tell me that he was beat and needed some quiet for a little while?  Nope. 

(In all honesty, would that have helped?  Probably not.)

I did what any self-respecting, friend-is-watching, person would have done.  I turned it back on. I did, however, turn it down, which I thought was incredibly nice of me.

He turned it back off.  I think he swore at this point.

I turned it back on.

He turned it off.  Swore at me.  And he took the key so I couldn't turn it back on again.

Again, remember that I am self-respecting and have a friend watching.  I went and got my ghetto-blaster.  I kept the music very quiet.  I find it odd that he didn't demand that we quit playing pool.  But he never did.  It was the music he had a problem with.  It was '80s music people!  Come on!  Who wouldn't totally LOVE that?  (Heather?)

So, right about now, he decides he's going to hurt me.  Really bad.

My friend who was all of 4'10" and 80 pounds has gone into hiding upstairs in my bedroom. But I didn't notice her absence, as I had started running around the pool table, trying to stay kitty-corner from Norman Bates.  Oops, I mean Buddy.

At one point, he caught me, and my jaw ended up smoked against the corner of the pool table. 

I wasn't impressed.  

I ran, and was again directly across from him.

I could see the veins poking out of his forehead.  I knew that if he caught me again, I was probably going to need an ambulance.  Soooooo, I decided at that point it was kill or be killed.

I picked up that bright yellow number 1 pool ball.  I pulled my arm back.  I threw that thing so hard that had any scouts been watching, I probably would have found myself recruited to the Dodgers!!  (Probably as a back-up, but STILL, what an accomplishment!)

He ducked, and I missed his head by THAT MUCH!!

And then I ran.  Screaming "He's gonna kill me!!!  HELP ME!!!" 

I ran to my room and threw my back against the door and the bottoms of my feet against my dresser and continued to scream.  (It was at this point that I found my friend - we'll just call her "Penny"** - hiding under my blankets.)

Oh, crap!  I couldn't hold him off much longer!  He's almost in.....

I'm still screaming...

Mom and Dad got home just in time. 

**The names in this memory have not been changed, because, to be honest, I really don't care about protecting anyone.  Besides, they don't read my blog anyway.

You've endured two very long posts in a row.  I promise tomorrow will be shorter!!!  It might even be the Pay It Forward contest.....

Regardless, stay tuned.  You never know when I will talk about beets on ceilings or asses through walls.