THE SIBLING WARS
When I Was A Small-Town Bomb Maker
Declaration of dependence: I needed my brother
The excitement of lighting a bomb is the excitement of lighting a birthday cake when you know for a fact that your most reckless wish is going to come true in seven to ten seconds.
As a child, I knew this excitement well.
I lived for it.
That day, the day of the great bomb, I was in my room imitating people from church and recording myself on a tape player. Suddenly, my big brother, Joe, burst in. He was breathing heavily, his face red from running, and he was giggling, a sound that precedes many adventures.
“I need your help,” he said.
I hadn’t been needed by Joe for many days, so I was happy. Overjoyed even. Otherwise, I might have been clearheaded enough to use his need of me to make him suffer.
I could have ordered him to explain what he needed in detail and then tortured him with Mom’s “I’ll think about it,” a phrase meaning she’d already thought about it with frightening speed and the answer was always no.
I could have said, “Dearest, Joe, come back later. I’m busy,” or “I’ll help you if you let me look at your X-Men comics, play with your LEGOs, borrow your Jurassic Park…
