We were going into third grade at the end of summer and we could think of no better way to spend our remaining vacation than in a lot alongside an old building. There were four of us that day, sometimes more but it seemed a bit crowded because among us was Gary, Tom’s little brother; aka “Nerd-turd.”
Finally something happened--some infraction while we were playing spies or soldiers or something--and Oscar snapped. “Go the hell home and take your damn stupid son of a bitch brother with you! Jesus H. Christ, you stupid assholes!”
It was just me and Oscar after that.
“He takes that stupid asshole everywhere,” he would say--or something like that--from time to time.
Otherwise it was quiet.
The brothers, it seems, were not quite done playing with us. As we both lay, watching the sky, we heard from the roof of the old building, a horrible war cry of sorts.
Tom jumped down, satisfied to startle us. Gary, blissfully ignorant, went further. He jumped out and grabbed onto the power line. We shrieked girlishly, and waited for him to die.
We all had just assumed they were live. From then on Gary was ok.
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