Another Afternoon at 3:30pm

We are fighting as usual. About what is hard to say.  What do siblings actually fight about?  It could be something as silly as one of us taking the last Fig Newton or borrowing an item from the other’s room and not returning  it.  Or perhaps it is that it’s easy for my big brother to detest me just for being his little sister, pig tails, red leotard, running around the house, torturing him with my 7 year old-ness.

As usual, he throws me on the bed, my bed, where I tumble and roll, my red leotard a momentary flash in the air. Then, tickles me, punches me, lightly enough that it still hints of a game but hard enough so that I  yelp “Stop!”  “Stop!”  This is the daily 3-5pm after school routine:   Games of Battleship and Stratego dissolve into full out chases around the house, me the pursued screaming wildly while whizzing around living room corners into the dining room, dodging wooden African statues, silver candlesticks, and leaping over the piano bench to escape.