Brotherly Love
By: Dix
Brotherly Love
By: Dix
“Jamie, you get back in here!” Phillip King shouted
to his younger brother.
“You can’t leave me here!”
Jamie calmly made his way down the front walk and turned
as he reached Henry Cook’s car. “It’s
only one night, Phillip. You’ve
had it easy for 3 months. Cut me
some slack.”
“You can’t do this to me,
dorkface!” Phillip continued, stepping out onto the front porch in his
stocking feet. “I’m only here
for the weekend. I suffered through
all the family stuff yesterday. I’d
like to see a few of my friends.” Phillip
shivered in the brisk November evening air, rubbing his hands over his arms.
It occurred to him at that point that he did not cut anywhere near the
imposing figure he had hoped to strike.
“Make you a deal,” Jamie offered as he opened his
friend’s car door. “You take
him tonight and I’ll stay home tomorrow.”
“Nice try,
dufus,” Phillip returned, “Mom and Lee
aren’t going anywhere tomorrow.”
“Take it or leave it, big bad college dude.
I am NOT going anywhere near the monster tonight,” Jamie waved and
grinned triumphantly at his brother as he jumped into the car as it squealed
away from the curb.
“Great. Just
great,” Phillip muttered, glancing skyward.
“Are you trying to tell me something?
My one chance the whole Thanksgiving weekend to see Becky Frank and I end
up having to spend the night with the monster.”
Shaking his head at the futility of expecting an audible
reply, Phillip turned back toward the door only to find that it had closed
behind him, firmly and undeniably locked.
He shook the door handle of his parents’ house frantically, stepping
lightly from one foot to the other on the cold concrete porch.
He strained against the porch railing, hoping to catch a glimpse inside
the living room window. Knowing
full well the only remaining occupant of the house would be completely unable to
help him, Phillip gingerly made his way across the lawn and around to the back
of the house. The crisp, nearly
frozen blades of grass prickled and crunched under his stocking feet.
He reached the back door only to find it similarly
secure. A quick search of the first
floor windows ended just as futilely. “Damn,
Lee,” Phillip grumbled as he pulled and then pushed vainly at the kitchen
window sash. “Before you came
along, Mom at least always kept the kitchen window open or unlocked.
You see what happens when you obsess about security?”
Through the very secure, triple-paned glass, the young man could just
barely hear the unmistakable wail of the only other person at home in the
Stetson/King household.
“You are so dead, King.
You are so dead if they come home and find him in there all alone,” he
muttered, shaking his head. In
desperation, he briefly considered the rocks in the flowerbed, hefting a few for
good measure. After the fourth
inspected rock and an intent perusal of the backyard, he determined that Lee had
chosen that glass for the windows in the new house for a reason - there was
nothing nearby that was going to break through it.
His eyes roamed over the house, looking for a way in.
At last they located a potential break in Lee Stetson’s castle
defenses. The window to Jamie’s
room was open just over an inch. Phillip well knew that his younger brother slept with the
window cracked even on the coldest nights.
There had been many an argument in the last few years as Lee struggled to
break him of the habit in the interest of his vaunted ‘home security.’
Resuming his scrutiny of the back yard, Phillip searched
for a way to reach the second floor window.
Inspiration struck and he wheeled his old bike next to the house.
He climbed atop the bike, standing in the seat, and stretched up to catch
the guttering. With no small amount
effort, he scrabbled up and over, on to the garage roof.
The garage roof sloped up to the level of Jamie’s bedroom window.
He carefully advanced up the slope, keeping his body close to the
surface. When he reached the
window, he gingerly lifted one arm to push it open further.
That action upset his precarious balance and he slid part way down the
roof. He looked down at the asphalt
drive and wiped away the light sheen of perspiration that had broken out on his
forehead. He resumed his climb and
reached the window once again. He
judged that it was open just enough for him to squeeze through and carefully
maneuvered his way inside.
He fell as he came through the window and crashed to the
floor, upsetting a tray of test tubes on Jamie’s desk. Two of the tubes cracked, spilling their contents onto the
desk and dripping onto the floor.
“Way to look after your toys, egghead,” he muttered,
rubbing his hands briskly together as he stood.
His right leg immediately buckled beneath him and he clutched at his
ankle as he collapsed on the floor once more.
Rising carefully, favoring his injured leg, Phillip
opened the bedroom door and was immediately assaulted by an ear-splitting,
mournfully aggressive wail. Using
the wall as support, he made his way to the top of the stairs and contemplated
his descent. He quickly decided
that his geometry teacher, Mrs. Pang, had had the right of it, that the shortest
distance between two points was a straight line, and hoisted himself up to slide
down the banister.
He reached the bottom of the stairway faster than
anticipated and slid off the rail and onto the floor.
His unceremonious dismount was greeted with a burst of infantile laughter
and a sticky, slobbery marshmallow that smacked against his neck.
Phillip rose to his knees to find his youngest brother sitting in the
middle of the foyer, surrounded by miniature marshmallows, some half-eaten, and
some sticking to various portions of the boy’s anatomy.
In his left hand he clutched a small stuffed duck.
“Teddy?” Phillip drew out his brother’s name with a
sigh. “What are you doing?
Where did you get those?”
In response, Teddy opened his mouth and began to scream.
Three more half-eaten marshmallows spilled from his lips.
Between screams he took deep racking breaths and beat his toy against the
parquet floor.
“Come on, little guy,” Phillip cooed, hoping to calm
Teddy as well as himself. “It’s
OK. I just got locked out.
I’m not gonna leave you alone. Mom’d
kill me.”
Teddy’s sharp screams settled into rapid gasping
sniffles and he regarded his brother with uncertainty.
He clutched his toy more tightly to him and blinked his eyes in rhythm to
his gasps.
“Aw, you remember me, little brother,” Phillip spoke
in a gentle sing-song, edging closer to the small boy.
“I’m the one who snuck you the extra pumpkin pie yesterday when Mom
wasn’t looking. I’m a good guy.
And I know lots of cool stuff to do with marshmallows.
Wanna see?” He began
gathering the discarded marshmallows into a pile, shaking the partially
dissolved ones from his fingers in barely concealed disgust.
“Don’t take this personally,
Tedster, but after being
around you for the last year, I ain’t ever having any kids.” As he spoke, Phillip scooted still closer to the toddler.
“I mean, really, all you’ve done the last year is eat, poop, and
scream. Trust me, the eating we can
live with, but the rest is driving us nuts.
You need to try fitting in around here a little better, dude.”
As Phillip reached out to take Teddy in his arms, the
toddler flopped over and took off across the foyer in an incredibly brisk crawl.
Before Phillip could think to follow, Teddy had made his way through the
kitchen door. Still on his knees to
protect his injured ankle, Phillip caught the swinging door to the kitchen in
one hand and pushed his way inside the other room.
He scanned the room quickly, but Teddy was nowhere to be seen.
A scant second later he could be heard, however.
Phillip covered his ears at the ring of a pan striking the floor
repeatedly. He rounded the kitchen
island and discovered Teddy gleefully pulling out every piece of cookware from
the cabinet. His toy held court
atop the lid to the roasting pan.
“Aw man, Teddy! Mom
is going to kill me when they get home. You
gotta stop this, dude.” Phillip
lunged forward to catch Teddy. Instead
of his brother, he caught a pot lid right between his eyes.
He slumped to the floor, resting his throbbing forehead against the cool
tile. Teddy scrambled back around
the island, another bag of miniature marshmallows clutched tightly in one hand.
The bag dragged along the ground beside him as he
crawled. When he tried to go
through the door, the bag became stuck behind him.
Teddy resumed his unholy shrieking, demanding the release of his prize.
Phillip covered his ears once more and made his way back to the door. As
he crawled across the kitchen floor, he inadvertently placed one hand inside an
abandoned saucepan. The pan slid
out from under him, spilling him to the floor yet again.
Teddy continued to howl.
In the absence of any help, Teddy yanked and pulled on
the bag of marshmallows with all his one-year-old might.
With one last fierce tug, the bag came free just as Phillip pulled open
the door. Teddy toppled backward,
his balance offset, and cracked his head soundly on the floor; Phillip surged
forward to catch him and knocked his shoulder on the door; the bag of
marshmallows exploded into the air and scattered across the hallway.
Teddy's sudden silence frightened his older brother.
Phillip crawled over to the boy cautiously.
He bent his head to listen for Teddy’s heartbeat.
Just as Phillip turned his ear to listen for his breathing, the child let
out a loud wailing cry. Phillip
reared back, clutching at his ear. Teddy
continued to scream and crawled under the small occasional table that was
standing against the wall.
Phillip slumped again, staring at the small caged tiger
they had claimed was his brother. “Never,
never, never havin’ any kids. You
hear me?” he shouted at the
infant.
Teddy whimpered and huddled against the wall.
“Oh, Teddy, I’m sorry,” Phillip offered. “You just gotta calm down.
It’s OK, Mom and Dad will be home soon now. Just relax.”
“Da?” Teddy queried through his tears.
“That’s right,
Tedster.
Your dad will be home real soon.”
Phillip sat against the wall close to the table.
He scooped up a handful of marshmallows and held them out to Teddy.
Cautiously, the boy reached out and slowly and precisely plucked the top
fluffy confection from Phillip’s hand.
“Attaboy,” Phillip encouraged his brother out from
under the table by drawing his treasured treats further away.
As the boy came closer, Phillip relaxed slightly and extended his right
leg out across the floor.
“Hey, look!” he exclaimed, glancing at the table.
“Lee says this works sometimes.”
He picked up the hardbound copy of Casino Royale he found lying on the
table. “Want me to read to you,
Tedster?”
Phillip tossed a few of the marshmallows into his mouth
and began to recount the early adventures of James Bond.
Teddy reached for the remaining treats and stretched across his
brother’s body in an attempt to reach them.
Phillip clutched the boy to him with one arm, offering marshmallows one
at a time, and held the book high with the other. He continued to read and Teddy soon succumbed to sleep.
Not trusting ‘the monster,’ even in sleep, Phillip continued to read
aloud and left the last marshmallow Teddy had placed in his mouth still hanging
from the boy’s lips. He kept a wary watch on the front door, but soon drifted off
as well.
They both jolted awake sometime later to the sound of a
key in the front door lock. Sharing
a look of terror, guilt, and relief, they waited.
Phillip glanced around the hallway and foyer, dreading his mother’s
gentle remonstrations that were sure to come.
He often wished she would just yell at him like a normal parent instead
of quietly, but firmly, correcting him. Surely
he would feel less guilty that way, he reasoned.
“ . . . think maybe we should have called, Lee,”
Amanda Stetson’s voice filtered from around the opening door.
“Amanda, if we can’t trust Phillip, then who can we
trust?” Lee’s deeper voice answered. “I’m
sure they had a great . . . time.” His
voice trailed off as they entered the house fully and regarded the
marshmallow-strewn room.
“Phillip King, what happened here?” Amanda demanded
firmly. She glared intently at her
sons, both looking a bit ragged and battle-weary, not an unusual state for any
adult having gone head-to-head with her youngest; and certainly not unusual for
an out of breath Teddy.
“Da,
da!” Teddy responded to his father’s voice.
He scrambled off of his brother, standing shakily beside the wall.
“Hey there, pal! Daddy’s
home!” Lee squatted down to scoop
up marshmallows as he called to his son.
“Phillip, answer me.”
Amanda’s voice took on a softer tone, as she saw the large red knot on
Phillip’s forehead and the way he held his right leg out at an odd angle.
“We’re OK, Mom,” he answered thickly, “it’s
just that . . . well, you’re not really looking to be a grandmother anytime
soon, are you?”
“I think I can wait for a while on that, Sweetheart.”
Amanda smiled and crossed the hall, reaching down to lightly finger the
growing welt between her son’s eyes. She
stretched out her arms absently to gather her youngest son to her, but he had
another objective.
“Da,” Teddy announced proudly as he took first one,
then another shaky step toward his father.
“Amanda,” Lee murmured.
“Look!” Teddy continued
to advance toward Lee, unsteady but upright.
“That’s my boy! One step
at a time! Come to Daddy!”
Amanda paused a moment to enjoy the look of amazed
rapture on her husband’s face, then turned back to Phillip.
“Did he do that at all earlier tonight?”
“Nope,” Phillip said, equally entranced by his
toddling brother.
“He did all this damage from the floor?” Amanda asked
as she quickly opened the kitchen door and glanced inside.
“Mom, you have no idea,” Phillip insisted.
Amanda turned once
more to see Lee snatch Teddy up into
his arms just
as he was about to fall. Teddy
squealed in delight as Lee swung him around in the air.
She smiled, albeit apprehensively.
"No, Phillip,” she told him.
“You have no idea. We are
really in for it now that that boy can walk.”
THE END
E-Mail
the "The Teddy Chronicles" Web Page at:
TeddyStetsonsMom@angelfire.com
All
"Teddy" stories by: Dix.
Screen Captures by: SpencertheCat
Copyright © 2001 by The Teddy Chronicles. All rights reserved.
"animated.gif (c) Kitty Roach."
