|
|
You
watch your little brother, Mom would say to me. He was walking, but barely.
She would hang clothes out on the line in summer, big baskets of clothes, the
sheets flapping and hiding her from view. We were way down in the yard, far
from the road, and Jean's radar was finely tuned. She probably didn't take my
abilities as Billy's protector all that seriously, since I was only about three
myself. But I was very serious. I wouldn't even let him stand up. I kept him
entertained with the ball or the block or whatever he was fooling with; if all
else failed, I held him down by main force. She'd come back to see why he was
crying. |
|