Free And Now We Shall Do Manly Things by Craig Heimbuch Page B

shooting range.
    We’d have a bonfire in the yard in the evening and after Jack had gone down and Mark and Linette had gone to bed, Rebecca, Will, Tommy, and I would stay up late playing cards and singing silly songs. Here were two boys in the throes of adolescence, on the cusp of the independence that comes with driver’s licenses and high school football, yet it seemed like there was no place they would rather be than with us, playing canasta and cracking each other up with falsetto versions of Stevie Nicks, singing about the white-winged dove.
    Still, for all this familial bonding, there were reminders that in addition to being great hosts and kids cool beyond their years, Will and Tommy were still brothers. Will has always been the quiet one. The brainy one who loved to get his little brother’s goat. And at that point, he was probably fifteen and developing that cockiness that comes with pubescence. But while Will’s confidence was growing, Tommy’s temper was inherited from his dad and was already in full blossom. Most of the time, it was pretty simple. Little jabs from Will, big demonstrative lashes from Tommy. Will would tell Tommy he was an idiot, Tommy would tell him to go to hell. But on the second-to-last day of our trip, I witnessed something truly amazing, something that astounded me as the much younger brother of two sisters, a man so afraid of conflict that I refuse to send back food when given the wrong order.
    Will and Tommy were helping out a neighbor across the street. Apparently the neighbor was out west and the boys had agreed to take care of his dogs. This involved crossing the road a couple of times a day, getting the dogs out of their pen, feeding them, changing their water, and tossing a ball for a bit. Will had been riding Tommy’s tail for a good bit of the morning and since the afternoon sun was getting pretty hot, we had decided to take Jack inside and lay him down for a nap. While we were doing that, Will and Tommy had gone across the road to perform their duties. I went back outside and was wandering about the property under the cool shadows of the ancient oak trees when I looked toward the road and saw Tommy coming back. I would say he was walking, but it actually seemed more like the stride of a man on his way to murder his wife’s lover and he was muttering under his breath like a deranged homeless person.
    â€œTommy,” I called and he looked up, veering toward me. I could hear him muttering, absolutely spitting mad and noticed that his T-shirt was wet. It took me a second to realize that Will wasn’t with him and judging by Tommy’s gait, I wondered if he had murdered him and fed him to the dogs. It turned out I wasn’t far off. “Where’s Will?” I asked as my twelve-year-old cousin drew closer.
    He looked me straight in the eye and spat, “I can’t get any Goddamn respect around here.”
    â€œTommy, where’s Will?”
    â€œSon of a bitch.”
    â€œWhere’s Will?” I asked, feeling a sense of genuine concern by this point.
    â€œHe sprayed me with the hose, so I locked his ass in the kennel,” he said and walked past me into the house. Even now, just remembering the moment, makes me chuckle. Partly it’s because I love the idea of the much smaller younger brother succumbing to his own fury and managing to throw the older brother into a dog kennel and partly it’s because I know this is going to be Jack and Dylan someday. The age difference is about the same, and so are the personalities.
    I doubled over laughing and went inside to tell Rebecca and Linette what had happened. Rebecca had the same reaction as I did, a combination of mortification, admiration, and hysterical laughter. This was, sadly, not Linette’s first rodeo when it came to refereeing the boys, and it wouldn’t be her last.
    â€œThomas, you march back over there and let your brother out of that kennel,” she