Poetry in Motion, part I
Original work, meant to please and amuse.
Please respect author rights.
The main problem with being an older brother is the looks I get. For instance, there are three reasons why my parents roll their eyes at me: I don’t set a good enough example, I do something that sets a poor example, or I get me and my brother into trouble and set a bad example. It’s been about a year since I received an eye roll, but that’s what I wished for as I headed out. Rolling eyes can be shrugged off. Instead, I was getting the puppy dog eyes of guilt that rooted me into an argument.
I stood firm. “I’m not taking him with me.”
Mom was shoveling it on thick. “But you’re going alone,” she pointed out, “and he needs to get out of the house.”
First day of the summer before my senior year, with no work scheduled and nothing looming on my chore list, and I’m guilted into playing babysitter to a couch potato.
“He won’t come with me,” I tried.
“He wants to see that movie but none of his friends are interested.”
Now I rolled my eyes. “How do you know, Mom. None of his friends ever come over here and he doesn’t talk.”
“I read the chats while he’s gaming.”
I blinked. Wow. Way to go Mom. “Fine. I’ll take him with me.”
-*-
As the end credits rolled and the rest of the audience trudged back into the real world, the couch potato squirmed in his movie theater chair and finally did something more than shrug or nod.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
I tried not to frown as I stared at the unhealthy face beside me that ate little and usually talked less. “Do what?”
“Change. You were like me. You gamed. You didn’t get out.” He looked more unhappy than sullen in this light. “Now you’re dating and all that…stuff. What changed?”
I wasn’t going to let him know some kid said I was developing boobs my freshman year and that got my fat ass off the couch. Instead I sighed. “I got tired of sitting around doing nothing. I got bored.” He was seriously listening to me. That hadn’t happened in years.
Impressed, I actually did confess something. “Coach said you’re the sum of the five people you hang with the most. I looked around me and decided I wanted more out of life than the others did.”
“Yeah, but how did you do it?”
“One step at a time, and I had someone help me out, believe in me.”
The potato looked down at his lap in defeat. “Oh.”
Great. Worse than puppy dog eyes, he had hooked me with big brother trust. “Are you serious about making a change?” He nodded. For better or worse, I had to help. “Then you need a plan.”
-*-
I stood firm. “You said not to let you slide.” The pillow groaned. “You said ‘no mercy’.” I yanked the covers off him. “First step’s the hardest.”
Those eyes weren’t rolling or guilting me when he came up for air. They would have melted me if I hadn’t caught the pillow and used it as a shield.
Twenty minutes later, we were in the car. He was barely responsive as he sucked down some water, but when we parked at the school and he saw the empty track and football field area, he actually bobbed his head, though not enthusiastically.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” I threw the car in park and cut the engine. “Here’s the deal. You need a stake in this or you’re going to fight me every step of the way. One hundred and fifty dollars says you quit before school starts. One hundred dollars says you quit before Christmas break. Fifty says you quit before I graduate.”
Now his eyes were open. “We’re betting?”
“You have the money and I know it. Grandma’s been generous over the years, and you’re as much of a hoarder as I am. You’re going to pay me for my time if you back out of this.”
“What do I get out of it?”
A lot, I thought, but I decided to play fair. “if you make it to Christmas, I’ll pay you fifty dollars.”
That smile could have powered the field in front of us. Instead the coming dawn did, telling me some of the track team would be here soon for our volunteer summer workouts.
“Reality check,” I warned. “I catch you slacking out here, you’re coughing up the $150 immediately and the deal’s off.”
“Done, as long as you promise not to tell anyone else what I’m doing. If you do, you get nothing.”
“Done.”
-*-
He went from walking to jogging pretty quickly over the weeks. The day he ran a 100-meter sprint flat out and didn’t keel over wheezing drew the attention of the few teammates who still came most mornings.
“Is he going out for track, too?”
I answered the question with a shrug. “Who knows what’s going on in that brain of his.”
Mom dished out pointed remarks about the amount of food we were eating but took me aside several times and gave me a quiet hug of thanks. I felt a sense of ownership in the monster I was making. Then school started.
Now that he was back among peers who questioned his absence, I thought he would crack. The gamers hammered at him, cornering him in halls with questions and discussing upcoming nocturnal battles at lunch. My grin of triumph when he approached me turned his face sour, or thoughtful, or flushed, depending on the greed, pride or temper that got in the way of his begging off a workout.
I even upped the ante by introducing weights into his routine. His eyes were back to melting me, especially when he ended up a mass of sore muscles that could barely do his share of household chores. Mom fussed me into reining him back to bodyweight exercises only, but he rose to the challenge and eventually managed a decent pushup, pull up, squat and dip. First his reps rose, then he split them into sets. Meanwhile, his runs lengthened.
A part of me was jealous, sure. I’d been fat and lugged around a ton of weight before I saw any progress. He was already lean. Still, he couldn’t gain the muscle I had, so even though he grew stronger, he didn’t see much progress in the mirror. God knows he spent enough time in the bathroom looking for it. Either that or he was taking long showers to cool aching muscles.
I expected something to bust, and it did by mid October. That’s when all the time I spent working with him came back to haunt me. Coach, who was also my English teacher, handed me a test grade that shocked my eyebrows up into my hairline. This was my best subject, so I had pushed it to the back burner when time with my brother ate into my study schedule. I guess I pushed it too far.
“Yeah,” he said. “Whatever you’re doing besides training and hitting the books stops now, hear me?”
The fear of God promptly squeezed my heart into a pounding self-preservation mode. Coach demanded Bs from his athletes, not Cs. I would lose my spot on the team if I didn’t get my head in the game. He piled on extra credit projects to help me out.
The only time I could sacrifice was my weekends, which took away free time with my girlfriend. She said she understood, but pouts and sighs told me otherwise. Fearful of loosing her interest, I did what I could with quick hugs in the hall and bribes of dates later on. I thought about telling her what I was doing, but the thought of breaking a promise, even one to my brother, stopped me cold.
I took my frustrations out on the books, the potato, and the track. My grades improved, my brother loathed me, and the team scratched their heads over my sullen mood. Coach eyed me during our trainings, noted my times in his tablet and muttered something under his breath about sleeping volcanos.
By mid-November, I was ready for a break. It was a Saturday morning and the potato and I were stretching before a run. I was tired of the rut, tired of pounding the rings around the football field, shoving my nose in books, taking tests, writing essays, and missing out on so many things. I needed freedom. I needed to touch base with my motivations, so I texted my girlfriend, making date plans for the Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving. She texted back that she was going out of town.
My brother heard my groan and asked what was up.
“Nothing! Nothing’s up!” I growled, ready for a fight. His shoulder shrug put a match to my temper, and I bowed up, ready for a release of aggression. “We’re going to run together today. We’re going to race.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
“You’ve spent all this time training. Let’s see what you can really do.”
We started off at a pace far faster than his usual turtle speed, but he kept up with me, egging me on with his presence at my elbow. My specialty is the 400, so I pulled away pretty quick. I didn’t give it all I had, but I put in enough. He was long gone from my peripherals by the time I finished the lap, sprinting for the line as I’d been taught. I slowed down in a proud show of force, arms outstretched to embrace victory. Before I came to a complete stop, he passed me by, slapping my nearest arm out of his way as he pursued his course with determination.
I caught up and stayed with him. At times I passed him, but he kept up the run, driving his legs and arms in a stunning show of stamina. The laps passed by uncounted. My breathing matched his ragged gasps yet neither of us would quit.
He was beating me. He was still in the second lane and was beating me by an arm’s length. My temper faded, replaced by grudging admiration. I’d challenged a couch potato and was losing to a fighter. When I finally stopped, he did too.
He didn’t taunt or laugh. He just looked at me with eyes wide and mouth open, as if he hadn’t expected the outcome either.
“Dante!”
The word exploded onto the field, echoing off the bleachers. I jerked up from my bent over position and stared at my doom. Coach was here on a Saturday? He’d seen me lose!
“Get over here, now!”
I obeyed the order with a stumbling trot. When I stopped in front of Coach, I realized my brother had followed. Just what I needed, a witness.
He studied us both, listened to our gasps, and folded his arms across his chest before letting his eyes bore into mine.
“Is this person related to you?” I nodded. He turned to the potato. “You go here?” My brother nodded, swiping sweat from his face with a shaky hand. “Sit before you fall down.” We collapsed to the ground, still panting. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Coach removed his phone from a pocket and started swiping. I exchanged looks with my brother. He shook his head faintly, eyes wide with fear, and I sighed. I would keep my promise then, but if this cost me my spot on the team, he was toast.
-*-
Part II
Please respect author rights.
The main problem with being an older brother is the looks I get. For instance, there are three reasons why my parents roll their eyes at me: I don’t set a good enough example, I do something that sets a poor example, or I get me and my brother into trouble and set a bad example. It’s been about a year since I received an eye roll, but that’s what I wished for as I headed out. Rolling eyes can be shrugged off. Instead, I was getting the puppy dog eyes of guilt that rooted me into an argument.
I stood firm. “I’m not taking him with me.”
Mom was shoveling it on thick. “But you’re going alone,” she pointed out, “and he needs to get out of the house.”
First day of the summer before my senior year, with no work scheduled and nothing looming on my chore list, and I’m guilted into playing babysitter to a couch potato.
“He won’t come with me,” I tried.
“He wants to see that movie but none of his friends are interested.”
Now I rolled my eyes. “How do you know, Mom. None of his friends ever come over here and he doesn’t talk.”
“I read the chats while he’s gaming.”
I blinked. Wow. Way to go Mom. “Fine. I’ll take him with me.”
-*-
As the end credits rolled and the rest of the audience trudged back into the real world, the couch potato squirmed in his movie theater chair and finally did something more than shrug or nod.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
I tried not to frown as I stared at the unhealthy face beside me that ate little and usually talked less. “Do what?”
“Change. You were like me. You gamed. You didn’t get out.” He looked more unhappy than sullen in this light. “Now you’re dating and all that…stuff. What changed?”
I wasn’t going to let him know some kid said I was developing boobs my freshman year and that got my fat ass off the couch. Instead I sighed. “I got tired of sitting around doing nothing. I got bored.” He was seriously listening to me. That hadn’t happened in years.
Impressed, I actually did confess something. “Coach said you’re the sum of the five people you hang with the most. I looked around me and decided I wanted more out of life than the others did.”
“Yeah, but how did you do it?”
“One step at a time, and I had someone help me out, believe in me.”
The potato looked down at his lap in defeat. “Oh.”
Great. Worse than puppy dog eyes, he had hooked me with big brother trust. “Are you serious about making a change?” He nodded. For better or worse, I had to help. “Then you need a plan.”
-*-
I stood firm. “You said not to let you slide.” The pillow groaned. “You said ‘no mercy’.” I yanked the covers off him. “First step’s the hardest.”
Those eyes weren’t rolling or guilting me when he came up for air. They would have melted me if I hadn’t caught the pillow and used it as a shield.
Twenty minutes later, we were in the car. He was barely responsive as he sucked down some water, but when we parked at the school and he saw the empty track and football field area, he actually bobbed his head, though not enthusiastically.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” I threw the car in park and cut the engine. “Here’s the deal. You need a stake in this or you’re going to fight me every step of the way. One hundred and fifty dollars says you quit before school starts. One hundred dollars says you quit before Christmas break. Fifty says you quit before I graduate.”
Now his eyes were open. “We’re betting?”
“You have the money and I know it. Grandma’s been generous over the years, and you’re as much of a hoarder as I am. You’re going to pay me for my time if you back out of this.”
“What do I get out of it?”
A lot, I thought, but I decided to play fair. “if you make it to Christmas, I’ll pay you fifty dollars.”
That smile could have powered the field in front of us. Instead the coming dawn did, telling me some of the track team would be here soon for our volunteer summer workouts.
“Reality check,” I warned. “I catch you slacking out here, you’re coughing up the $150 immediately and the deal’s off.”
“Done, as long as you promise not to tell anyone else what I’m doing. If you do, you get nothing.”
“Done.”
-*-
He went from walking to jogging pretty quickly over the weeks. The day he ran a 100-meter sprint flat out and didn’t keel over wheezing drew the attention of the few teammates who still came most mornings.
“Is he going out for track, too?”
I answered the question with a shrug. “Who knows what’s going on in that brain of his.”
Mom dished out pointed remarks about the amount of food we were eating but took me aside several times and gave me a quiet hug of thanks. I felt a sense of ownership in the monster I was making. Then school started.
Now that he was back among peers who questioned his absence, I thought he would crack. The gamers hammered at him, cornering him in halls with questions and discussing upcoming nocturnal battles at lunch. My grin of triumph when he approached me turned his face sour, or thoughtful, or flushed, depending on the greed, pride or temper that got in the way of his begging off a workout.
I even upped the ante by introducing weights into his routine. His eyes were back to melting me, especially when he ended up a mass of sore muscles that could barely do his share of household chores. Mom fussed me into reining him back to bodyweight exercises only, but he rose to the challenge and eventually managed a decent pushup, pull up, squat and dip. First his reps rose, then he split them into sets. Meanwhile, his runs lengthened.
A part of me was jealous, sure. I’d been fat and lugged around a ton of weight before I saw any progress. He was already lean. Still, he couldn’t gain the muscle I had, so even though he grew stronger, he didn’t see much progress in the mirror. God knows he spent enough time in the bathroom looking for it. Either that or he was taking long showers to cool aching muscles.
I expected something to bust, and it did by mid October. That’s when all the time I spent working with him came back to haunt me. Coach, who was also my English teacher, handed me a test grade that shocked my eyebrows up into my hairline. This was my best subject, so I had pushed it to the back burner when time with my brother ate into my study schedule. I guess I pushed it too far.
“Yeah,” he said. “Whatever you’re doing besides training and hitting the books stops now, hear me?”
The fear of God promptly squeezed my heart into a pounding self-preservation mode. Coach demanded Bs from his athletes, not Cs. I would lose my spot on the team if I didn’t get my head in the game. He piled on extra credit projects to help me out.
The only time I could sacrifice was my weekends, which took away free time with my girlfriend. She said she understood, but pouts and sighs told me otherwise. Fearful of loosing her interest, I did what I could with quick hugs in the hall and bribes of dates later on. I thought about telling her what I was doing, but the thought of breaking a promise, even one to my brother, stopped me cold.
I took my frustrations out on the books, the potato, and the track. My grades improved, my brother loathed me, and the team scratched their heads over my sullen mood. Coach eyed me during our trainings, noted my times in his tablet and muttered something under his breath about sleeping volcanos.
By mid-November, I was ready for a break. It was a Saturday morning and the potato and I were stretching before a run. I was tired of the rut, tired of pounding the rings around the football field, shoving my nose in books, taking tests, writing essays, and missing out on so many things. I needed freedom. I needed to touch base with my motivations, so I texted my girlfriend, making date plans for the Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving. She texted back that she was going out of town.
My brother heard my groan and asked what was up.
“Nothing! Nothing’s up!” I growled, ready for a fight. His shoulder shrug put a match to my temper, and I bowed up, ready for a release of aggression. “We’re going to run together today. We’re going to race.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
“You’ve spent all this time training. Let’s see what you can really do.”
We started off at a pace far faster than his usual turtle speed, but he kept up with me, egging me on with his presence at my elbow. My specialty is the 400, so I pulled away pretty quick. I didn’t give it all I had, but I put in enough. He was long gone from my peripherals by the time I finished the lap, sprinting for the line as I’d been taught. I slowed down in a proud show of force, arms outstretched to embrace victory. Before I came to a complete stop, he passed me by, slapping my nearest arm out of his way as he pursued his course with determination.
I caught up and stayed with him. At times I passed him, but he kept up the run, driving his legs and arms in a stunning show of stamina. The laps passed by uncounted. My breathing matched his ragged gasps yet neither of us would quit.
He was beating me. He was still in the second lane and was beating me by an arm’s length. My temper faded, replaced by grudging admiration. I’d challenged a couch potato and was losing to a fighter. When I finally stopped, he did too.
He didn’t taunt or laugh. He just looked at me with eyes wide and mouth open, as if he hadn’t expected the outcome either.
“Dante!”
The word exploded onto the field, echoing off the bleachers. I jerked up from my bent over position and stared at my doom. Coach was here on a Saturday? He’d seen me lose!
“Get over here, now!”
I obeyed the order with a stumbling trot. When I stopped in front of Coach, I realized my brother had followed. Just what I needed, a witness.
He studied us both, listened to our gasps, and folded his arms across his chest before letting his eyes bore into mine.
“Is this person related to you?” I nodded. He turned to the potato. “You go here?” My brother nodded, swiping sweat from his face with a shaky hand. “Sit before you fall down.” We collapsed to the ground, still panting. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Coach removed his phone from a pocket and started swiping. I exchanged looks with my brother. He shook his head faintly, eyes wide with fear, and I sighed. I would keep my promise then, but if this cost me my spot on the team, he was toast.
-*-
Part II