Sibling Rivalry Part I

As they pulled into the side yard from their trip to town, the boy saw his father was home and had started picking corn in the field behind the house. From his vantage point on the front passenger seat of the vehicle, a seat he seldom got to sit in due to his status as the youngest child, he could see the tailgate of the wagon halfway down the field.  In the wagon he could identify the form of his sister, as she leaned back watching the corn come out of the chute from the picker.

The rig used to pick corn was a complex set up, and truthfully, obsolete, but the boy was unaware of this at the time, only in later years did he realize how old, unsafe and rickety it was, but it was what they had, and it got the job done. Starting at the front of the rig, was the tractor, a 1949 Ford 8N, a gas powered antique, requiring frequent repairs and much coaxing to operate, hooked to it was an antiquated John Deere single row corn picker, which was driven by a side wheel, and was prone to frequent jams and would lock up, which caused the boy’s father to enrich the boys vocabulary. Once he’d used the words he learned on a toy that malfunctioned, only to earn a quick ear boxing from the grandmother who was nearby, the fact that the father had used the same words mattered not.

Following behind the corn picker and tractor, hitched to the rear of the picker was a wooden bodied wagon of unknown age or origin, it had high wooden sides, with a small door in the middle of the right side for unloading the corn, this was where the boy and his sister were allowed to ride. There were however strict rules to be observed while riding in the wagon, and to breach them would earn a quick spanking and being sent to the house to the tune of “Go find yo mama.” One quickly learned that when riding in the wagon, you didn’t ever try to remove an ear of corn from the chute, lest you get your hand caught in the chain elevator or sprocket.  Nor did one want to stand directly behind the chute unless you desired of being struck with a ear of dried corn.

Once while riding in the wagon, the boy had removed his shirt and was standing at the back of the wagon facing away from the chute, when suddenly something landed on his back and began with a skittering of scratchy, hairy legs, began to climb towards his head. He’d quickly swiped it away and when he saw that it was a large spider, had jumped from the wagon to the ground and ran screaming towards the house and the safety there. His father apparently had looked around at that moment and seen the boy running away, screaming at the top of his lungs, and assumed the worse. He’d shut the rig down immediately and ran the boy down, his father never ran either, upon discovering that it wasn’t a mangled hand or limb, but fright over the spider, the father had transformed his own fear into a brisk, fierce spanking, a hug, and the inevitable command, “Go find yo mama!” The boy departed for the house crying, and the father returned to the picking rig for a minimum of thirty minutes of getting it back running.  Thus were lessons learned, the boy never left the wagon without his father knowing he was leaving, and kept a close eye for spiders.

When the pile of corn became too high in the center of the wagon, it was the riders job to level it out. This was usually accomplished by sitting on the pile and kicking it down with one’s feet, watching for the stray ear of corn from the chute and of course the occasional spiders. When the boy and his sister rode together, the boy being younger was required to do the majority of the leveling lest he be subject to torment from the sister. Occasionally he would balk, and punishment was quickly served in the form of an ear of corn striking him somewhere about the body. The sister was adept in knowing when it was safe to do so unobserved by the father.

His sister was 18 months older that the boy, and never failed to mention the fact, only in her figuring, she was two years older, and thus the boss. She was taller that the boy, and in his estimation, a lot meaner than he was combined with the fact she knew of certain misdeeds, he tended to comply with her demands and edicts. He was in awe of her as well, being as she was a “first-grader” where as he had become a kindergarten drop-out. She was for the time, the Alpha persona in their sibling relationship, a state of affairs that lasted until the chance discovery that she was extremely ticklish. But as this came much later in their relationship, it had no effect on the present.

His sister was the one who introduced him to bird’s eye peppers, a small red, and incredibly hot pepper which grew wild around the farm.  She’d lured him in with his love of sweets, assured him that they were little cherries, and pantomimed eating one herself so that he would try them, then chortled in glee as he’d ran screaming in pain and spitting fiery saliva everywhere.  A few weeks later she’d gotten him to try another one from different bush, assuring him that the ones at the other bush were hot, but these were sweet, and of course, he’d fallen for it again.  Later, when her usual ploy had repeatedly failed to work, she’d resorted to force, knocking him down and giving Indian sunburns until he screamed, then tossing them into his mouth.

She was in reality, a petite little girl, who from outward appearances, was a sweet and gentle child, but it was a somewhat false appearance. She was more like a roll of barbed wire, wrapped in lace, lovely to behold perhaps, but dangerous to the touch. She had blond hair which was often kept in pigtails, blue eyes which to the boy seemed to glow just prior creating mischief upon his person. Her mother tried to dress her in girlish dresses and finery, but the sister was a tom-boy of the first degree, and more often was found dressed in shorts and tee shirts, and her feet were either bare or clad in a pair of red canvas, Keds brand, tennis shoes. And these shoes were the envy of the boy, he so desired the shoes that he would sneak into her room and put them on. When she was at school he would wear them all day, and only upon hearing the school bus rumbling down the road, would he rush back into the house, remove them and place them back in her room.  More than once, he’d become so involved in whatever activity he was doing, that he’d forgotten to return them on time, and his reward for his idolatry had been a through trouncing by the enraged sister. Yet his infatuation with the red tennis shoes was unaffected, the more she forbid him to touch them, the more he wanted them.

On this day, he’d accompanied his mother to town, and to his surprise and great delight, just prior to leaving town, she’d taken him to the store and purchased him his very own pair of Keds, bright red in color, exactly his mother assured him, like his sister’s shoes. He had been allowed to change right there in the store, and had worn them proudly out of the store, stomping a bit so that anyone in the vicinity would be sure to notice them. He’d sat in the car, quietly for what must have been the first time in his mothers memory, admiring his shoes, turning a foot this way or that, to relish the look, fit and feel of his shoes.

“She’ll be glad I got my own Keds.” He thought, “Now I don’t have to wear hers.”

The drive from town seemed to last forever, and now as they pulled into the yard, and he saw his sister in the wagon, he could hardly wait to show her his new shoes.  Scarcely had the car stopped, when he bailed out and ran to the gate of the field, he climbed up and sat on the top rail, his new shoes proudly displayed on the second rung of the gate, this was his moment of triumph, the debut of his own red Keds.

As the corn picking rig made its round and began its trip down the field towards the gate, he sat waiting, normally he’d have started down the field until his father could see him and would have climbed the wagon, but today he waited. As the rig neared his father saw him and waved, the boy waved back, and pointed with exaggerated motions to his new shoes. His father nodded his approval, and smiled at him, then returned his attention to the row of corn he was picking. Reaching the end of the row, the father turned the rig around to begin another pass, and the trailer loaded with corn and the sister swung into view, the sister busy raking down corn, didn’t notice the boy, until the rig was already started down the row and she stood up at the back of the wagon.

“HEY” the boy yelled, “HEY”.

The sister turned towards the sound, and the boy proudly pointed again to his new shoes, she had to notice them.

For her part, the sister took a great interest in the shoes, her face reddened, and she swung a leg over the back gate of the wagon, then another and dropped quickly to the ground, gaining her footing, she approached the gate where the boy sat at a run, her twin pigtails whipping and almost popping like small bullwhips as she pumped her arms.

“My, she must really like my shoes” thought the boy naively, “she never runs that fast.”

He sat awaiting her arrival, unaware of the impending danger to his person.

The sister for her part swarmed up the gate and with a quick accurate punch to the nose, sent the boy falling backwards off the gate to the ground. The force of the blow and the impact with the ground knocked the wind from the boy, and he could only lie and gasp for breath as the sister leapt upon him, and began striking him.

“GIVE ME MY SHOES, NOW!!” she screamed, “I told you not to wear my shoes.”

She grabbed his feet and began pulling the shoes from his feet, not bothering to even attempt to untie them, scratching his ankles in her rage.

He finally managed to gain a breath as she pulled off the first shoe, and sobbed out, “THESE ARE MINE, MAMA BOUGHT THEM FOR ME TODAY, THEY AIN’T YOURS, YOU GOT YOUR’S ON YOUR FEET…LOOK!”

His sister looked down at her own red clad feet, and with a scream of rage, threw the boys shoe at his head, and ran to the house crying, and screaming with rage for her mother.

The lay stunned on the ground for a few minutes, then recovered his shoe, and limped into the house, dirty and battered. In the kitchen his sister sat at the table raging after the fact that the boy had been allowed to have shoes like hers.  Seeing him, she leapt to her feet and ran to her room slamming the door after her.

 

A few days later, the father began working on the front porch of the house, repairing the roof or gutter, and the boy lingered in the background, watching and playing with any tool that happened to be within his reach. While this surely annoyed the father, who had to track him down each and every time he needed his tools, he said nothing, except occasionally to tell the boy to return the tool.  The boy would dutifully return the item to his father, and then pick up some other tool and play with it. Hammers were of course his favorite, and he kept a eager eye out for a chance to pick one up and play with it. A line of ants strung across the concrete floor of the porch, going busily to and from who knew where, and the boy began to smash them with the hammer. He was engrossed with his task to such a degree that he failed to notice the approach of his sister, who stood watching for a moment, then snatched the hammer from his hand and shoved him down. She began her own ant destruction, smashing them with the hammer and grinding them into nothingness after she hammered each section.

The boy reached for the hammer, and the sister shoved him away, and swung the hammer at his feet.

“Get back or I’ll mash your toes like the ants.”

In a rare display of bravado, the boy grabbed the hammer and yanked it from his sisters grasp, “I had it first” he said.

His sister swung at him and her open hand slapped him across the cheek, filling him with anger. As she drew back for another strike, he struck her on the forehead with the hammer, causing her to fall back onto the porch crying. This was the only part of the whole incident the father chanced to see, having missed the sister slapping him, or taking the hammer away, and the father quickly grabbed up the little girl and began examining the quickly swelling knot on her forehead, he opened the door and told her to go to her mother, then turned in one quick motion, grabbed the boy up as he pulled his belt from his trousers, and swiftly whipped the boy until his arm tired.

He yanked open the door and shoved the boy inside, “Go tell your mama what you done!”

Crying and gasping for breath, the boy ran into the kitchen to his mother who was at the sink holding a cold compress on the sister’s head. She turned to him.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked angrily.

The boy gasped for breath, then stammered out.

“I hit Ca, Ca, Camille with the hammer and daddy sp, sp, spanked me.” He wailed, failing to realize that he’d neglected to mention the events leading up to the assault upon his sister.

Quickly as a striking rattler, his mother grabbed him by his arm, administered a quick spanking and sent him wailing down the hall to his room. As he rounded the corner to his room, he looked back at the kitchen to see a look of glee in his sister’s eyes as she sat at the table with her compress and her mother fussing over her.

He cried himself to sleep at the injustice of the day, hoping that tomorrow his papa would be back from his trip to wherever he’d gone and the boy would be safe.