BABY BROTHER

By Your_Loving_husband_Bob

"Say, aren't you a little old to be out trick-or-treating?"

That seemed to be the common thread at every house. I kept having to

explain that I was here because my baby brother wanted his big

brother to come along. I will give Michael credit, though - he did

have a good idea for matching costumes. I got to be Doctor Evil and

he got to be Mini-Me. It was a cute idea, and it won a few points

with the adults, who just thought Michael was the cutest thing since

Mickey Mouse. Michael has been my little buddy since Dad died, so I

couldn't exactly deny him an evening out with me, but it was a little

embarrassing to be a giant among the little people, and I really felt

self-conscious.

Michael, however, had a grand old time, and he was hauling in the

loot. Before we knew it, it was almost nine o'clock, and trick-or-

treat time was nearly over.

"One more house, please, Danny?" he begged.

"Haven't you got enough candy to last you a month?" I

asked. "Besides, Mom's going to be worried if we don't make it home

square at nine, and you know it."

"Pleeeeeze Danny? One more house, and then we'll go home, I

promise. Please please pleeeeeze?"

Michael looked up at me expectantly. Geez, I could be such a softie

sometimes. "Fine, one more house, but then we absolutely have to

boogie, so let's make this quick, okay?"

His face brightened up considerably. "Cool!"

He broke into a run across the lawn of the next house up, going

hellbent towards the front door. I suspect he didn't even see the

rake lying in the grass - I barely saw it myself when I got close to

it. He stepped square on the prongs of the rake (thank God they

didn't go through his foot) and the handle flew up, popping him hard

on the face.

It's kind of a cliché, but everything did seem to be happening in

slow motion. All I saw was Michael just stopping dead in mid-stride,

falling flat on his butt, his bag of candy flying out of his hand,

and then ... nothing. Not for the first few seconds, anyway. Then

the wailing began. I thought he was dying. I'd never heard him cry

like that, ever.

I ran towards him, narrowly missing the rake myself. In the dim

porchlight, I could see blood all over his mouth, turning his pasty-

face Mini-Me makeup into something really ghoulish. I felt a little

dizzy, and I think I started to cry too. I quickly picked him up and

carried him the rest of the way to the house. I beat frantically on

the door.

A pleasant-faced older woman answered. "OH NO! What happened?"

"I think he tripped over a rake or something in the yard," I told her

as I carried my poor wailing baby brother into her living room, not

exactly waiting for an invitation.

"Bring him into the kitchen," the older woman said, "and we'll get

his face cleaned up and see how bad this really is." A really

attractive girl about my age (and familiar too, but I couldn't place

her at that moment) jumped up off the sofa, saw Michael's bloody

face, and without a word ran for the kitchen just ahead of us. While

I set him in a chair at the breakfast bar, she grabbed a couple

fistfuls of paper towels and held them briefly under the faucet to

wet them. She then began to daub at his face gently, wiping away the

mess of blood mixed with cheap theatrical makeup.

I held Michael's hand and stroked his head while this girl (what was

her name, anyway?) cleaned his face to reveal the extent of the

damage. His wails devolved into broken little sobs little by

little. As it turned out, it wasn't too horrible. Not good, but not

horrible. He managed to bust his mouth pretty good. He would have

two fat lips for a while - both the upper and the lower lip.

More to calm him than anything, she began to talk to him, very

gently. "So what's your name, mister man?"

"M-M-Michael," he half-whimpered.

"Michael, huh? Well, my name's Christa. I bet you've been out trick-

or-treating tonight, haven't you, Michael?"

"Uh-huh," he said, then snuffled his runny nose.

"Careful, this might hurt a little," she said softly as she touched

the paper towels to one of his lips. Michael winced, but didn't

cry. "Can I take a guess at who you're supposed to be? I think

you're that little guy from the Austin Powers movie, whatsisname ..."

"Mini-Me!" Michael piped up. He couldn't smile because his lips were

already starting to swell some, but he was already in a much better

frame of mind.

"Yeah, Mini-Me, that's it! You look just like him, too. Which means

this guy" - hooking a thumb at me - "is Doctor Evil, right?"

"Uh-huh, only he's not really Doctor Evil. He's my brother Danny."

"Isn't Danny a little old for trick-or-treating?"

"No, Danny's cool," Michael said, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did, to him.

Just then, Christa's mother came in with a first aid kit. Christa (I

know the name, but where do I know her from?) and I stepped aside and

let her mother finish cleaning the wounds with cotton swabs dipped in

rubbing alcohol, which stung a little, followed by a dab of

mercurochrome on each swollen lip. Lastly, she offered Michael a

bath towel wrapped around some ice, and instructed him to hold it

against his face as long as he could, and only take it off his face

if it got too cold.

"I'm going to have you lie down on the couch for a while and rest a

little," she said as she led him by the hand into the living

room. "Between that and the ice pack, that'll help it stop hurting,

okay?" She had a way of keeping him soothed that rivaled Christa's.

Then to me she said, "I'm sorry, we didn't get a chance to introduce

ourselves. I'm Audrey Tanner, and this is my daughter Christa. Your

name is Danny, right?"

"Yes, Danny Kinslow," I replied. Christa Tanner - of course! She's

the yearbook editor. Duh, I should have remembered that, although

under the circumstances, I wasn't exactly thinking too clearly.

"I feel so horrible about the whole thing," she continued. "I was

doing yardwork earlier tonight, and I guess I forgot to put the rake

away. I'm just relieved it wasn't any more serious than that. Did

you want me to call your parents? They must be worried sick by now,

and I'm sure they'll want to know what's happened."

Shit! In all the excitement, I completely forgot about the time. I

glanced up at the mantel clock - 9:30. "If you're sure it's no

trouble - " I started.

"Nonsense," she interrupted, "it's the least I can do. What's your

phone number, so I can call them?"

I told her the phone number, and said, "My mom's name is Sarah

Kinslow."

"Sarah Kinslow, got it. I'll smooth it over with her, you just

relax."

Just then Michael called me over from his spot on the couch. "Danny,

is my candy okay?"

Before I could answer, Christa said, "Don't you worry about your

candy. Danny and I will go right out there and get it, won't we,

Danny?" She gave me a little smile.

"We sure will," I replied. "Do you have a flashlight? I think it

kinda spilled out there."

"Of course." She went to the kitchen and opened a drawer. She

returned in short order with a flashlight, and we headed out the

front door.

Once outside, Christa asked me, "Where do I know you from?"

"I go to St. Denis, and I just joined the yearbook committee about a

week ago, but there hasn't been a meeting yet. You're the editor,

right?"

"Yeah, I knew you but I couldn't place you. You know," she

continued, "that's awful sweet of you to go trick-or-treating with

your little brother, especially in costume. Not many guys would do

that, you know."

"Well, since our dad died, we've been - hey, there's his bag. Shine

the light this way."

"Oh man, it spilled all over, didn't it?"

"Sure did." I got down on my hands and knees and picked up as much

of the candy as I could find (thankfully it was all store-bought

candy in wrappers, otherwise we would have had to trash it),

shoveling it back into the paper bag with the smiling jack-o-lantern

face on it. Christa joined me and started gathering up what she

could find as well.

"Michael obviously thinks the world of you, you know. I think you

feel the same way, don't you?"

I had to admit it. "Yeah, he's not just my baby brother, he's my

only brother, so I try to watch out for him the best I can."

"I could tell. You were practically bawling when you brought him in

the house."

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied, feeling a little embarrassed. "I

don't know what I would have done if he had been hurt badly."

We brought as much candy as we could find back to the house. Mrs.

Tanner met us by the door. "I called your mother and explained what

happened," she said. "And I told her that Michael probably wouldn't

feel up to walking all the way home, so she's on her way to pick you

two up. She should be here any minute now."

Sure enough, I glanced down the street and saw headlights

approaching. "That's probably her right there," I said. I slung the

handles of the candy bag over one arm, then went back to the couch

and gently scooped up my now-dozing baby brother in my arms. Poor

little guy, what a rotten way to end what had been such a fun evening.

Christa followed me out the door and waited with me as my mom eased

into the driveway. I watched as she slipped a piece of paper into

the shirt pocket of Michael's Mini-Me outfit. He didn't even

stir. "That's my number," she said matter-of-factly, "which means I

expect you to call me and let me know how he's doing, okay Danny?"

Then she surprised me - she stood on tiptoes and gingerly planted a

soft but slightly lingering kiss on my lips, being extra careful not

to disturb the little one.

"Okay," I replied a little breathlessly. I couldn't think of

anything else to say.

"Good. You promise?"

"Promise."

"Michael was right, you are cool." She kissed his forehead, then

turned and walked back into the house.

As I helped Michael into his car seat, he woke up briefly. "Danny?"

he whispered.

"I'm right here, buddy. You okay?"

"Uh-huh. You know what, Danny? I like Christa. She's nice," he

said sleepily.

"She is nice, isn't she?" I answered. "I think I like her too."