My Cardboard Balcony

My Brother's Keeper by Belinda Roddie There's a puddle of chocolate where my brother dropped his ice cream after  he tripped over his own shoelaces. It wasn't his fault - he's big and heavy and a bit clumsy, and it didn't help that the neighborhood bully, twice his age, pushed him toward the pavement. I saw the guy do it, with my own eyes. He ran off cackling down the street, while my brother sniffled and swiped at his eyes and nose so I couldn't see them get wet. He knows I'll get angry and vengeful if he cries. But it's already too late. I'm seeing double in my rage. The melted dairy confection leaves  the soles of my old sneakers sticky, and I track the bastard who attacked my brother down  to the closest public bathroom, where  the n-word is sprayed on every corner of the eroded tile walls. Like some kind of broken anthem for some form of societal oppression. I don't know. The jerk's...

My sister found an old tandem bicycle in the shed that sat about five yards down from the cabin, and she practically fell in love with it. But we couldn't ride it. The gears were almost frozen solid with rust, the seat eaten by moths and spiders and God knows what else. The rubber on the handlebars had eroded over the years. Our mother said that Grandpa had used to ride it with Grandma. Come to think of it, I could almost smell my grandfather's cheap cologne on the old bike.