Hop on, Easter Bunny. Hop on.

 

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This event was before the Superman Travesty, back before I knew just how low and evil my brothers were, and would become.

It was Easter, maybe 1960 or 1959.  Church was over.  Ham dinner was eaten and done. It was time for the egg hunt.  Hard boiled and dyed eggs had been hidden in our vast lawn after we all had fallen asleep.  It was never questioned by whom.

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It was a brutal competition, with lots of screaming, shoving and pushing. There may have been some scratching and punching as well. There are no memories about who garnered the most eggs; the hunt was not so much about speed—it was about who was most devious and/or violent. 

Then Easter was gone, baskets were packed away for next year, and deviled eggs were supper. With no holiday to anticipate, a veil of tedium settled over our farm in a pre-summer heat.

In the middle of the night, something woke me, something like a POP!  I rolled over, catching just a hint of chocolate.  Then a new smell came in waves---foul, recognizable, nauseating.

It was the distinctive odor of rotten eggs.  Rolling out of bed and looking under it, I spotted a lone Easter basket with the remains of an exploded egg.  One of my three brothers had placed it there before I went to bed. (My bedroom was that clean...seriously...even under the bed...)

Opened the window…threw the Basket out…and heard the muffled giggles from my brothers’ rooms.  They were waiting for my own explosion. 

Well, they did not get it.  I tiptoed down the stairs and slept on the couch.  The rotten egg smell did not limit itself to my room; it traveled to their room as well.

Justice and revenge would wait for another day.  I was the soul of patience.

Those bastards....


This is a post from 2015, rewritten and re-posted 2019 and 2020. Rewritten and here it is now. 

My brothers (whom I love dearly now) were miserable bastards in my youth. They were mean to me most of the time. Revenge will be mine. 

The Easter Bunny Cometh

Let's keep on playing!

I remember the day I stopped being a kid.  It is as clear in my mind as a crystal ball.

It was the beginning of August, and I was ten years old.  Mom’s newest “Redbook” magazine had arrived and I was reading a short story.  It was hot, the kind of heat that sapped whatever energy one has left in a hot afternoon.  I was sitting in my grandfather’s old rocker, a big burgundy leather rocker that wraps around the sitter and makes it hard to summon the will to stand up. The living room was darker, now that the sun had moved over to the west side of the house.

That was when my brother Robert came in the house to get a drink of water.  He was dripping sweat.  Our youngest brother Bill was on the porch and wanting us to come out to play ‘spies’.  Robert wandered into the room and looked down at me. 

I could feel him, smell him.  I was furious at him for teasing me that morning when we were chasing each other.  He had long fast legs, and I had short legs that ran like they were stuck in mud.  I was furious because I always was the 'bad guy', the one who got shot & died, the one who got tagged. So, I ignored him, let him stand there glaring down at me.

“Whatcha doin’, Sis?”

“Reading, that is what I am doing.”

“Wanta come out and play ‘spies’ with me and Bill?”

That was the pivotal moment, that one right there. 

I didn’t even look up at him.  I sniffed, and turned a page in the magazine.  “I’m too old to play ‘spies’ anymore.  I am too old to play at all.” 

Robert waited and waited, expecting me to jump any moment, and take off running.  Then, he turned and left the room.  I heard the screen door slam, and heard him tell Bill that I wasn’t going to play anymore.

A few days later, I got up in the morning and found the signs of my first menstruation.  I ran downstairs and told Mom, who showed me what to do.  ‘I guess I really am grown-up’ I mused. 

But, at this time period of my life, I want to go back to that pivotal moment and change it.  I want to say, “Sure!  Let’s play ‘spies’ and I get to be Natasha!”  I want to tell Robert, “I’m sorry—I stopped the game too early!  I want to keep playing!  I was wrong!”

If only I had looked into that crystal ball and seen ahead.  If only the game never ended.  If only we had run and chased long into the night.  If only....