I stood in that field between the house and the lake, watching a pipe twirl, whistling faintly down from the sky. It thunked into the soft grass at a severe angle. I was mesmerized at how gentle it seemed. I ran to it and swung the pipe like a baseball bat so that a plug of soil popped from the pipe and arched far. .
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"Let me try," shouted Tom. He was wearing grass stained overalls and no shoes.
I pretended not to hear and I windmilled it back into the air and it arched far out in front of me, close to where our baby brother, Bobby, now stood next to his sandbox. Bobby quickly stood and started marching purposefully, holding a long crooked stick before him, his long blond hair flapping as be bounced. My stomach felt like we had driven too fast over a the top of a small hill.
The whistling slowed and was interrupted by a loud crack and then silence. Bobby stood there, his face blank as a window, his hands open and shaking as if looking for balance. The stick he had been holding now lay on the ground in two pieces with the pipe lying neatly between.
As Bobby started crying, I ran to him and grabbed the pipe and threw it into the woods before Mom came onto the deck wearing her yellow rubber gloves. "What happened?" She had to shout over the sobbing.
Before Tom could rat me out I put my hands behind my back and said innocently, "I don't know."
Tom looked at his toes, then squatted down to pop the cap off a green acorn. He looked up at me, smiling.
Bobby ran to Mom, giving both Tom and me a wide birth. Mom scooped him up with her gloves dripping soap.