...with him that fateful day that we, the Green's, rolled into town. After having kissed Grandma Harris and wishing her a happy new year, my brother Scott and I headed back into the snow, running as fast as we could to see if Timmy wanted to build a snow fort or something. We knocked eagerly on his front door. But instead of the familiar crooked grin and botched bangs, the boy who opened the door looked like a linebacker. He was freakishly big. He had hands like catchers-mitts and a melon sized head sporting a perfect brown crew-cut. It wasn't my friend and I instantly hated him.
"Is Timmy home?", I said, standing on my tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse over his massive left shoulder. In my memory he answered something like, "Who's askin?", though I doubt that ever really happened. Chances are good that he said yes and that Timmy soon came out on the front porch. The big kid was perhaps his cousin, though the details of the relationship have been lost in time.
To make a long story a bit shorter, suffice it to say that Timmy and his giant crony challenged me and my younger brother to a snowball fight. Even in the ignorance I my youth, I knew that Scott and I had several things working against us.
- We were unfamiliar with the local terrain
- We hardly knew how to make a snowball, much less throw one with any accuracy
- My only wing man in this endeavor was 7
"You're on", I said with a cracking voice, feigning confidence. Lines were drawn and 5 minutes were given for each side to create a stockpile of ice grenades and dig in. As I was doing so, I felt something cold and hard hit the back of my puffy coat- a snowball. The big kid had begun the offensive without warning; while we were still under the gentleman's white flag agreement! It was evident that I would be on the field that day with a foe not limited by the boundaries of human decency. For me, everything went into slow motion.
To be continued...
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