Bottled Up by Jaye Murray

going?” he asked.
    â€œI have to clean the friggin’ garage.” I kept walking.
    I heard him following me.
    â€œBugs, you have to stay upstairs and get the book or he’s going to kill you.”
    â€œKill me?”
    Crap. I shouldn’t have said it like that.
    â€œI mean he’s going to kick your butt if you don’t do what he says.”
    My bedroom door opened and the Grinch came flying out. He grabbed Mikey by the back of his pajamas and lifted him up off the floor.
    â€œHey,” I yelled, and watched while the fat bastard threw my brother into his room. For a second it looked as if Mikey really could fly, with his cape flapping behind him.
    â€œGet the book!” Dad screamed. “Now.”
    â€œYou want to throw somebody,” I yelled back, “throw me!” Then I went toe-to-toe with the only person I’ve ever really been afraid of.
    He grabbed the front of my T-shirt, and I slammed the palms of my hands into his chest.
    â€œStop it!” my mother yelled, coming up the stairs. Where the hell was she when this all got started? Did she know he’d been prowling around in the garage? Did she know he’d run upstairs to throw his sons around? Did she know it was after friggin’ midnight? Did she have any clue how to keep her damn husband on a leash?
    The punch came out of nowhere. At least it felt that way. I knew he was going to hit me. I just wasn’t thinking a left hook to my right eye.
    I fell back against the wall and put my hands over my face. Bugs came running out of his room still holding his pillow—still wearing his cape—and crushed his body against mine.
    â€œStop it!” my mother yelled again.
    My father was yelling back at her about what a wiseass I am and how my brother was no better than me and probably on his way to turning out worse.
    The way I saw it, I was getting crap because I’d ducked out of cleaning the garage and because I always get crap.
    Mikey was getting in trouble just for being with me—just for being my brother.
    I remember when I was ten and Mikey was two days old.
    â€œIt’s an important job being a big brother,” my mother told me. She was lying in bed with the baby’s head under her nightgown.
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    â€œHe’s going to need you to watch out for him.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThe world isn’t always a friendly place.”
    I put my hand on Mikey’s shoulder and moved him in front of me down the stairs.
    â€œMichael Junior, get back here,” the Grinch yelled. “I told you to bring me that book.”
    I hurried Mikey downstairs even faster, and when we got to the bottom I picked him up and carried him through the kitchen and out the door. As soon as I put him down, he ran to the garage door. I lifted it up and he ran under. I ducked in too, then let the door fall back down behind me. I turned the lock handle, pulled the light chain hanging from the ceiling, and waited.
    Mikey and I were both out of breath. He was shaking. I was sweating.
    I heard the front door slam. I double-checked the garage door lock.
    Behind me, boxes were knocked over and some of the nail jars were smashed. My father isn’t a bar-brawling, get-pulled-over-for-a-DWI kind of drunk. He’s just the throw-shit-around-the-house and make-your-family-scared-to-death-of-you kind.
    The lock handle jiggled. Then he started banging on the door. Mikey ran to the back of the garage.
    â€œWhat are you doing in there? Having a tea party?” He kicked the door. “Unlock this.”
    â€œWhat for?” I yelled back. My hands were shaking. My eye hurt like hell. “So you can hit me upside the head again?”
    â€œFine. Stay in there all night then. Sleep on the damn concrete. Just don’t come out until that garage is clean.”
    I heard him walk away. The front door opened and slammed shut again.
    I turned around and looked at the mess. How the