I knew the Suzuki motorcycle parked out front couldn’t be a good thing.  It looked older than our decrepit chicken coupe and that told me it must belong to one of DA4’s loser friends.  So far this new step-father had left me alone, probably because I stood half a foot taller and out-weighed him by about forty pounds.  But, I didn’t want to meet anyone right now.  I’d been at the McLintock’s farm mucking out stalls for the last six hours.  I was covered in cow manure and stunk worse than a dead chicken that had been lying out in the sun.  All I wanted was a cool shower with plenty of deodorant soap.

            Since the door latch was broken, I kicked the door gently as I pushed it open.  To avoid any introductions, I kept my eyes focused on the floor, and attempted to slide through the living room, hoping to go unnoticed.  From the corner of my eye, I saw DA4 in his usual spot sucking down a can of Busch beer and sure enough some shaggy piece of crap was settled into the sofa. 

            To make matters worse, an acrid smell wafted in from the kitchen. Great, I thought. I wasn’t in the mood for Mom’s cooking either.  I hoped I could get cleaned up and leave before anyone called me to dinner.

            “Hey Justin.”

            The voice stopped me dead in my tracks.  That was no piece of crap.  That was my no-good, back-stabbing, dead-beat brother.  I looked up to make sure.

            “You mother…” I dropped my back pack, and dove onto the sofa with my fists flying.  Of course, Bobby blocked my punches with ease.  I did catch him off guard when Mom entered the room.  Like usual, she was cursing so loud the whole neighborhood could hear.  I managed to sock him hard in the gut, before Mom caught my left ear drum and gave it a brutal twist, and then I shifted swiftly into the well known ear-hold position.  It had been quite a while since I’d been in this position, but I hadn’t forgotten the pain.

            “What’s the matter with you?” she said, giving my ear a final twist and shoving me away.  I banged into the coffee table and a couple empty beer cans tumbled over.  “Your big brother comes home and you treat him like this?”

            I rubbed my ear and glared at Bobby.  “Two years!” I held up my fingers for emphasis.  “Two years and no phone calls.  No letters.  No Nothing.  I expect that from Dad, but you! Not you.”

            “Justin, I know you’re mad…” he said.

            DA4 had been sitting there like the cowardly drunk he was until now that Mom had me under control. “Boys, why don’t you go outside and talk things out,” he said.

            Bobby rose up off the sofa.

            Anger wasn’t the worst feeling I had right then.  The worst feeling was homesickness.  Seeing Bobby reminded me how much I missed him.  In fact, I missed him so much I thought I would throw up all over the living room floor.  Tears stung my eyes, too.  I blinked hard, hoping to hold them back.  It didn’t help when Bobby came over and hugged me. 

            “Com’ on Just., let’s go talk,” he said.

            I stood there, limp, beaten, and blinking.  After staring at the floor for a second, I followed him out of the house.

            Bobby didn’t stop in the back yard.  He headed straight into the woods, toward our old spot by the pond. 

            Over and over my mind rambled, Bobby’s home.  Bobby’s home. My fists which had been clenched were now loose hanging at my sides.  I was somewhere between being mad enough to demolish his crappy bike with my bare hands and so happy I could kiss our mangy rooster, Rufus.  Could it really be him ahead of me crashing through the over-grown trail?

            We reached the banks of the algae covered pond.  Bobby sat down in his old spot against the great oak as if he’d never been gone.  I couldn’t stop those tears when I took my spot next to him. I wiped them away with my mucky sleeve, hoping he didn’t notice.  If he did, he didn’t mention it.

            “I’m sorry I left like that,” he said.  “I didn’t want to leave.  I just couldn’t take Mark… I mean DA3 anymore.  I think I would’ve killed him if I’d stayed.”

            “It sure pissed me off when you left,” I said as flies started to bombard me.  I tried waving them away, but that only attracted more of them.  “After you left, Mark decided to start beating on me.”

            Bobby nodded and stared at the mossy ground a while before he spoke. “Dad’s place sucked too,” he said finally.  “His wife sure made it known she didn’t want me there.  You know, she’s only six years older than me?”  He bent his head down and looked into my puffy eyes and then gave me his goofiest grin.  “I think her best friend came on to me.  She was so hot.”

            I shook my head and smiled.  Bobby was still Bobby. No matter how many times he was slapped in the face, Bobby thought every chick that came along was in love with him. I was glad to know that hadn’t changed.

            “Man, you stink!” he said, moving slightly away from me.  “Are you covered in cow manure?”

            I nodded. “I’ve been working over at McLintock’s.”

            “McLinktock’s?  Mucking out the stalls?  Whew.  No wonder you reek.”  He plucked a long blade of grass out of the ground and stuck it between his teeth.  “Sure feels good to be home.  Even if it does smell a little.” He laughed and punched me lightly on the shoulder.  The blade of grass bobbed up and down.  “So how long has this grease-ball been around?”

            “Three months.  He followed Mom back from her annual trip with Rita to Vegas.  She said they’d gotten married.

            “Is he, OK?” 

            I knew what Bobby was getting at – did he beat on us?  I shrugged.  “He’s OK.  Guess he figures he’s too small to get mean.” I flashed Bobby a grin.  I was hoping he’d noticed I was also a good bit taller than him now. But he just nodded and chewed on the grass.  “Somehow he keeps Mom shut up,” I added.

            Bobby’s whole head bobbed up and down, “Yeah.  I saw that.”

            “He’s lazy though.  Doesn’t have a job, sits around drinking all day.  He’s usually trashed by the time I get home.  I’m not sure why Mom keeps him around.”

            “How’s Sara?”

            More than anything, Bobby loved our baby sister.  I never really understood why. Most of the time I thought she was a pain.  Once back in the ninth grade, he beat up this fat chick that’d been picking on her.  The girl was two years younger than Bobby but she was twice as big.  Besides a fat lip and a black eye, he’d gotten suspended for two weeks.  After the principal had notified Mom, Bobby had gotten a beating from DA3.  He spent the next two weeks in bed recovering from the bruises.

            “Sara’s good.  You won’t recognize her.” I cupped my chest with my hands.  “She got boobs.”

            The look on Bobby’s face was priceless. His mouth dropped open, his eyes grew wide, and then he bowed his head to his chest and said, “Not my baby sister.”

            Branches and dead foliage snapped and cracked.  Our heads whipped around to peer down the path.  A perky fifteen-year-old girl with long brunette curls bounced into the clearing.  It was Sara.  “Bobby, you’re home!” she squealed.