My brother, who is four years older than me, was easily aggravated by my sister and myself, while growing up.  When I was in sixth grade and my sister in fourth, my brother was a sophomore in high school.  He was trying his best to deal with raging teenage hormones, and I didn’t make it any easier on him. Hey, what are little sisters for, right?

We had a small wooden shed in our backyard, and my sister and I loved to play in it. We’d take our Barbies out there and play for hours.  One day while playing, I discovered a huge stack of Playboy magazines under an old tarp in the corner of the shed. I squealed with delight, “Mike has dirty books!”  My younger sister ran over to me and we laughed and laughed. We leafed through the pages, laughing and cracking jokes.  We could hear Mom and Dad outside visiting with the neighbors, so we put the magazines back in their neat pile, and placed them back in their dark hiding place, under the tarp. I asked my sister to keep this a secret between just the two of us. She agreed. I knew I could taunt my brother forever with this.

Mom informed me that if we needed anything they would be next door playing cards. “Perfect”, I thought. With them out of the house, let the taunting begin. Mike was in his room, with the door shut, while Frank Zappa serenaded him, “watch out where the huskies go, don’t you eat that yellow snow.” I would have to be patient and wait for him to come out for air.

When my brother came out of his room, I was sitting patiently at the dining room table, sipping my glass of cherry Kool Aide. I slyly grinned and in a slow, calm mysterious voice said, “we know what you’re up to.”

He rolled his eyes.”Shut up. I’m not up to nothin’.”

Again in my slow, eerie voice I said, “We know what you’re up to.”

“Shut up, Stupid. I’m not up to nothin’.” My sister overhearing us, decided to join in the fun. In unison, and in my new creepy voice, we chanted my new, wonderful phrase. I don’t think Mike gave a shit about what we thought he was up to, but he was pretty damn sick of his little sister annoying him.  He was quick, as he lunged at me, spilling my Kool Aide. He got me in a tight headlock and threw me to the floor. My long blonde hair tangled in his forceful grip. He tossed me around like a rag doll, practicing his wrestling moves. He pinned me.

“Thanks, I needed to practice,” teeth clenched he hissed. “Give?” he asked, as he pushed my face into the tan shag carpet.

I wasn’t gonna give up. Oh, hell no. with my mouth full of shag and in a very muffled, slow, calm voice I said, “we know what you’re up to.”

“Ok, Stupid, one more chance to give.” He pushed with all his might and tightened his grip. A sharp pain shot from my leg, as he maneuvered me into a scissor hold. “Give?”

My little sister, Carol, screamed with fear of me getting my ass kicked even more. “I’m tellin’,” she cried.

My brother laughed and let loose. I lay on the floor wanting to cry, but forced it back. Mike casually walked to the fridge and got himself a Pepsi, and went back to his room with his friend, Zappa.

We didn’t speak at supper that night, and Carol never told on us. Later that week, I taunted him again, and he wrestled me down again, as well. This happened repeatedly over the next month, but I would never cry out the word of defeat, give. Mike never asked what I was talking about and I never told him, but one day the magazines disappeared from their hiding spot in the shed. He must have finally, figured it out. Eventually, the fun wore off, and the battle ended.

My brother, sister and I grew to be very close, as adults, but those days of youth were mostly spent driving each other crazy. Mike came over to visit recently. I am soon to be forty-nine and he is fifty-three. In a slow, calm, mysterious voice, I said, “we know what you’re up to.” He smiled and cracked up laughing. In unison, and in the same creepy voice, we chanted the phrase, while we laughed.