Hey, y’all! Sorry it took me so long to post this! I’m finally through with my spring classes (EEE!!!) and I have a couple weeks off before I start summer classes and work. So hopefully I’ll get to some writing during my break.

This is the second and last chapter of this story. Please review!

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2: Watch Me Race!

Mikey leapt out of bed the next morning and hit the floor running. Newly broken dawn showered the hallway’s hardwood floors and white walls with lambent light. The boy scampered down it, bare feet slapping against the floor. He thundered into the room at the end of the hall and lunged into the bed, onto the stomach of a sleeping individual.

“Oomph!” Darrell’s eyes flew open, and focused on the boy sprawled across his gut. He squinted at the other. “Mikey, what are you doing in here?” Darrell grumbled.

Mikey smiled at him. “It’s morning!”

Darrell groaned. “I’m sleeping.”

“You can’t talk if you’re sleeping!” Mikey retorted. He nudged his brother’s bicep. “Come on! Get up!”

“Why?” Darrell closed his eyes, and buried his head deeper into his pillow.

Sitting up straight, Mikey beamed. “I wantsta show you something!”

“I thought you wanted to sing for me,” mumbled the other, furrowing his brow.

“I gots something better!” Mikey shoved his hands into Darrell’s side. “Come on!”

Drawing his hands to his head, Darrell heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine!” He rolled off the bed, onto his feet.

“Yay!” Mikey cried, clapping his hands. He sprang from the bed and scurried out of the room. He soared down the hallway, right out the front door.

Darrell stumbled out the door a minute later, holding a hand to his head. “So what do you want to show me?”

Grinning ear-to-ear, Mikey pointed to a rusty red bicycle that leaned against a training wheel in the driveway.

“So?” Darrell shrugged. “Mikey, that bike’s nothing new. It used to be mine.”

“No, look!” he pointed to the training wheel. “Daddy took off the other one! I can ride it like that too! Wanna see?”

Scratching his head, Darrell squinted at his brother. “Well, sure,” he shrugged.

Mikey bounded onto the worn gray seat. The bike wobbled, and the boy leaned to his right, into the training wheel. His feet pressed into the pedals. As Mikey’s trembling feet cycled, his tongue stuck out, and he narrowed his gaze upon the walkway. The bike slid forward. Grinning, Mikey turned to look at Darrell, and drew the handle bars along with him. The bike toppled over, and Mikey fell to the concrete. The knee of his red pajama pants ripped open as it scraped against the ground. Mikey rolled onto his side. His eyes welled up as they looked from his gushing left knee to the skinned heels of his hands.

Darrell crouched down beside him. “Hey, you okay, buddy?”

Mikey gazed up at his brother, tears streaming down his face. “I fell down!” he sobbed.

“Yeah, I saw,” Darrell grimaced. He slipped an arm around the boy’s back, and one under Mikey’s knees. “Let’s get you all cleaned up.”

Darrell carried Mikey through the house, and into the bathroom. He set down the boy on the toilet seat, then opened the medicine cabinet. Scratching the base of his skull, he murmured, “Now, what do I need.” He pulled out a box of Band-Aids and a cardboard tube.

Mikey’s eyes widened. Shaking his head frantically, he wailed, “No, Darrell! Not the orange stuff! That stuff hurts!”

Setting the Band-Aids and tube onto the sink, Darrell widened his eyes. “You need iodine to clean those cuts.”

“No iodie!”

Releasing a heavy breath, Darrell grabbed a face cloth. He ran it under warm water, then dabbed at Mikey’s hands. He rolled up the boy’s ripped pant leg and patted the cloth against the injured knee. Sighing, he reached for the iodine.

“No!” Mikey squealed. “No! Please, Darrell, please!”

Darrell unscrewed the cap. He drew the tube over Mikey’s hands, which the boy pulled back. “Michael!”

The boy tensioned his red face. Darrell reached for Mikey’s hand and grasped it by the wrist. Tilting the cardboard tube over the boy’s hand, he allowed a few drops to dribble out, drenching the scrapes in orange. Mikey screamed and jerked back his hand.

“No!” he hollered, as Darrell snatched the other wrist and dripped iodine onto the heel of that hand.

Tears streamed down Mikey’s face. When Darrell drew the tube to the boy’s skinned knee, Mikey swung his legs and kicked his brother in the chin.

Darrell staggered back. Rubbing his jaw, he furrowed his brow at the kid. “Mikey, I’m trying to help you!” He opened and closed his mouth, and wiggled his jaw on its hinges. Heaving a sigh, he stepped forward and pressed a hand into his brother’s shin. Darrell sprinkled orange onto the wound. Mikey threw his head back and howled.

For several minutes, the boy sobbed, and Darrell stood beside him, rubbing his jaw. Mikey’s crying wound into soft whimpering as he stared at his stained knee. Sniffling, he choked out the words, “You didn’t, you didn’t put on any Band-Aids.”

Darrell sighed. He opened the box and looked in. Slapping a hand to his side, he announced, “There ain’t any in here big enough.”

“You need, you need the white stuff.” Mikey hiccupped.

“White stuff.” Wrinkles formed on Darrell’s forehead. “Do you mean gauze?”

Mikey shrugged. He wiped tears out of his eyes.

Darrell rummaged through the medicine cabinet. He pulled out a roll of gauze and a small pair of scissors. He wrapped it around Mikey’s knee several times, cut the piece, and tucked in the already frayed end. Next, he made X’s with the gauze across Mikey’s hands, wrapping over and under the thumbs. He barely had enough gauze to finish bandaging the second hand. “All done.”

Mikey sniffled, and swiped his forearm under his nose. Slipping off the toilet, he slid to his feet. He looked up at Darrell. “Let’s go back outside.”

Darrell furrowed his brow. “What for?”

“I’m gonna ride my bike for you!”

“But you just fell off!” Darrell exclaimed. Pointing to the toilet, he added, “You were crying just a second ago!”

“So? Let’s go!” Mikey scampered out of the bathroom, and Darrell followed him out the front door.

Mikey jumped back onto the bike. Swinging his legs by the foot pedals, he grinned. “I can go really fast! I go so fast, I can beat everyone racing!”

Darrell chuckled. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded. “Let me see you then.”

Mikey pressed his feet into the pedals.

HONK! HONK!

“Hey, Waltrip!” someone yelled over a noisy muffler. The brothers looked at the red 1962 Cadillac idling in front of the house. Teenage boys trickled out of every window. One guy leaned further out the front passenger’s side. “You back in town?”

“Not for long!” Darrell replied.

The driver of the Caddy revved the engine.

“Come on!” The first guy hollered. “We’re going to the track! There’s a new hot shot there who says he’s better than you!”

A smile swept across Darrell’s lips. “Well, boogity, let’s go then!” He sprinted for the car.

“Darrell!” Mikey cried after his brother. “Darrell! Watch me race!”

The rear passenger’s side door swung open. Darrell squeezed inside and slammed the door behind him. “Sorry, kid!” he called to his brother. The guys in the car hooted and howled. The Caddy peeled down the street. Sitting on his bike with padded palms against the handle bars, Mikey watched the car disappear around a corner. He lowered his head. Then slid off the bike and wandered back into the house.

THE END