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tearing the rag off the bush again

We were vacationing in sunny Florida.  There was such a nice pool.
You walked slapping your feet across nice hot cement. Every time I jumped in, I shouted, "Heavens to Mergetroyd!" and my older brother laughed so his freckles stood out.  I must have jumped for him a thousand times.  Later he took too many drugs.  He had a girlfriend named Tree whose Catholic mother stormed into the apartment.

There must have been that toddler, our sister, lurking.  She was always making me look bad.  Once I told her, Put a peanut up your nose.  Another time she tried to ride the cat, Tom.

In comic books there was a planet where people had no ears and communicated via smoke rings.  There was also the Slow Zone.
Criminals in that slow zone couldn't walk faster than mere toddlers.
They couldn't commit any more crimes.

Once I didn't pay for an ice cream cone.  We went in the house and someone asked, Where did you get that?  She stole it, my brother hooted.

After he went to college, my mother remodeled his bedroom.  She called it her den. She had lived as a child in two rooms for six people, she said.  Still later she and my sister moved into their own apartment and my father was living with Lucia in Lindisfarne, a Christian community with many long tables. I smashed a cup that skittered across the blue formica counter.

"You know how to express emotion," my father said admiringly.
My brother and I were joking by the side of that Miami swimming pool.
He was going to shove me right in but I leaped into the air and shouted, "Heavens to Mergetroyd." Then he leaped.  Together, hand in hand, we sailed so slowly up through the inviting sunlit air.  When we reached the clouds, we looked back.
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