Jack's in town for three weeks of work training, so he dropped by to borrow a suit and shoot the breeze. As usually happens we ended up telling old stories, like the time that Dena fended me off by knifing me. That led to a discussion about pranks, which older brothers love to do.
Jack (and I, admittedly) both had some fear in elementary school of venturing out much into the front yard at night. My weak attempt to rationalize this is that we were kinda close to a busy street, and there was no Amber alert system back in the day. On this night, Mom had asked Jack had to roll the garbage cans down to the street. As he headed out the front door, I slipped out the back. As he headed up the driveway from his trip and started to close the garage door, I came screaming around the corner like a medieval warrior. Within a few microseconds he went from pure, heart-stopping terror to raging fury, and I from delighted prankster to full retreat. To this day I think this remains the only time I've ever run for my life from my younger brother. Eventually I ended up toppled over a flower pot on my backside in the yard, with Jack wondering if he'd just signed his own death certificate, but me pretty sure this had gone just far enough.
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