That day, the summer they were eleven, it was even hotter and more humid than usual. Ted and Terrance had gone to collect tadpoles. They had jars to catch them with the creek water. They walked along the water’s edge, shorts rolled up high, until they came to where the kids were taking turns on the swing. Ted turned around to avoid the big group—he’d learned to steer his brother away from packs of kids—but as they started to head back, one of the older boys asked if they wanted a ride on the swing.

Ted stopped, trying to decide if the boy was teasing or meant it.

“Who wants to go first?” the older boy called.

He sounded friendly. A ride on the swing would be fun. “Okay,” Ted said.

Terrance shook his head at Ted. “No, Teddy.”

But Ted wanted to swing. He wouldn’t even have to wait in line. One time. He just wanted to do it once. “It’s okay, Terry,” he said.

“It’s dangerous. Dad said about ropes and frays.”

“It’s okay, Terry. I’ll be okay,” Ted said. One time on the tire swing. That was it. One wild swing and splash. He was a little afraid, sure, but he wanted to. Needed to. He started to wade toward the other kids.

Then Terrance started to cry. He splashed toward Ted and grabbed his arm.

“Listen to the retard,” someone said, and some of the kids snickered.

A feeling welled up in Ted, one that had been inside him, but, for the most part, dormant till then. A kind of rage. It was rage. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he just be like everyone else? Why did he have to take care of his brother? His stupid brother? “I’m going to,” he said, peeling Terrance’s fingers off, conscious that the other kids were watching him. “Go home, retard.”

Terrance’s face went slack, his expression that of someone who had been grievously betrayed. As indeed he had been. He ran up into the woods. And Ted took a joyless ride on the swing.

He’d searched the woods for Terrance for hours afterward, finally finding him in their bedroom, lining up dominoes. He’d set up a long row of them. Ted apologized, tears in his eyes, and Terrance, who usually said, “It’s okay, Teddy,” said nothing. He frowned, concentrating, and placed another domino in the row. Ted sat down beside him, tears running down his face. “I’m sorry, Terry. I’m so sorry.” Terrance put his hand on Ted’s. “It’s okay, Teddy. You didn’t mean to.” Then he asked Ted to tap the final domino and they watched them fall one by one, rippling around the room until they all lay down flat.