The Problem With Ike
by Joe Celizic
I’ve been jealous of my little brother ever since I found out he has superpowers. I don’t. It’s not fair that Ike has them—either no one should have them or everyone should. Or just Ike and me. And maybe Mom and Dad too, because I guess then it would be in our blood. But it’s not fair that it’s just him.
I think he first got them a couple weeks ago. We were all watching Jeopardy after dinner because that’s what Mom likes to watch and she’s the one who cooks so I guess it’s only fair. She made chicken parmesan, peas and broccoli and Ike was still at the table with his broccoli because he said he shouldn’t have to eat two vegetables. We never had to eat two vegetables, unless one of them was corn or something, but corn doesn’t count. I don’t know why Mom made both peas and broccoli, but I ate them anyway. There’s no point in fighting over stuff like that.
“You’re lucky to have dinner at all,” Dad had told him. “Brett had no problem eating them. You shouldn’t either.”
“For Pete’s sake,” Ike said.
Dad scowled. Two months ago, Dad had said, “For Pete’s sake,” once and Ike picked it up, but only after asking who Pete was for half an hour, trying to be funny. Now he says it all the time. That’s how seven-year olds are.
Dad said Ike couldn’t leave the table until his plate was clean, so he crossed his pudgy arms and the three of us went to the family room. Ike sat as still as a blank TV, his bubble cheeks shining under the light fixture, one where the light bulbs are covered by cloudy glass bowls with frilly edges. I’d never paid attention to them until that night.
During a Daily Double, I looked at Ike to see if he’d caved yet, but he was still sitting, arms crossed, staring off into space. Well, it looked like he was staring into space, but then I realized he was looking at something in the air. I had to squint, but I spotted a broccoli tree floating a foot above his head, rising toward the glass bowls with frilly edges. He floated it up into the bowl and proceeded with the next piece. I wasn’t sure if what I saw was real, but sure enough, before the first round of Jeopardy was over, the glass bowl was a stuffed miniature broccoli forest, electric sun hiding inside.
Dad eventually found the broccoli and yelled at Ike. He made him eat all the dusty pieces, but Ike didn’t care. He popped them in his mouth one by one, smirk on his face. I didn’t say a thing because if I had powers I wouldn’t want Ike telling Dad or anyone. Not until we’d sorted it out together.
*
We lay in our
dark bedroom that night, our beds hugging opposite walls.
The train hollered in the distance like it does every
night. Neither of us could sleep.
The light flipped on and it startled me, hurt my eyes.
Soon, I realized Ike had used his mind again. Still lying
in bed, he dragged open a desk drawer. While he buoyed my
new X-Men comic to his hands, I sat up and rubbed my eyes.
By this point, I was sure his powers were real. And for
some reason, Ike didn’t mind if I knew about them.
“How do you do that?” I asked.
Ike put his hands behind his head and turned the first page
of the hovering comic. It was a good one. Colossus got
brainwashed into a bad guy. No one could stop him the
entire issue, but he snapped out of it just in time to save
some humans from Magneto. Those stories were always the
best kind.
“Do you think you’ll have those powers forever? Because you
could become a real superhero.”
“Duh,” Ike said. “Why do you think I’m reading? I gotta
study.”
It was true. Ike didn’t usually like to read, not even
comic books. He liked TV. He liked it so much, Mom made me
take him outside whenever I played baseball with Joel Johns
and Henry Buber. I wondered if Ike’s new powers would make
him want to go outside more often so he could lift more
stuff. Then I started to wonder how much he could lift.
Cars? Houses?
“Tell me if you need to know anything, okay?” I told him.
He acted like he wasn’t listening.
I knew more about mutants and superpowers than any of my
friends combined. What I wouldn’t give for powers like
that! It was around that time I started feeling jealous,
but I still wanted to be nice to Ike, too. Maybe he would
let me tell him how to use his powers sometimes, take his
mind for a test-drive. I was two years older than him,
after all. I was smarter. And all heroes need a sidekick.
“I don’t need any help. I know what I can do.”
“Just make sure you use them for good,” I told him, even
though I couldn’t really make him do anything, not anymore.
Ike was quiet, just flung my comic on the desk. I heard the
sick crinkle of ripping pages. Any other night, I would’ve
yelled at him, but I still felt like I should be nice. I
never really cared before, but now I wanted him to like me.
And I was a little scared because I still didn’t know how
powerful he was.
*
Mince Avenue
was the quietest street in the neighborhood, all the way in
the back. It took Mom about fifty turns whenever she drove
us to school or Kroger, but it was nice because our house
as on the cul-de-sac and we could play baseball and hockey
in the street. In the summer, when it was really hot, me
and my friends chased each other with squirt guns, the hot
road burning our bare feet. We took breaks, getting drinks
from the hose, cooling our soles on the slick grass.
We stayed with Joel and Mrs. Johns most summer weekdays.
She took us to play at the park with the jungle gym and
basketball court. Ike didn’t like Joel and he didn’t like
gyms or basketballs. He liked Muffy, though, the annoying
collie nearby that yelped at us all day like we were cats.
He barked back at her sometimes and she’d go crazy, pulling
her chain so tight it choked her yelps into dry heaves.
But the day after the broccoli incident was Work Wednesday.
Mom stayed home from work and made us study Math and
English even though it was summer vacation. It wasn’t fair
to have to work on vacation, but it was only one day a
week. Sometimes we got ice cream afterwards. Most days it
ended early with Ike crying in his bed, kicking the
mattress, screaming about how he wanted to watch
Nickelodeon. Mom never gave in.
This time when Mom brought out the textbooks, Ike just sat
quietly, wearing the same smirk. I knew he was up to
something, but I didn’t figure it out until the TV turned
on, the three of us still working at the kitchen table.
“That’s funny,” Mom said.
She stood to turn it off, but before she could reach the
button, it turned off. Puzzled, she turned around.
Then boom,
it turned on again. Ike and I laughed.
“Who has it?” she said, holding out her hand. “Who has the
remote?”
Ike and I shook our heads and she checked our hands and
pockets and shirts and pants and all the while Ike flicked
the TV on and off, giggling like Elmo.
“To your room. Both of you.”
She kept us there for hours. I sat on my bed and watched
Ike use his mind to move stuff around the room. Our chair.
Our dresser. He never strained. Nothing seemed too heavy.
It didn’t seem right, like taking shots to feel better or
seeing Dad cry. It wasn’t right.
*
Mom finally
cooled off and told us to go play while she made dinner.
The air outside was about as nice as it could be, as warm
as my body, like it was part of my skin. The sun was still
up, but it was thick like orange juice and it didn’t hurt
to look at it. Hanging around with Ike outside was tense. I
kept waiting for him to pick something up with his mind,
but he never did. I watched him kick at the grass, digging
up tufts, exposing dirt and yellow roots. I didn’t know
what to say and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing or be
too quiet either, so I told him we should play baseball and
I went and got my wooden bat from the garage.
We went to Joel’s house first, then we got Henry. Henry got
his older brother Mark and his sister Laura. We all liked
Mark because he had big curly hair and was almost old
enough to drive. Laura was just about the prettiest girl at
Shanahan Elementary. She was two years older than me, but I
liked her even if she was too old. If I could trade Ike for
Mark and Laura, I would. But if I could trade all three of
them for Ike’s powers, I’d probably do that too. I’d even
throw in Henry or Joel.
Mark said he’d pitch for us and Laura said she just wanted
to watch, which made me pretty happy because then she could
see how far I could hit the tennis balls we played with. We
hit straight down the street, but I could still hit the
balls so hard that they landed on roofs and rolled into
gutters. I’d already hit five that summer.
I batted first and Mark threw some fast pitches I could
barely keep up with. I hit a few grounders and Joel and
Henry chased them down while Ike played catcher. Mark
looked over at Laura, who was sitting so pretty in the
grass with her legs straight out in front of her, ankles
crossed. I think he must’ve known that I liked his sister
or something because he winked at me and threw me a nice
slow lob that floated to me like a birthday balloon. I
nailed it on top of the Johnson’s roof.
“There’s the dinger!” Mark yelled. Laura clapped and I felt
pretty great. It was one of the best moments of my life.
Behind me, Ike started saying my name.
“Can I have a turn?” he said.
“A few more,” I told him.
“I want a turn.”
His voice got all whiney and I knew a tantrum was on the
way, but I didn’t want to give up the bat, not when Laura
was smiling at me, rocking her feet back and forth. I held
up my hand and stood ready for the next pitch.
Mark tossed another slow one for me. I took a step and
wound up. But mid-swing my bat weighed about a thousand
pounds. It collapsed down in front of me, ball floating by.
Joel and Henry laughed and I think I even heard Laura
giggle a little bit. I felt really stupid. My face grew red
and stingy like it used to when I was little, right before
I would cry. But I don’t cry anymore.
“Come on. Try again, Brett,” Mark said.
I swung at another one, but this time the ball sped up at
the last second. I whiffed, spinning around, skidding on my
toes.
Mark chuckled and I glared at Ike. But he just threw the
ball back, not looking at me, acting like nothing happened.
Mark said he’d try to slow it down. He set himself,
fingering the ball. As he wound up, the back of his jeans
began to sag, showing the sky-blue of his boxers. I could
hear Ike snickering behind me and before I could tell him
to stop, Mark’s pants dropped to his ankles.
Mark shrank to the ground, grasping to pull them up. Joel
and Henry pointed and laughed, but within seconds, their
pants dropped too. They dove down, covering their
tighty-whiteys, and all that was left was Laura laughing in
the grass, Ike cackling, already on his way back home.
I followed him, grabbed his soft fleshy shoulder. He
shrugged me off with more strength than I remember him
having.
“You can’t keep doing this, Ike. It isn’t funny.”
“It’s funny to me.”
“You’re being a big brat.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” he said and he kept on walking, like
he didn’t care about anything but himself. I wanted to hit
him, but I was too scared.
*
When we got
home, Mom as in a much better mood. At dinner, her and Dad
were smiling and kissing, making baby jokes, asking us how
we’d feel about having a little brother or sister. I always
said, “Only if we get a bigger house.” One, it made them
laugh. Second, I wasn’t sharing my room with a baby because
Ike was bad enough. Ike always pouted and said, “No way,”
and my parents said, “We’ll see,” and that usually shot Ike
into another tantrum.
After dinner, Mom made coffee for her and Dad, and Ike and
I each got a fudge-stripe cookie. We were all quiet around
the table, eating and drinking. Mom brought the coffee pot
to the table for a refill and when she turned to offer Dad
some, the whole pot flew out of her hand and onto my dad’s
lap.
“Margaret!”
Dad jumped to his feet and hurried to pull down his pants.
The pot dropped, splashing the tile brown, steam wafting. I
jumped from my seat. Ike just sat.
Mom grabbed some towels and Dad snatched them from her,
said he would take care of it. I looked at Ike’s face, his
brown hair hanging over his ears. He was smirking, but only
a little. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if he was
the one who spilled the coffee or not. I don’t know. It was
a weird look. I don’t think I had ever seen it before.
*
That night, I
stayed away from Ike. I even took a bath and spent a whole
hour in the water by myself, just so I could think of what
to do. I didn’t have any powers, so I couldn’t fight Ike,
if it came to that. He could drop a whole tree on me or
attack me with a dozen wooden bats, and what would I do
then? But I needed to convince him to use his powers for
good, to be a superhero instead of a villain.
So I decided to dognap Muffy.
The whole reason I did it was to teach Ike a lesson. I
thought if he saw Muffy all tied up on the railroad tracks
with the train coming, he’d have to save her. And then he’d
feel good about rescuing somebody and would decide it’s
better to be a hero than a villain. Just like Colossus in
that comic. He had to learn to help people before he could
snap out of his evil brainwash.
The next day, I took the line the Johnson’s use to tie up
their dog, Samson. Leash in hand, I went to Muffy’s house.
I made sure no one was home and unhooked her chain. It was
a long walk, but I led her over to the train tracks on the
other side of the neighborhood. I even passed people who
had no idea what I was doing, probably just thought I was
walking my dog. That was pretty funny.
I got to the tracks and as it turns out, tying a border
collie down on a set of train tracks is harder than it
looks. Finally, I hooked the chain onto a railroad spike,
then tied the leash on a flat wooden board so she was
double-leashed, unable to move out of the way of the train.
Not without help.
To tell the truth, I felt pretty bad about trapping Muffy
there at first. I thought about just taking her back and
thinking of something else. But she didn’t even care, just
laid down on the tracks, head between her paws, panting the
way my uncle does after we eat Thanksgiving dinner. So I
left and went to tell Ike.
I walked all the way back home and I have to admit, I was
getting pretty tired. So when I told Ike that I needed him
for something really important and he refused to get off
the couch, I was pretty irritated. I grabbed him by the
shoulders and told him it was a matter of life and death.
Finally he said, “Fine, fine,” and let me take him outside.
“What’s this all about?” he asked. We weren’t even halfway
there yet.
I almost told him that someone was in trouble, but I
realized that wouldn’t be enough to convince Ike to follow
me.
“Money,” I said. “I found a lot of money.”
It was like I hit his power switch. He started walking so
fast I almost had to jog to keep up with him and his face
looked like someone stuffed a light bulb inside his face.
It was a good thing, too, because I heard some whistles in
the distance, and that meant we only had a few minutes
before the train showed. But we got to the railroad and
there was Muffy, still lying down like a bag of dirt. I had
to call her name to get her stand up.
“What’s she doing here?”
“I lied,” I said. “There’s no money. But if you don’t free
Muffy, the train’s going to run over her. You have to be a
hero, Ike.”
But my brother just looked at me like I was an idiot. Or
maybe like he was an idiot. Then something clicked in his
mind and he glared at me. “You tied her here!”
“No, I didn’t,” I lied some more. “It doesn’t matter how
she got here. The train-”
And that’s when Ike lifted me with his mind and threw me
into the air. It felt nice at first, like I was swinging
backwards on a swing. Then I felt sharp stabs in my back,
heard the rustles of leaves. I closed my eyes and cried out
in pain, dropping onto something hard. I opened my eyes and
saw Ike had thrown me into a tree. I looked down. I was
stuck ten feet up, clothes hooked on branches.
The train whistled.
Muffy saw the train and finally realized what was going on.
She yelped, pulling against her leash and chain, jumping up
onto her back legs. I watched Ike try to free her with his
mind, lifting her every which way, but he couldn’t break
the ties. I tried to yell at him to just unhook the chain,
untie the leash. He couldn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t trust
me.
Up in the tree, I could see how close the train was. From
so high, it looked like it was moving slow, like ocean
waves, but I knew it wasn’t.
“Let me down,” I yelled. “It’s our only chance.”
“This is your fault!” he said.
He wasn’t going to listen to me, but it didn’t look like he
could free Muffy. I seriously began considering what life
in prison for pet murder would be like. It didn’t look
good.
I bit my cheek, crouched on the branch, and dropped.
Dust clouds erupted as I landed hard in the gray and white
rocks that littered the train tracks, scuffing my hands and
knees. I ran to Muffy and Ike, the train in front of me,
just seconds away. I went for the leash and pointed at the
chain, told Ike to try to unhook it.
The leash felt like it was made of metal, it was so stiff.
I tugged with all my might, wiggled it side to side, slowly
slid it over the wood. With one final yank, it pulled off
and I watched as Muffy went flying to the opposite side of
the track, skimming the front of the train, Ike guiding her
with his eyes.
The train whooshed and chugged between us. For five whole
minutes, I watched Ike through the cars as he lowered Muffy
into his arms, stroked her fur, told her things I couldn’t
hear over the rumbling of metal on metal. I felt awful and
good and guilty and relieved all at the same time.
Everything was loud and confusing. I had no idea what would
happen next, what Ike might do to me, what type of man he’d
grow into, hero or villain. And what was I?
Copyright
2010 by Joe Celizic