i spotted the three of them out of the corner of my eye.It was the "I'm Going to Call Your Mother" brothers.We called them that because everyone-our school principle,the crossing guard,the nice lady at the candy store-literally everyone,was always threatening to call the mother of the wild eleven-,ten- and night-years-old brothers.
It was a hot afternoon in late summer,and Barbara,my younger sister,and I set up a lemonade stand in front of our house.We set the picnic table at the curb,covered it with a pretty tablecloth and were in business.We had only had one customer so far and were checking the street for any new traffic when we spotted the boys.
With long side-glance,the boys passed on the opposite sidewalk.We could see they sizing up the situation,but the big question was...for what?
Barbara rushed off in search of Mom anyway,and i was alone.
At the far corner,the boys crosses the street.They were ow off my side of the street and heading toward me.
At ten years old,I was a neighborhood tomboy.At our school relay races,I had outrun the oldest of the three brothers.I figured that there might be trouble when the rest of the boys teased him for losing to a girl.
The boys slowed down a couple of houses away.Then it happened in such a fast instant that it seemed to move in slow motion.All at once,they bolted toward me and flipped over the picnic table.I watched in horror as Mom's favorite glass pitcher flew high into the sir,streaming lemonade all over me.Everyone froze;all eyes were glued on the spinning pitcher.
I was the first to break the spell.My arm shot up and somehow caught the handle of the pitcher in mid-air.The boys stood defiantly.
"Why don't you go call your mommy?" they teased.