Pinch

When I was eight, my brother made me mad.
I pinched him and he cried.
I shushed him so I wouldn’t get in trouble.
I noticed later he had a bruise.
Bad sister.

My family went to the Botanic Gardens.
As he got out of the car,
My mom noticed the bruise and asked where he got it.
Guilty Amy listened for the truth,
Sure of the punishment that needs must come.

I don’t know, he said.
And didn’t even glance at me!
Sweet relief.

I think of that now, almost three decades later,
And I don’t know what to think.
I was more in fear of spanking than sorry for the pinch
(As I said, he made me mad). And that is not so good.
And he lied, but did so to protect me.
(But maybe that was because he feared retribution?
Would I have done something even worse?
I don’t think I had thoughts of possible revenge,
But he would not have known that.)

This is one of those stories that adult siblings laugh about,
Because it happened, but it’s ambiguous in its ethics.

But not in its outcome.
I don’t go around pinching people any more.