Boy Scout

He raced confidently forward. The adults seemed indifferent. I had tripped and the hard fall knocked me unconscious. He turned me over and grabbed the belt around my waist. With man-strength he lifted me, forcing air into my lungs. I stood, wiping dirt from my face and dusting off my clothing. I dabbed a few bleeding scratches And shoved my hair behind my ears. The adults went about the chores they’d been performing. I was seven. He was twelve. My hero. My brother.