"97, 98, 99—100! Ready or not, here I come."

He's under the church porch.

Anything I do he does,

and that's where I hid last.

I'll pretend that I don't know,

yell out, where are you?

to make him giggle, maybe laugh.

"Where are you, Ben?"

Ben is short for Benny:

a common name

but I don't know many,

just my baby brother—

and trust me,

he is plenty!

Mom calls him a handful,

but she can count on me,

an extra pair of hands,

to take care of him.

"Benny? Where are you?"

We play hide-and-seek outside to give mom a chance to cook,

and dad a chance to...

—I don't know what dad does.

He plays with me and Benny all the time,

and he likes to hunt and fish.

Maybe he's in the basement

dreaming of boats and huntin' trips.

"Benny, I think I see you."

Our yard is the biggest in town.

—I'm not braggin', it's just true.

We own a house, a church, a bus, a school,

the tall oak trees that go—way-way back,

and the playground...yeah,

we own that, too.

It's not too far a walk

from the trampoline in our backyard

to the porch in the churchyard;

it's about the same as a football field

(I can run the long ways of a football field in 10 seconds—

Ben timed me),

so it's not far for me.

"Benny, I'm almost there."

The church is surrounded by gravel,

making each step a crunch...crunch.

I creep slow so Ben can't hear me.

I want to scare him a little:

I picture his face when I find him—

wide-eyed from surprise—

I can't help but grin.

I'm at the foot of the steps.

I hold my breath and step to the left,

where,

underneath the stairs,

there's a hole like the den of a baby bears.

I poke my head an inch inside,

still curious to see if I find

him,

somewhere in the corner

squeezing his knees up to his face,

using his legs as a silencer

to silence the laughter spraying from his face.

"I..."—my palms feel the cold wet of the stones— "got ya!"

Nothing.

It's dark under here,

but the low-hanging sun shoots rays between each plank of crooked wood,

and I have enough light to see Ben isn't here.

Alright, now I'm lost, and—

I don't know why,

but my heart is in my stomach

and it's beating like the drums in the parade we watched last Saturday.

How did I miss him?

I know he can't be far;

his little five-year-old legs

wobble like a baby deer when he runs,

and I made boundaries so he stayed close to home:

behind the church is the farthest you can go;

you can't go past the trees, the house,

and you can't go past the road.

From where I stand,

I can scan all the places he can be

(under the porch is the only hidden spot).

I head back toward the trampoline in our backyard

(if the hider touches it they're safe).

I pick up the pace to a light jog

(same pace I run in gym class),

'cause the sun's going down,

and if we're late for dinner

I'll be smacked to the next town.

"Benny, come out. You win, Benny."

Nothing:

not a movement,

not a sound.

"Benny—come on, stop fooling around."

I'm sprinting now,

but I don't feel tired;

all I feel is the heat inside my body

and my heartbeat beating loud.

I check behind the trees,

nothing but fallen leaves.

I run around the slides and swings,

nothing—not a thing.

I sprint around the church,

check each bush,

check each crevice—

there's nothing I don't search.

"Benny, seriously. I'm going inside."

maybe he's playing a joke.

"—It's getting dark."

—I see a shadow move behind an oak—

"I wouldn't want to be out here...all alone."

My breath comes back;

my heart's intact:

I creep close to the shadow...

"Got ya!"

A frightened squirrel runs away.

I'm stuck,

feet froze in the mud.

What have I done?

My legs give out and I collapse;

I fall flat on my back.

The sun is down;

I look around,

everything is black.

My body shivers with the leaves

My—hhha—breath—hhha—gasps for air,

nothing but dry heaves.

Tears cover my face—in a flash

like a flood,

my knees are covered with

dry mud and fresh blood.

"Ben—hh-hh-ah—please."

my voice is a whimper.

I can't go home

ever again,

not with all this pain I'm in—

pain I'll cause my mom and dad,

who trusted me with all they had.

Ben's gone.

He's gone forever—

and I was so mea—

"Chris!"

my mom's voice rings from the front porch.

I call back, but my voice gives out.

"Hurry up, Ben needs to eat and go to bed—

so do you."

Each step towards the door

is a stick of dynamite

exploding in my core.

"Chris—Chris-hunny, what's wrong?"

my mom picks me up off the floor;

her fingers feel longer,

her hands seem sandpaper rough.

"I—I—I lost Ben!"

tears burst out.

I hear the bolt turn on the door.

"Hunny,"

—her voice is old and sore—

"he's right here.

He's been there for a while now."

I rub away tears—

open my eyes,

and,

glaring down at me,

a grim smile I've never seen before. . . .