“Damn it, Jack. I said hand me that air pump.
“Woah. Okay, take it easy. Sorry dad.”
Jack and Joey were brothers. Jack was older; obviously.
“We...I just... it must be a hundred degrees out here and I’m pretty sure I am sweating through my suit.” It was true. The moist magma was about to breach the outer garment. “And I don’t want to be late.”
“I don’t want to be late either.”
“Then help me. You know we haven’t had an opportunity like this in...ever. Everything has to be perfect.”
“Don’t you think I want everything to be perfect too? You always do this.”
“Do what? Try to be prepared? Try to be responsible? Yeah I do always do this. And then you always find a way to mess things up.”
“You’re going to blame me?” Joey said with angry confusion. “I never made you do anything. You chose to move in with me. I didn’t make you stop going. That was all you.”
“Well you sure didn’t encourage me Joey.”
“Jack, you’re the oldest. I am supposed to look up to you. But you’ve been too busy looking down on me.”
They both stood there staring at the ground. The only movement was the air being forced into the circular prison of Jack’s flat tire. A few cars sped by. Some honked. Some shouted profanities like the two brothers had just spoken poorly of someone's mother. A cloud moved to cover the sun.
“I’m sorry Joey. You’re right. You’ve always been right.”
“Ha, well, I wouldn’t go that far. You’ve seen this tattoo right?”
They both laughed as Joey folded his right ear forward to reveal the lips behind.
“Well, we’ve got a chance to do something right and I’m not going to let a stupid flat tire change that. We can still make it to the interview. You ready?”
“I’ll race you there!”
Photo by Soroush Karimi on Unsplash