I get upset and hit my little brother. Naturally, he cries, a feeble sob that works itself into a full-on tearful roar. I didn’t even hit you that hard, I say. We were playing a game, or at least I thought we were. Now he’s all snotty. I try to shush him, grip his elbow, tell him to stop. We’ll both get in trouble, I warn him. Footsteps slug down the hall towards our room. My brother keeps going, wheezing heavily, and my attempts to quiet him only exacerbate the wailing. I bargain with him, offer baseball cards, wrestlers, and candy if he’ll quiet. He shivers and sniffs, works it out in his little mind. He points at the Big Boss Man. My favorite. The keystone of my collection. The doorknob turns. A smile unfolds across my brother’s face. He takes the figure in his hands, the terms of my surrender.