Of Men and Monsters
Just a half-dozen staggering steps and he was on my brother.
Fights in real life aren’t the slick, choreographed events they show in movies. They’re ugly, sloppy, primal things. Punches were thrown and there was a lot of yelling and grunting and panting. My father was a big man, and, drunk or not, the outcome was never in doubt. He grabbed my brother by the shoulders and slammed him against the wagon. Matt’s neck caught the edge of the metal tub and his head snapped awkwardly. My father grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up. Matt’s head flopped bonelessly from side-to-side until his assailant let him drop to the wet sand.
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