Stretch

Growing up, I was always about five years older than my brother. In fact, even now, I am still five years older. But Andrew has always been fiercely competetive. So when we were younger, he was obsessed with playing Stretch, because it was one game where my age and size wasn't an advantage.

I know we didn’t invent Stretch, but then again, I never saw anyone else ever play it. I don’t know. There really isn't a good explanation as to why we played it, except that we grew up in a small town. A very small town. You had to make your own entertainment, which, interestingly enough, led to an extremely high teen-pregnancy rate... "Nothing to rent at the video store, might as well screw." I was a good kid, I didn’t screw (I can't speak for my brother), but general teenage boredom led to us standing in the backyard playing Stretch.

The basic concept of Stretch is simple, slightly frightening, but simple. You stand, facing each other about five feet apart, and throw knives at each other’s feet. Well, not quite, but pretty much. You don't throw the knife directly at the other person’s foot, but just beside it. If the knife sticks into the ground, then your opponent has to move his foot to that spot. Thus, if you're good at throwing a knife, then you work the other person’s legs further and further apart, making him "stretch" until he can’t stay standing anymore. Simple game, simple fun.

But then, one crisp autumn day, Stretch got a little out of hand. My brother and I were in the midst of a fierce battle. We were tied, two games a piece, and were in the midst of a trash talking rubber match. I was in the lead, my brother was teetering in a ball-breaking splits before me. I paused to make him suffer, confident in my victory. But then I missed, the knife bounced on the ground, and it was his turn. This was his big chance at a come back. He turned the knife in his hand, trying to look cool despite the excrutiating pain that must have been coursing through his groin. He paused for a moment and then released the knife just as he lost his balance and toppled backward. The knife sliced through the air off target and sunk deep into my shoe.

Andrew fell over and lay there staring at my foot. I couldn’t move. I stood, waiting for the pain. I wiggled my foot and realized it was pinned to the ground by the knife. But there was still no pain. I must be in shock, I thought. Slowly, I reached down and gingerly pulled out the knife. "I can’t believe it." I said. I took off my shoe, and inspected my foot. I stuck my finger through the holes in my sock. The blade had passed exactly between my toes and out the other side. Andrew and I stared at each other. A miracle had happened.

We never played stretch again.