Just Another Day.

The boys laughed as they jostled their way through the woods.

Every so often, one of them looked back to make sure little Tommy was still there.

Not one of them, but a little brother there by necessity only.

Biggest of the group, his older brother had been charged with watching out for him today.

So Tommy trailed along.

Quiet and unhappy to be ignored, excited to be with the bigger boys.

He sat on the sidelines as they played basketball.

He stayed in the shadows at the hamburger joint.

Now they walked through the dappled sunshine as they led the way deeper and deeper into the woods, crossing tracks long abandoned.

Ahead, the shack lay half in shadow.

Cinderblock. Tin-topped. Stout steel door.

Immediately, the boys surged toward it with visions of the perfect clubhouse.

Across the stout door a wooden bar had been nailed to the frame, clearly a keep out warning.

No barrier for the older, bigger brother. He lifted one end, rending wood from the nails.

Up and away from the iron catch, he propped it upright and pulled the door open.

In they surged not one hesitating. Except Tommy.

“Quit standing there, runt." The boys called.

So Tommy vanished into the darkness illuminated by cell phones.

Their cell phones had no signal. The flashlights still worked.

Only a narrow slotted window high on one wall admitted natural light.

Revealing debris and old railroad signalmen equipment.

What an excellent little clubhouse.

Laughter and jeers were silenced by the sound of a gust of wind,

 slamming the door closed.

The clunk of the bar falling back into place.

Much later, over burgers and shakes, Tommy was now included.