A Story in Dialogue




“No way.”

“It’s not that far!”

“Hello. I’m looking DOWN on your HEAD. It’s far enough.”


“Not on your life.”

“Don’t you trust me?”


“But I’m your sister!”

“Yes, and I have the scars to prove it.”

“There’s no other way out of there. You know that.”

“So I’ll stay.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Go get help.”

“Help? Who exactly would help? Stop being a wuss and jump.”

“A wuss? Because I don’t want to break a leg?”

“I jumped and I’m fine. You want to be bested by a girl?”

“Nothing new about that. And you didn’t jump – you fell.”

“Only part way. Not my fault the ladder broke under me. Look, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll buy you…ice cream!”

“Oh whoopty-doo.”

“But you like ice cream!”

“I’m thirty, not twelve.”

“When you were twelve, you’d’ve jumped.”

“Right. And added another scar.”

“Okay, it was a dumb idea, I admit it. But I wanted you to feel young again. The old tree house was supposed to do that. You’ve been such a ninny about turning thirty.”

“I’ll admit, the Twinkie stash was a cool idea. And thank you for the Marvel comics. But bodily harm is not the best way to round out my birthday.”

“It’s been a fun day. Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Perhaps because our time together usually involves some sort of death-defying stunt?”

“Oh come on, you haven’t been hurt since…”

“Last year about this time. My arm, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Still sorry about that. They told me that was one of their tamer horses.”

“Uh huh. Hi-ho Silver.”

“All right. Well, come on. You hop out of there-”


“-and I’ll take us to your favorite restaurant and reward your bravery with your favorite lunch.”

“And dessert?”

“Of course.”

“No waiter troupe singing to me.”


“This stinks.”

“I know. Come on, I’m getting hungry.”

“Okay. Cowabunga.”


“So we’ll get lunch after the hospital, okay?”


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