The Routine

Their heads bobbed up from behind the couch, two princes with towel crowns streaming out behind them. They ran and ran, shouting at one another to go faster. The older one made wide, arcing circles spanning the length of the whole room, while the younger one moved in tight circles half the size -- two moons on different orbits. The older one laughed and shouted made up words, and the younger one laughed with him, shouting his own made-up words, each speaking their own language. They screamed so loud the echoes ricocheted off the walls and down the stairs, filling the entire house with their noise. Each room seemed to usher it in, amplify it, and send it back to them. Sometimes they pretended they were chomping ducks and turtles and other times they were racecars careening down endless roadways, the finish line always just out of reach. When the younger one got tired, he grabbed a pillow off the couch, one of the blue ones that was bigger than him. He threw himself on the floor, landing with the pillow on top of him, only his feet sticking out from underneath like Dorothy’s ruby slippers. The older one raced over and jumped on top, squishing the younger one beneath him until the younger one rolled, toppling them both, their towels twisting beneath them. Afterward, they both jumped up and began running again, their towels each dangling dangerously to one side of their head. The younger one’s towel wrapped around his feet and he fell, crown knocked off. He ran to his mom, holding the towel out in front of him like an offering, his nose scrunched and his mouth tight. He stood far enough back that she could barely reach the top of his head. He didn’t want her to catch him, force him into pajamas and cups of milk and bedtime. They both wanted to stay awake, to be wild, to be kings. They wanted to climb on the couch and stand on the top and shout at the top of their lungs. They wanted to bump off the walls like pinballs and tackle each other to the floor. The younger one misjudged the distance and ran off before his mom could reach him, returning when he realized his mistake. Towel replaced, he took off for the older one’s room, pulling the books off the shelves and throwing them through the air like missiles. The older one joined him and chased him through the closet and behind the bed, the younger one screaming and moving his legs as fast as they would go. The older one was faster and stepped on the edge of the younger one’s towel, jerking his whole body backward. The older one laughed and ran away and the younger one stood up slowly, making his way to his mom, ready for bedtime after all.