Protect Islander

I see Philly losses and think: Bad habit plus accident, a deadly combination. I look at him when he comes home after a heavy defeat. You can tell by his face that he fed himself and my father reinforces that feeling again. Philly is in a corner and turn himself over the head because he has lost, but at least that's a fair fight, one against one. Then my father there and he helps with the Philly hurling at Philly. It is abused, beaten.
So should Philly be a Jitterbug. It would be logical that he does hate me now, is bullying. But the opposite is true, because after all verbal or physical attack on him by himself or by my father-he is caring for me. Protect Islander. Gentler. He wants his fate saved me. He might be a born loser, but I see why Philly as the ultimate winner. I'm glad Philly my older brother. He encourages me, gives me directions, gives me, never showing signs of jealousy or rivalry. Happy because you have an unfortunate elder brother? Is that possible? Is that logical? Again a typical contradiction.

Philly and I have every free moment together. He picks me up from school with his scooter and then drive through the desert to go home and talk and laugh over the hum of the engine. We share a bedroom at the back of the house, which is our haven for tennis and Pops. Philly is as exactly as I have stuff on mine. So he pulls a white paint line through the middle of the room, which is divided into its side and my side, ad court and deuce court. I sleep in the deuce court, my bed is closest to the door.
At night, before we turn out the light, we have a ritual where I really attaches. We are at the edge of our bed and whisper over the line around. Philly, seven years older than me, talking the most. He pours his heart out, talking about his lack of confidence and his disappointments. He talks about that he never wins. He talks about being a born loser. He talks about his need to borrow money from Pops so he can continue to play tennis, try to remain professional player. Pops, which we agree is not a man to have against you.

But Philly is particularly worried about his hairline. Andre, he says, I'm bald. He says in a tone as if he tells you that the doctors have told him that he was only four weeks to live.

But without a fight, he will not lose his hair. Baldness is an opponent who can handle Philly. He will do everything to defeat him. According to him, he is bald because not enough blood flowing to his skull. Therefore it every night during our conversations on its head. He puts his head on his mattress and goes on his head, his feet against the wall. I pray that it will work. I beg God that my brother, the born loser, this one will not lose his hair. I lie to Philly and say that I can see this miracle works. I love him so much that I would say anything to him feel better. For my brother, I myself have all night to stand on my head.