I’ve always liked to order people around . . . tell them what to do . . . be authoritative.

I think it started with the stupid Jilly boys when I was about eight years old. They were Billy Jilly, Willie Jilly and Adenoid. Jilly. (If I’m lying I’m dying.)

Billy was the meanest one and I hated his guts. He was about two years older and I know he’s burning in some real hot spot in hell right now because I wished it on him.

I told you I’d get you some day, Billy.
The Jillys lived about a hundred yards down the road from us and I had to walk past their house on my way home from school every day.

On days when thinking was at a low at their place—that being ten days a week—they’d hide and wait for me out by Stephens’ Gin . . . to ambush me and beat me up. Most days they didn’t go to school.

I could outrun any one of them, but sometimes the three of them together could accidentally hem me in when I let my guard down. I say “accidentally” because all three of them together were stupider than I was. Two of them nearly were.

With a lot of cheating, Adenoid showed some promise, but he was still way short on brains. His early goal was to be a doctor—ear nose and throat, I think—but he had a little trouble with . . . uh . . . arithmetic, English, history, reading, health, P.E., geography, spelling, writing, and whatever else was offered up in Atlanta Grade School.
My daddy told me how to solve the problem. He gave me some small pocket-sized wire-cutters and showed me how to cut the spokes on their bike wheels. There’s a real technique to that. Where to cut and which ones to leave.
I toyed with that idea for a few days, but rejected it because it required too much risk in the engagement. Also, too little opportunity.
Then my daddy had another inspiration I really liked! If it worked, they’d be dead; if it didn’t, they’d wish they were dead. It involved hitting them in the head with a brick I’d pre-place in the high grass along the side of the road.
You might question my daddy’s parenting skills—and I’d have to admit he wasn’t a sensitive man—but he was very practical, and he had a thing about bricks.

Like if you locked yourself out of a car, just find a brick. Need to kill a snake, find a brick. Want to save water when you flush, put a couple of bricks or more in the commode tank. Need to kill a neighbor kid, do it with a brick.
His new plan was simple: I’d appear to the Jillys to be unarmed, but when they ran after me I’d go to the hidden bricks, grab one and hit a Jilly in the head.

This appealed to me. It would bring blood and pain, and I would probably need to hit only one of them.
Which Jilly to hit? Billy Jilly was the meanest but he was also the biggest. And he had a huge wart on the side of his nose which I’d like to bust if I could.

As I lay in bed that night contemplating the next day, Millie and Tillie crossed my mind. That would be the sisters to Billy Jilly, Willie Jilly and Adenoid . . . Millie Jilly and Tillie Jilly.
It was Millie in particular who was on my mind. As I drifted off to sleep.
. . . to be continued.
Thanks for reading,
Paul