In the course of our lives, there are moments that do more than define who we are. These are moments that define the world we live in. When we are young, the world is still a place without boundaries. A place where the rules are negotiable and reality rubs shoulders with fantasy. I’m talking about the moments that strip fantasy away from reality and places a cold, stark wall somewhere in the world that you thought was limitless. Let me tell you about one of these moments in my life.

I was one of four brothers growing up in suburban Utah. The oldest, Jonathan, was an absolute ruler over his subjects: us. Our simple lives were constantly shadowed by the possibility of being chased in a panic around the house. His methods were as effective as they were creative. He employed everything from tickling us to the brink of insanity to shoving ice cubes down our shirts to dangling globs of saliva inches from our noses before retracting the fluid back into its point of origin. One time he surprised us all by capturing a day’s worth of his flatulence in a mason jar and then waiting for the precise moment to strike with the home-made biological weapon.

There was but one rule Jonathan could not break and one place we were safe. One green oasis in a vast, cruel and unforgiving wasteland. It was the Safe Couch. Really it was nothing more than a small, soft, light blue sofa against the wall right next to the old piano in the living room. Somehow, this ordinary and somewhat ugly couch had been endowed with fascinating properties. For you see, while one sits upon its cushions, they are protected from any potential enemies. Yes, even Jonathan was compelled to peace when we managed to swiftly perch ourselves on this sacred furniture. That was the rule. That was the code we lived by. We were safe as long as we were within the boundaries of the Safe Couch. Our parents endorsed this belief. Perhaps they were desperate to support any kind of alternative to us scampering and screaming chaotically between their legs while they cooked dinner or mowed the lawn.

Naturally, Jonathan countered this new threat to supreme dominance by always trying to capture us before we could reach the safety of the couch. Such was the case on one particular evening. I was sitting in my room with the door open, sorting through my beloved collection of Pokemon cards when the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The hallway outside instantly became dead silent and still as if the air had been suddenly sucked out into space. I could feel my heart beating so hard in my chest that it felt as if it would burst out at any moment. I slowly placed my cards on the shaggy carpet floor and stood up, absolutely still in my large, hand-me-down pajamas. Inch by inch I approached my room door. Perhaps I could simply shut it and ignore whatever it was that had seemed to freeze my nerves. Finally, close enough, I reached out towards the door to swing it closed. Jonathan materialized from around the corner and leapt towards me, snarling. I let out a cry of panic and quickly dodged. Being quite a shrimpy and spry child, I was able to quickly wriggle out of his grip like a mouse from the talons of a hawk.

Momentarily free, I dashed through the door out into the hallway, leaving behind my prized cards without even a second thought. I could hear the raspy, withered breathing of my brother as he quickly pursued. In seconds I reached the top of the stairs and threw myself down them, sliding on my belly over each step like an undulating worm. Halfway down, I felt Jonathan’s hand close around my ankle. I kicked hard and his grip broke as he let out an angry bellow that made the walls quiver. I hit the bottom of the stairs with my tiny legs already pumping like pistons, ready to fly me to safety. In seconds I crossed the living room and landed neatly on the center cushion of the Safe Couch. I had made it. I was victorious. I settled down in the warm cushion, ready to patiently wait out the storm that was my brother.

I smirked widely as Jonathan walked down the rest of the stairs and into the living room, but when I saw a similar smirk on his face, my own faltered. Something was different this time. Something had changed. I had run to the safety of the Safe Couch countless times before, but on this night, I was in uncharted territory. I hunkered down deeper into the small groove I had created in the cushion, hoping I was just a victim of my imagination. Jonathan stopped close to the couch, stood there, stared, and then attacked. Before I knew what was happening, Jonathan had pulled me off the couch, pinned me on the floor, and was tickling me with a fury that would surely loosen my bladder. I was numb. I did not feel my legs kicking. I did not feel my ribs aching or my lungs gasping for air in between laughs. I was in complete shock. I had made it to the Safe Couch. I had been sitting directly in the center of it. Yet, somehow this was happening. Somehow, Jonathan had broken the rule. Somehow, it had not kept me safe. I was numb. I was confused.

I survived the encounter with my brother, as I always did. In fact, later that night he helped me sort my Pokemon cards and was overall a great brother to me. But as I walked past the Safe Couch on my way upstairs to bed I now noticed something different about it. I saw the deep scratches in the wood, the fraying trim and patches where the fabric had been worn thin. I saw things I had never seen before. The living room was dark and the color of the couch seemed dull and faded. Wasn’t it a brighter blue than that? I walked on. The Safe Couch no longer held any magnificent power, at least not in my eyes. The angels no longer bestowed their blessing upon it. I no longer ran there for sanctuary when my brothers teased me. I found other ways to cope, other ways to defend myself. I became quite good at squirming out of their grip and dodging and running fast. I even began to learn, that the teasing and tickling was not that scary. It was no longer the danger I thought it was. My brothers were not monsters hiding under my bed. They were my brothers and I was their brother. We joked around, we teased each other, we had fun, we grew up together.

We forgot about the Safe Couch. My parents eventually threw it out to get a newer sofa. It was a nice sofa, even softer than the one before. The fabric was thick and the colors vibrant. It was perfect for nestling into on a Saturday morning. But when I would hear the call of the battle in a distant room, I would leap off of it and charge forward to victory or doom.