Celebrating The Good In Business And Humanity
They were brothers sixteen months apart, both wrestling 135 pounds for Haverford High. When Conestoga’s coaches ducked Mike and sent their best wrestler against Matt instead, Mike had to watch his younger brother take a six-minute beating that ended in a pin. Then it was Mike’s turn. The fury he’d been holding exploded in ten seconds—three shots to the head, arm drag, near-side cradle, pin. The fastest of his career. Not for glory. For his brother.
The mouthwash wasn’t the bottom. The bottom was knowing exactly how much alcohol was in Listerine, knowing which brands had the highest percentage, knowing that if he could just keep it down long enough, his legs might stop seizing before the liquor store opened at 9 a.m.
Mike arrived at Lycoming College in the fall with a 3.8 GPA from his first semester and a spot on the wrestling team. Freshman year, first semester—he’d proven he could do it. Could go to class, make weight, compete, maintain the structure that kept everything else from unraveling.
Then he quit wrestling.
Not because of an injury. Not because of grades. He just stopped showing up to practice one day in January, and when the coach called him in, Mike said he needed to focus on academics.
It was a lie.
Some kids brought video games to sleepovers. Mike brought a boot box full of stolen beer and a water bottle of whiskey. He was thirteen and already doing the math: three beers, Pat barely drinking, more for him. “The Shoebox” is about the last day of eighth grade and the first time relief felt like addiction.
In the late nineties suburbs of Broomall, where the beer was warm and the dreams were big, a group of friends learned that sometimes the best adventures are the ones that go spectacularly wrong.
The story, “The Case of the Possessed Lego Set,” follows Lucas Hamson, a ten-year-old builder who purchases a vintage Black Monarch’s Castle Lego set from an eccentric old woman. He soon discovers the set is possessed when the minifigures begin moving on their own.
