, then it may be of benefit to know whether they share the same sentiment. Brotherhood implies devotion and devotion is quite often tested. If one of the two friends happens to share a different sentiment, a proper testing will surely prove the matter. Sometimes this proof will prove painful, and sometimes blood will indeed be a matter of the bond, or lack thereof.

After inducing general anesthesia with endotracheal tube intubation, you will be prepped and draped in the usual sterile manner, most likely with the placement of sclera shells.

If you and the assumed brothers happen upon a group of men vastly outnumbering your trio, and these men pass regrettable remarks upon you, a proper test of brotherhood and devotion may have arrived. If one of your brothers chooses to respond with words equally regrettable, it is your duty as family to appropriately deal with any resulting circumstances regardless of how dire they may be. If dire circumstances do not immediately result, you may find that you have misidentified the situation as a proper test of brotherhood and devotion.

Your left lateral canthus and lower eye lid will be infiltrated with local anesthetic. This is to ensure that the lateral canthotomy and inferior cantholysis do not rouse you from the aforementioned general anesthesia. A transconjunctival incision will be made below the inferior tarsal border with cutting cautery. Dissection will be carried down to the infraorbital rim, where traction sutures will eventually be placed. Then, with that same cutting cautery, the periorbita and periosteum will be incised at the level of the rim. This may expose multiple floating fragments that are characteristic of a comminuted fracture, likely the result of a fracture involving the orbital rim.

If one of the two assumed brothers happens to expediently disappear shortly after you part ways with the discourteous men, you may think nothing of it. They, however, may think differently and choose to launch what many call a “surprise attack.”

The periobita will be meticulously elevated off the orbital floor using orbital retractors and Freer elevators. Cottonoids may also be used to support the elevation. There may be a large fracture involving the orbital floor. If this is the case, the orbital contents will be elevated out of this orbital fracture, and care will be taken to ensure that no additional injury to the infraorbital neurovascular bundle is made during such a dissection.

As a result of such an unanticipated assault, you and your remaining brother will be forced to prove unequivocal devotion to one another. In hindsight, you’ll likely find it unfortunate that your third assumed brother had unceremoniously departed and was unable to stand with you in such an unquestionably uncivilized but unavoidable state of affairs. You may think of many unpleasant words beginning with “un” that you may choose to apply to your absentee acquaintance and the way you choose to interact with him henceforth.

Attention will be directed to the superior lateral orbital rim, the skin infiltrated with local anesthetic. A 15 blade will be used to incise the skin with a sub-brow incision. Dissection will be carried down to the periosteum. The periostium will be incised with cutting cautery. If a frontozygomatic fracture exists, it will be isolated with the placement of traction sutures.

With the number of assailants being more than you and your remaining brother, you may find it difficult to maintain a proper defense. At some point, you may find yourself pinned against a parked automobile by two of these men: one holding you firm against the automobile, while the other ensures your arms are restrained behind your back. A third may then choose to deliver several powerful blows to your face with his fist. You may assume that your best defense is a strong offense by means of those limbs that remain unrestrained. Nevertheless, you will find this to be a futile plan regardless of how many times your foot strikes your assailant in the face as he advances repeatedly with said fist. The analgesic effects of phenylcyclohexylpiperidine will prevent any physical pain from registering within your assailant, while its hallucinatory effects will cause him to interpret your blows in such a manner that only further stimulates the rage psychosis typically accompanying phenylcyclohexylpiperidine absorption.

Kocher clamps will be used to elevate any zygomatic and maxillary fractures into appropriate alignment. A Synthes plate, most likely titanium and of very precise dimensions, will be used to bridge the fronotzygomatic fracture. Several screws, again most likely titanium, will be used to anchor the Synthes plate in place.

Your assailants, being fond of surprises, will indeed be very surprised if your proven brother had a “secret weapon” in his possession for such unexpected, yet entirely possible, situations. If your brother were to use his secret weapon against your assailants to properly defend both of you from their assault, you will find that you must thereafter keep the use of the secret weapon a secret indeed. For a proper test of brotherhood and devotion may come not only in the form of uncivilized circumstances, but also in the form of maintaining confidentiality.

Attention will then be directed to the infraorbital rim where a fracture is also likely to exist. Again, a titanium Synthes plate will be placed to bridge the fracture of the inferior orbital rim, though it will be necessary to form it in an appropriate contour after being cut to precise dimensions. As before, a hand-held manual drill will be used to place several titanium screws in order to anchor the Synthes plate. If any free-floating bone fragments remain, they will be anchored to either of the Synthes plates using stainless steel wire with knots buried in the surrounding tissue.

If you walk down a street with a person you choose to consider to be a friend, and you consider that friend to be a brother, it would be very wise to know whether they share such sentiment. Brotherhood implies a blood relationship, and though no blood relationship may exist, blood may indeed be a matter of the bond…or lack thereof.

An obese woman and her 25-years-but-out-on-early-release-for-good-behavior boyfriend are dancing.

They’re not just dancing. They’re writing a poem about long-suffering hope fulfilled and the joy that comes with it.

I bet 10 cigarettes and your shift in the laundry room that this is the first time he’s smiled like this since the peyote joyride in that hot-wired Camaro.

She’s faking the smile that she wore with all her heart only five minutes ago. Before they showed up.

They’re the only white people in here besides me. They’ve stumbled in here by accident, much too drunk to find somewhere else to go. Their inebriated lurch to the table next to me is quite the antithesis to the graceful movement of our dance floor lovebirds.

Abercrombie points to “two of these burritos. Pork, alright? You understand me…? Right? None of that beef crap. And one of these chili relleno things, whateverthehell that is.”

His buddy chuckles in approval and tosses up the sloppiest high five I’ve seen on this side of the Hudson. Abercrombie’s girlfriend is inspecting her manicure until:

“Ohmygod, Bobby! If I ever get that fat, I’ll…I’ll, uh (hiccup)…you better not ever let me get that fat!”

And the ridicule begins. They laugh and point. More high-fives between the “bro’s” in celebration of some totally-awesome fat joke. I could say something, but it wouldn’t matter.

Fifteen feet away, my overweight friend and Jailhouse Ink continue cutting up a rug. They can really move. Dancing was conceived by people like this. Yet I wish she was enjoying it more. She’ll never enjoy it again.

See, I understand why she’s faking her smile. The same reason she’s attempting to dance in a way that keeps her man’s back toward the hecklers as much as possible. She knows it’s only a matter of time until the bliss of this long-awaited moment with papi is broken when he notices them. And if she stops smiling, well…he’d notice.

She’s right. I know this man. I know that all those years of good behavior were harder for him than serving out the rest of his sentence in yard duty under the summer sun and through the winter’s bitter cold.

It’s difficult for a beast of this nature to tame himself.

There wasn’t much provocation from other inmates to deal with. They knew what he was in for. They saw the tempest in his eyes. Whatever clout they might gain from challenging him would surely not be worth the consequence of unchaining such savagery.

Yet despite the lack of deliberate confrontation, he toiled to contain himself nonetheless. The klutz in the chow line never knew what sort of restraint was exercised. Nor did the shower boys understand the tremendous feat of self-control they witnessed when he caught their lusting eyes.

She’s holding her smile. And she’s praying silently the same as me. “Please, God…don’t let this…”

And then it happens. Just as the song comes to its climactic and abrupt end, he spots the sneering table to my right. And in the silence thereafter, he catches Abercombie’s three-word blasphemy.

“What a pig.”

Our silent prayers go unanswered. The beast has been awakened.

Abercrombie has no idea what’s about to happen. All the alcohol has brought his trust fund arrogance to a delusional height. He doesn’t realize that the Majesty of Rikers Island isn’t like any other pissant that his daddy’s lawyers or his mother’s checkbook have delivered him from in the past. Ego drunkenly reckless, he just can’t imagine that anyone in a place like this would ever think to serve him the feral judgment that is now upon him.

A few feet to my left, the lovers part. He walks with profound purpose to my table and grabs the Corona bottle I’ve just emptied out. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes say goodbye to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. The buck-sixty she put on while he was away means nothing to him; she’s the only woman amazing enough to wait so long, so faithfully, for someone like him.

He looks at me briefly and says, “Take care of her, hermano.” I can tell that he’s just disposed of everything he learned about in that Book he spent so much time with over these past years. I nod respectfully. I could say something, but it wouldn’t matter.

He spits. Holding it by the neck, smashes the bottle against the edge of the table. And I watch the most powerful stride I’ve ever seen as he steps forward into the rest of his life.

Abercrombie’s last words are smug and insignificant. “Dude, why don’t you just…”

I am now a witness. I witness a long-suffering hope unfulfilled and the sorrow that comes with it.

“It’s Mother’s Day. Go home to mom,” she says.

This statement would have taken on a completely different meaning had his mother not been dead for 10 years.

His breathing is slow and peaceful now; much different than the thick, labored wheezing of the past few hours. Now she breathes in hiccups, her eyes wet with tears. But not his.

The windows to his soul are opened wide and eager, but he most definitely isn’t seeing her face. He’s looking at…watching…something else. Maybe it’s that virgin girl his mother always eulogized. Mary. Yeah, that’s her name. Mary.

Or he could be watching The Seventh Seal, that Ingmar Bergman flick that he once recommended to me. “You’ll like it. It’s really far out, man.” But now Philip was really far out there. What is he looking at? What is he seeing?

Something just on the other side of the threshold. Bergman. Or the virgin…Mary.

Maybe he’s sitting in the rose garden with Sister Whatever-Her-Name-Was…that nun from 5^th grade who put the Fear of God in him with a leather-bound book and a ruler. After all these years, he’s might be teaching her about real Fear and real Faith; telling her about what good praying to that virgin did him on all those lonesome, frightening nights in ‘Nam. I mean, that’s where this whole story begins right? God and ‘Nam.

No. Tonight, Philip Michael DeRenzis is not fearful. He knows how this goes. He’s been waiting for it…bravely.

See, in the Seventh Seal, the king’s knight plays chess with Death. Death makes his final move and says, “Checkmate.” The knight bites it. The End. But what most people don’t notice is: Death lied. The knight had one more move. The Reaper just wanted to finish the game a bit early.

Now that hooded son-of-a-bitch is here again, trying to cut this game a bit short. And Philip knows the Braggart in Black will always win, but he’s playing this one until our opponent makes his last mighty move; a move long-awaited, inescapable, and so perfect, so beautiful, that it takes one’s breath away…forever.

Tonight, Philip stares my mother in the face. He’s been expecting this moment for quite some time. He’s not bitter. He’s not afraid. He’s just playing the game until that final move.

And she says one more time, “It’s okay, Philip. Go home to Mom.”

Philip reaches across the table, shakes the hooded hand, smiles handsomely, and says, “Good game.” He turns and walks calmly across the threshold, and embraces the woman he’s been staring at for the past 10 minutes. And for the first time in 10 years, he spends Mother’s Day with his mom.