The Balance of Brothers

Canto IV: Of Lawns and Philosophers

It was Saturday morning, and the sun had barely climbed over the horizon when Nick knocked on Dylan's bedroom door. "Wake up," Nick said, his voice muffled but firm. "We've got work to do."Dylan groaned from under his blanket. "Work? What work?"Nick opened the door, leaning against the frame with a smirk. "The lawn isn't going to mow itself."Dylan peeked out, his hair a disheveled mess. "I'm not mowing the lawn. That's your job.""Today it's our job," Nick said, tossing a pair of work gloves onto Dylan's bed. "Time to get your hands dirty, little bro."Dylan sat up, squinting at his brother like he had just proposed a crime. "Hands dirty? Do you even hear yourself? I'm not a landscaper. I'm a philosopher."Nick chuckled. "Funny, I didn't know philosophers were above pulling weeds.""They are," Dylan replied, flopping back onto his pillow. "We operate on a higher plane. Our job is to question existence, not maintain lawns."Nick folded his arms. "Your 'higher plane' has weeds growing on it, Dylan. And unless you want them taking over the yard, I suggest you get dressed."---Twenty minutes later, Dylan stood in the backyard, a look of pure disdain on his face as Nick handed him a lawnmower. "Here's how it works," Nick began, pointing at the machine. "You pull this cord to start it, and—""I know how a lawnmower works," Dylan snapped, cutting him off. "I'm not an idiot."Nick smirked. "Could've fooled me."Dylan glared at him but said nothing, gripping the handle of the mower like it was a weapon. He pulled the cord with all his might, only for the engine to sputter and die. He tried again. And again. By the fourth attempt, he was red-faced and panting.Nick, leaning casually on the rake he was holding, raised an eyebrow. "Need some help?""No," Dylan barked, giving the cord another violent yank. "I can handle it.""Suit yourself," Nick said, turning to rake leaves while Dylan battled the mower. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the engine roared to life. Dylan stumbled back, startled by the noise, as Nick gave an approving nod."There you go," Nick said. "Now just push it forward. Nice and steady."Dylan scowled but complied, pushing the mower across the lawn in a jagged, uneven line. As he worked, he muttered under his breath, stringing together philosophical quotes and curses in a way that would have made Nietzsche blush.---An hour later, the lawn was mowed, but Dylan looked like he had just fought a war. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his hands were blistered, and his face was twisted into a scowl that could have curdled milk."Well done," Nick said, surveying the freshly cut grass. "Not bad for your first time."Dylan threw the gloves onto the ground. "Not bad? It's a disaster! Look at those lines—they're crooked!"Nick shrugged. "It's not about perfection. It's about getting it done.""That," Dylan said, jabbing a finger at his brother, "is the problem with your whole philosophy. You settle for 'good enough.' You don't strive for greatness."Nick sighed, setting down the rake. "And you, Dylan, spend so much time striving for greatness that you can't appreciate what's right in front of you."Dylan rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go. Another lecture on humility.""It's not a lecture," Nick said, his tone calm but firm. "It's reality. Sometimes, greatness starts with the small stuff. Like mowing the lawn.""That's absurd," Dylan retorted. "How does mowing the lawn lead to greatness?"Nick gave him a knowing smile. "Because it teaches you discipline. Patience. The value of hard work."Dylan groaned. "You sound like a self-help book.""Maybe," Nick said, picking up the gloves Dylan had thrown. "But even self-help books can be right sometimes."---As Nick packed up the tools, Dylan stood in the middle of the yard, staring at the freshly cut grass. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel a small sense of accomplishment. But the feeling was quickly replaced by annoyance."This doesn't prove anything," Dylan muttered as Nick approached with Duke trotting happily behind him."It proves you can do more than you think," Nick said, giving Dylan a pat on the shoulder. "You just have to stop overthinking it."Dylan swatted his hand away. "Don't patronize me."Nick laughed, walking back toward the house. "Come on, philosopher. Lunch is on me."Dylan watched him go, his mind churning with rebuttals he would save for later. For now, he followed his brother, secretly relieved the ordeal was over.As Duke ran ahead, bounding through the yard, Dylan muttered under his breath, "Stupid dog. Stupid lawn. Stupid Nick."But deep down, a tiny part of him wondered if maybe, just maybe, Nick had a point.