The boys have been playing with their toy cars, crashing them into each other and providing the appropriate sounds for the horrific scenes. R comes into the kitchen, holding his car, and crying.
R — B broke my car!!
Dad — Were you guys crashing your cars?
R – Yes.
Dad — I told you to be careful with these cars. This is why.
R — Can I get a new one?
Dad — No. I specifically told you to take care of this one if you wanted me to get you another one.
R, now sobbing — Can it be fixed?
Dad — I don’t think so.
R’s sobbing turns into deafening wailing.
Mom — R, please go sit on your bed to cry. Come back when you’ve calmed down.
R goes upstairs, wailing, sobbing, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve.
In the living room, B is sitting quietly on the couch.
B — Mom, R should be crying harder if I died. He loves me more than his car, right?
Mom — Of course!
Dad, sitting down next to B — Did you break R’s car, B?
B — Well, we were crashing them.
Dad — But did you break his car?
B, tearing up — My car broke the door on his car.
Dad — Why are you crying?
B — Because I feel sad.
Dad — You feel sad about his car?
B — Yes. I didn’t mean to break it!
Dad — It would be nice if you told R that.
B — Okay.
B and Dad go upstairs to the boys’ bedroom.
B — R, I’m sorry I broke your car. You should be crying harder if I died. Losing a brother is worse than breaking a car!