My brother is a solid figure in my life. He has been in many interviews, my example of a role model. He is far from perfect. The pot-smoking, cigarette smoking, beer pong, bad money management, toss up of girls, and general lack of desire for book knowledge show many red flags to someone who shouldn’t be a role model. However these things mean little to me. I do not care if the last book he read is a graphic novel, or that he smokes pot on occasions, he is so much more than his failures.
My brother is the hilarity in my family. He is the constant relief in times of need. He is one of the few who I felt consoled me in the tiniest of ways after I lost my grandma. He has listened to me bitch. He has given me cold advice in times when I took advice from no one. He has backed me constantly in my develop as an athlete and as a person. He knows when to listen, when to back down, and when to offer a beer and smoke break to the people who need life to cut them a little slack.
Steve and I sat on the same golden couch that sits in my living room now. It’s tilted infront of the door and I remember thinking I should close the door. I remember thinking. No. (I take a heavy sigh). I remember little now that I think about this instance, and maybe it’s about time I remember little. I do however remember the feeling of a boy smaller than me ontop of me. I remember his constant hands that never sat still. I remember fighting him for a long while and getting tired of it. I in no way was “charmed over” I was giving up on the constant battle between his hands and my wants. It didnt take him long to get my shirt off or my bra shimmied to a different place. I was trying to convince myself that I was okay with all of this.
When, my brother walked passed the door and into another room. I immediatly felt ashamed. It was my brother, a man I look up to, in a dark moment for me. “Stop.” I repeated myself in whispers trying not to let my voice carry over toward my brother. “Stop”. I remember him saying no. I remember I was pissed. It was the only time my anger released and I think it was because of the presence of my brother. In a sense it was okay to hurt me, but don’t make me ever feel ashamed around my brother. I remember I full on shoved Steve to the other side and he was so confused. He had that hurt puppy look in his eyes and I didn’t care. I fixed my shirt and pointed to the other room.
“My brother is right there.” I thought that would have been common sense, but Steve said, “so”. I remember saying a solid “No.” And for the first time he wasn’t getting his way. He wasn’t in control because he wasn’t the alpha male in the situation. My brother was. I remember Steve Flicking off the wall my brother was right behind and I was a little more upset.
Thats my brother. He’s a good guy. Steve and I fought that day.