Girls. Girls. Girls. My brother wears polo shirts and khakis year-round, is the captain of the crew team, and overall just seems like the kind of guy who will grow up to be a lawyer, settle down in the suburbs, have 2.5 kids, and vote Republican. He’s in most respects a stereotypical straight white boy… a stereotypical straight white boy who has a keen eye for fashion, knows how to wing eyeliner, and has strong opinions about interior design principles. This was something I first realized about him on our thirteenth birthday. My aunt, who doesn’t really know either of us very well, had given me this middle-schooler-y make-up kit that was emblazoned with phrases like “Diva” and “Sparkle!”. I sat on the sink watching as he carefully brushed
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He clucked. “You’re just jealous, because I’m prettier than you,” he said teasingly. It was a joke between us that, with his gold-green eyes and dark curls, he would’ve made a prettier girl than me. I tried to emulate his look with a horrendous shade of glittery, lavender eyeshadow and sticky, hot pink lipgloss. “How do I look?” I asked He stared for a long moment. “Like a… sad, slutty raccoon,” he said. I clapped him on the back of the head.
Things changed when we were 14. Over Christmas, my family went on vacation to this ski resort in New Hampshire, and my brother and I were put in a ski school program. As older students, we were given a fair amount of freedom and my brother ended up spending most of his time with a skinny Asian-American boy named Henry, and two large, older boys, Caleb and Peter. I was happy that he was making friends, but worried. He was one of the most outgoing, bubbly people I had ever met, but he had become withdrawn and had started avoiding me. Every time I questioned him, he’d brush me …show more content…
He told me how Caleb and Peter were most certainly not his friends. He told me about the “games” they’d play - how they’d laugh and tell him he had to hold out five minutes. Or how, sometimes, they’d make him and Henry fight, and how he’d hurt Henry so they wouldn’t hurt him. He told me how he thought maybe they would hurt me too, and how he was afraid. “You can’t tell,” he snapped stubbornly as soon as he was finished. “… Seth…. you have to tell mom,” I said. “No.” “Why not?” “I just… you don’t get it.” “You’re right. I don’t. That looks really bad. You should see a doctor. What if they bruised - like - a kidney or something?” He looked at me with something akin to panic. “No! I don’t want Dr. Alderman to see this!” Dr. Alderman was our doctor, as well as our next-door neighbor. “Why?” I asked. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Because I’m not a wimp and I’m not a girl,” he said tiredly “Right. I’m sorry. How silly of me. I forgot that only girls can sustain serious injury,” I said impatiently. He rolled his eyes, and looked away. “You don’t get
He clucked. “You’re just jealous, because I’m prettier than you,” he said teasingly. It was a joke between us that, with his gold-green eyes and dark curls, he would’ve made a prettier girl than me. I tried to emulate his look with a horrendous shade of glittery, lavender eyeshadow and sticky, hot pink lipgloss. “How do I look?” I asked He stared for a long moment. “Like a… sad, slutty raccoon,” he said. I clapped him on the back of the head.
Things changed when we were 14. Over Christmas, my family went on vacation to this ski resort in New Hampshire, and my brother and I were put in a ski school program. As older students, we were given a fair amount of freedom and my brother ended up spending most of his time with a skinny Asian-American boy named Henry, and two large, older boys, Caleb and Peter. I was happy that he was making friends, but worried. He was one of the most outgoing, bubbly people I had ever met, but he had become withdrawn and had started avoiding me. Every time I questioned him, he’d brush me …show more content…
He told me how Caleb and Peter were most certainly not his friends. He told me about the “games” they’d play - how they’d laugh and tell him he had to hold out five minutes. Or how, sometimes, they’d make him and Henry fight, and how he’d hurt Henry so they wouldn’t hurt him. He told me how he thought maybe they would hurt me too, and how he was afraid. “You can’t tell,” he snapped stubbornly as soon as he was finished. “… Seth…. you have to tell mom,” I said. “No.” “Why not?” “I just… you don’t get it.” “You’re right. I don’t. That looks really bad. You should see a doctor. What if they bruised - like - a kidney or something?” He looked at me with something akin to panic. “No! I don’t want Dr. Alderman to see this!” Dr. Alderman was our doctor, as well as our next-door neighbor. “Why?” I asked. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Because I’m not a wimp and I’m not a girl,” he said tiredly “Right. I’m sorry. How silly of me. I forgot that only girls can sustain serious injury,” I said impatiently. He rolled his eyes, and looked away. “You don’t get