Brother’s Stare

I don’t think that I could ever stare my brother straight in the eye. Neither can he, and that’s something I’ve come to appreciate. When we both look at each other, we’re really just lying. Silently lying about our jobs when we walk into our mother’s room, lying about our personal lives; we even lie when we sit in the car and talk about music.

He is eleven years my senior and I am newly twenty-four.  We have a sister, but we don’t talk much about her. When someone asks me if I have siblings, I tend to lie and say , “One” or underhandedly mention that she lives in another state and has luggage, otherwise known as children.

My mother cannot make much sense of this. She is actually unaware of almost all of it. Completely unconscious and utterly blind to how her “adults’” behave. We won’t blame her though.  I’d like to think that no one is at fault for this, except that I would blame my father, who almost always makes me think of “Dad Fantasy Island”.

“Dad Fantasy Island” is a place where you fall off your bike all day and your dad picks you up. It’s also the place where your hand hurts because that’s how much catch you play on “Dad Fantasy Island”. There are no moms in “Dad Fantasy Island” either, but  they are secretly your ride there. It’s this weird rule where your mom has to drop you off and pick you up, but it’s at those late hours where your mom likes to sleep because she works in about six hours. You might of guessed but I have never seen Dad Fantasy Island. I think I saw it on television once, but then again, I don’t ever remember watching Jaws or ET either.

-Oliver Spencer Smith, 24 years old, Jersey City, NJ


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