Strawberries
Just Your Brother.
You’ve been talking to me a lot lately, or trying to. I rarely respond, though. What’s the point? I don’t bother myself enough to talk. You’ve been sweet-talking me and kissing and cuddling me.
What’s this? Preparing me for bad news? Feeling guilty, maybe? Just a little?
You seem to really like Rory. I caught a glimpse of her once, but I didn’t take a good look. I didn't want to look at her. She's pretty. Familiar. But she's nothing special. Though, she gives off a better vibe than the last girl you were with. If you have to cheat on me like always, Rory’s the lesser of two evils.
I’m in my room as you bring Rory home. I know it’s her because I hear a girl’s laughter. Her laughter. Shaking my head, I turn the music in my headphones up high enough to drown out your voices.
I remember one time you brought a girl home. It was a couple months ago. I don’t know why the memory comes to me. I had been watching television before you walked in with said girl with her hand in yours. I had started to get up when I heard your key on the door. I had just started walking towards the steps when the door opened. I just stared at you for a couple seconds, at the girl next to you. Pretty.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“That's Nick. He’s just my brother,” you had said as I tore my eyes away from you. Wasn’t that Rory? I've heard the name before. I can’t remember. I don’t care. I’m just your brother. I’m pissed about that comment all over again.
***
My throat feels itchy and dry as I wake up in a cold sweat. Lack of sleep is nothing short of ordinary these days. I look at the clock and the floating blue numbers tell me that it’s one in the morning. I have a stress headache and my eyes burn.
***
When I was a little kid, I had this old stuffed dog. I never gave him a name; he was just my stuffed dog. I was nine or ten years old, and I still had the old thing. Once, you took it from me. You told me big boys don’t play with toys. I got so upset that I tried to grab it from you and you ripped its head off.
I cried. A ten year old boy, crying over a stuffed dog he got when he was a kid. You apologized, but you didn't mean it. Mom made you say you were sorry. She bought me another dog. But I still kept the separate body and head of my old dog.
I’m like that stuffed dog.
What’s this? Preparing me for bad news? Feeling guilty, maybe? Just a little?
You seem to really like Rory. I caught a glimpse of her once, but I didn’t take a good look. I didn't want to look at her. She's pretty. Familiar. But she's nothing special. Though, she gives off a better vibe than the last girl you were with. If you have to cheat on me like always, Rory’s the lesser of two evils.
I’m in my room as you bring Rory home. I know it’s her because I hear a girl’s laughter. Her laughter. Shaking my head, I turn the music in my headphones up high enough to drown out your voices.
I remember one time you brought a girl home. It was a couple months ago. I don’t know why the memory comes to me. I had been watching television before you walked in with said girl with her hand in yours. I had started to get up when I heard your key on the door. I had just started walking towards the steps when the door opened. I just stared at you for a couple seconds, at the girl next to you. Pretty.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“That's Nick. He’s just my brother,” you had said as I tore my eyes away from you. Wasn’t that Rory? I've heard the name before. I can’t remember. I don’t care. I’m just your brother. I’m pissed about that comment all over again.
***
My throat feels itchy and dry as I wake up in a cold sweat. Lack of sleep is nothing short of ordinary these days. I look at the clock and the floating blue numbers tell me that it’s one in the morning. I have a stress headache and my eyes burn.
***
When I was a little kid, I had this old stuffed dog. I never gave him a name; he was just my stuffed dog. I was nine or ten years old, and I still had the old thing. Once, you took it from me. You told me big boys don’t play with toys. I got so upset that I tried to grab it from you and you ripped its head off.
I cried. A ten year old boy, crying over a stuffed dog he got when he was a kid. You apologized, but you didn't mean it. Mom made you say you were sorry. She bought me another dog. But I still kept the separate body and head of my old dog.
I’m like that stuffed dog.