Brothiz

I'd have to ignore a few key issues before arriving at anything resembling brotherhood; my homicidal hatred of Kev, his blatant, twisted cruelty, the fact that we haven’t spoken a word in years. Besides his relentless abuse and putting my life in jeopardy more times than I can count, we were as thick as thieves. We made it through a tumultuous childhood, traversed the white capped waters of addiction, and waded through the hell that is incarceration.
But there was a split. I got sober and he didn’t. I ran headlong into the brick wall of his addiction, trying hard to get him to see the path to righteousness. All I ever ended up with was a headache. Hubris hurts.
I see Rachel with her siblings. They all have their own issues, quirks developed the same way we all get them, faulty parenting. But credit is due, the bond they share is undeniable, and like most people who share DNA, each would take a bullet for the other.
Dad tried as hard as he is capable of to bring us back together, but I denied him. “Would you be willing to sit down with him and try to hash it out?”
“No.” I said, savoring it a little longer than was necessary.
“Why not?” he asked, annoyed.
I thought about it for a few seconds and answered, “To be honest, I’m not even sure what our feud is about anymore. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I can’t and won’t deny that I miss him. I go over our history again and again, hoping to uncover some nugget of understanding. To what end? I’ll get back to you. I’ve been obsessing on the bond he shares with Dad, the one I still feel felt left out of.
So I declare that from this day forth I have adopted a new brother, Rachel’s brother, Austin. He laughs as heartily at my sense of humor, doesn’t pound the piss out of me for the sheer fun of it, and doesn’t actively put my life in danger (at least not yet). His anger is fresh and electrically charged, while mine is showing signs of decay. When he visits he draws off my thoroughly useless knowledge base and asks questions like, “What’s crack like?”
“Well,” I say, “you know that feeling, just before you become violently ill where you have to decide whether to sit on the toilet or kneel?”
“Yeah.”
“Like that, only worse.”
“Why on earth would anyone want to do that?” he asks wide eyed.
“Because it’s awesome,” is all I can answer.