One of the joys of being back in my parents' house is the weirdness of the computer. My brother, who checks him email and goes online for maybe 2 seconds every day, has somehow commendered the wallpaper on the monitor, always making sure that it displays a sports car of some kind, generally a mustang or something. He becomes irrate if anyone changes the wallpaper, as my mother and I last did to feature Bruce Springsteen and Clarence Clemons. He railed at us for about half an hour over the deletion of his precious icon, confirming my suspcions that he is, in fact, a total psycho. Actually, most of the joys of being back here originate with my brother Frone. Because I really, honestly enjoy being mocked 24 hours a day. Like when Frone imitates Jim Carrey from "Me, Myself, and Irene" and calls me a walking Q-tip. Or Casper. Or Pale-Face, in a horrifically dated Old Western film, Native Americans meet Cowboys sort of a tone. "How, Pale-Face." Yeah, yeah. How yourself, Frone.
Here, I am also subjected to a rigorous routine of cheek-pinching, because aparently, my cheeks are soft and smooth as . . . . gak. You know, gak? That strange not-really-silly-putty-or-playdough-pully-stuff Nickleodeon put out in the mid-ninties? Yeah, that stuff. They also make that sort of wet-fart-suctiony noise when you pull them out and let them go again. Frone can be entertained for hours by doing this to my face. He has also been known to sit on my lap and fart, on occasion. Or back up to me while I'm bent over tying my shoe or something, and then fart in my face. As I guess lots of teenage boys are, Frone is really fond of farting.
He is also fond of peanut-butter, despite the fact that he's allergic to it. He stands in front of the kitchen counter, eating it right out of the jar with a spoon. He then chases me around trying to breathe into my face, because he knows I abhor the smell of peanut-butter. When he is not doing any of these things, he is making fun of my sinus problems, teasing me about constantly blowing my nose and hacking, both of which I have been doing more frequently since I seem to have some kind of cold. So last night, when he had been going on about me and my snot, I blew my nose over his head. He freaked, and started screaming about how nasty and unsanitary I am, and threated to hock a lugey on my pillow, and then take a shit on my comforter in retaliation.
I'd like to state for the record that if anybody else I knew treated me like this, I would have told them to fuck off long ago. I don't tolerate bullshit from people. I don't tolerate meanness and disrespect. And although he's "only joking" I still think he's an ass. He pulls the same shit with my mom, calling her "Old Woman" and threatening to send her to "the home" every chance he gets. He yells at her if she doesn't do his bidding, and is too lazy to cook for himself, so he feels justified in bitching to her if his dinner isn't on the table. He's a spoiled little shit, and frankly I'm sick of it. I don't find his teasing very funny. I was teased to the point of harrassment by lots of kids in Middle School and even in High School who were "just joking" but that hurt just the same. I wasn't expected to suck it up when those people repeatedly insulted me. Why should I tolerate it when my own flesh and blood does it? Shouldn't that be more hurtful instead of less?
I am always asking Mom why he's such an ass to me, and she keeps saying that he's always asking about me when I'm not around, and constantly saying he misses me when I'm in New York. Sometimes I try to call him and ask if he wants to hang out when I get home, and he tells me he's busy or has bettering things to do. When I'm home and I suggest we hang out or see a movie, he balks, or says sure and then goes to see that movie with his friends instead. He drives me insane. I want to tell him to go fuck himself sometimes (and sometimes I do), or just write him off as a schmuck for good. But then I think about how alienated my father is from his sisters, or my mother from two of her brothers, and I think that if I tried really hard to be nice to him, things could work out between us. But this only works if I bend over backwards. If I make him breakfast, heat him up dinner, fetch him anything he wants, do his chores, offer him the world, I can get maybe one favor out of him. Even then, he begrudges the fact that I ask him for anything. He acts embarrassed of me whenever he has friends over, and often his buddies stick up for me when he acts like a dick. He pisses me off so much, and just when I want to drive his car into the nearest canal, I remember when he could fit in my arms. He was so little and cuet and perfect, and all he ever did was smile and look at me with these huge, saucer eyes. Sometimes, more than anything, I want that brother back.
