When I look back on it, it’s all kind of fuzzy and indistinct. But I guess that’s what happens with memories. I remember this one above the rest though. We were living in Queen Creek, for the time being anyway. There wasn’t much out there, including people, but I had my two brothers to keep me company. And having a twin kind of gave us an advantage when being the new kids; we always had a friend on the first day. So as you can imagine, Greg and I were pretty close. As for my older brother, Jaymes, well…we didn’t get along as well. And by that I mean he terrified me. I was always anxious around him, scared I would get hit just for looking in his direction. I couldn’t blame him for being so resentful though. I mean, I probably wouldn’t like being replaced by a new child, much less twins, who stole all the attention and received everything they requested. Yeah, I’d be a little jealous too. Of course, I hadn’t understood where he was coming from at the time, all I could think was, “Why is he so mean?” Still, Jaymes wasn’t so threatening all the time. Because we were being homeschooled for that very short period of time, Greg and I were our older brother’s only friends, and he ours. He was nicer during that time, offering to play with us on the trampoline and ride quads down the dirt road behind our house. We were actually starting to get along, granted, we were kind of forced to given our situation. But still, I was no longer living in fear.
That is, until one night. My mom and (evil) stepfather were arguing, nothing out of the ordinary. My brothers and I had heard this all of our lives, at every new “home” we had moved to. I was too young, maybe eleven or twelve, to understand why they always fought so much, but I still knew to expect the quarrels by now; they happened everywhere we went. Sometimes one of us, usually my brothers, would work up the courage to yell back at them. “Shut up!” Greg or Jaymes would scream. And they would, more out shock than anything. But that kind of bravery was always risky due to my step dad’s temper. On this particular night, my oldest brother didn’t care. At the first sound of raised voices, he stormed out of his room across that hall from mine, and marched straight through my parent’s open door. I followed, not wanting to miss the scene. I watched as Jaymes walked straight up to the Devil himself and very calmly, though you could tell by his demeanor that he was everything but, said, “Don’t. Yell. At. My. Mom.” This, of course, put a halt in their verbal dispute. I held my breath, only able to imagine what would happen next. In seconds, my step dad had my brother by the throat, feet dangling, unable to reach the ground inches away. I was terrified for him, every muscle in my body tensed with worry. I was too little to help. I had to tell myself I would do more harm than good in order to keep myself from running in there, kicking and screaming.
“What did you just tell me?” the monster hissed through clenched teeth, inches from my brother’s face. “You want to tell me what do? Ok! How about if I yelled at you instead?” His voice rose as his fury erupted. By the time my mother tried to step in, tears were streaming down my face. My step dad, none-too-lightly, shoved her away with his free hand turned back to Jaymes, no doubt ready to shout some more. Before he could get a word out, my brother did the stupidest, most courageous thing I’d ever seen him do. He cleared his throat…and spit directly in my step dad’s reddening face.
It was dead quiet as my chin practically hit the floor. I was only able to hear the panting of my brother, a mixed tumult of rage and a lack of ability to breathe while being pinned by his neck against the wall. Shocked, the abuser dropped my brother to wipe his face with the back of his hand. And that was it. He didn’t chase after my brother as Jaymes stomped from my parent’s room to his own. I trailed behind him, watching in admiration as he emptied a duffel bag and began packing what little belongings he had. Then it hit me, he was leaving. I couldn’t blame him, but as I sat there watching him, I realized that I didn’t want him to go. This bully that I had grown up my whole life fearing turned out to be a hero in disguise.
One good thing did come out of that awful night and that was that I finally understood my brother. I understood that no matter how many times he had made fun of me or punched me or messed with me, he really did care about me. A lot has changed since then, but one thing I can say with one hundred percent certainty is that my brother is and will always be someone I can look up to and count on. He is and will always be my best friend.