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“Hey, I don’t think you’ve ever said…” I started.
“Said what?”
“Do you have any siblings?”
There was a long pause. A meaningful one. One that had me reading a lot into it.
“I’ve got two half brothers,” he admitted, nodding. “Same mom,” he clarified. “When she got gone from my dad, she got herself set up with a nice, stable guy who didn’t snort all the money away. Had herself two kids. Raised ‘em up.”
“Why does it sound like you don’t know them?” I asked.
“‘Cause I don’t,” he admitted.
“How old are they?”
“Couple years younger than me. Don’t remember exactly how many. Think she pushed one of them out when I was still in the hospital for this,” he said, waving at his face.
“Wait… what? Your mom left you with your father?” she asked. “And started this whole life while that asshole ‘raised’ you? Even after the accident?”
“In her defense, I don’t remember a day of my childhood the two of them weren’t going at it. Verbally and physically.”
“I don’t care,” I said, sitting up, feeling rage flood my system. “You don’t leave your kids with an abusive father. Not even to get yourself free. No fucking way.”
“Your dad left you with your mom.”
“It’s different. She was… negligent. Not abusive. Your father was a piece of shit.”
“Not arguing with you,” he agreed, reaching up to rub my knee. “It’s sweet,” he said. “You getting riled up for shit that happened decades ago.”
“How did he get to keep you after that accident?” I asked.
“Child services took me for a while. He went off to rehab. Eventually, they figured he was straight enough. Honestly, they probably just didn’t have anywhere to stick me,” he said. “No one wants teen boys. Just a fact of the system.”
“What happened after you went back?”
“I was bigger,” he said, shrugging it off like that wasn’t super fucked up. He was bigger, so he didn’t have to worry about getting knocked around so much. “And I was meaner,” he said, eyes going a little dark. “You know how kids are dicks?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m familiar.” I remembered a lot of nasty shit thrown at me because my mom was a drinker, because of where I lived, because I got school breakfast and lunch, because my clothes were thrifted. All that typical bully shit that it took me a long time to get strong enough to stand up to.
“Well, they’re especially nasty when they got shit to pick on you about,” he said, once again gesturing toward his scars. “After a while, I got sick of their shit. Nearly went to juvie for breaking one of the assholes’ jaw. Figure that might have been the last straw that had ‘em sticking me back with my old man.”
How different would his life have been if his mother had been halfway decent, had she given a shit, had she raised him like she’d raised her other kids?
Would he have been less guarded, less closed off from people?
Would he have gone in a different career path?
Would I ever have met him?
It was fucked up to almost be thankful that fate had put him in my path, when to do so, it required so much suffering on his part.
That said, I was thankful he was in my life. That I could start to build a future with him. That we could maybe break the cycles that had been haunting our families for generations.
“I’m sorry everyone in your childhood just kept failing you,” I told him, reaching out to slip my fingers between his.
“Eh, I turned out alright,” he said, giving me a lazy smile, but there was something deeper in his eyes. “Besides, all that shit… it led us here, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. “Two fucked up people trying to figure out how to have a relationship this damn late in their lives.”
