Straight No Chaser

Hurt Goodness Owwie

my brother got hurt in his game tonight. major, major frown.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

the scar over his right eye? i did that. accidentally, of course; i was four and didn't know my own strength, he'd apparently gotten on my nerves at the pool (note the swim trunks), and maybe i needed my nails trimmed. anyway. my fault. his way of dealing with boo-boos, then, was to do exactly what you see above: curl up on the carpet, sucking furiously on his pacifier and tugging furiously at his ear.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

he had eczema on his face when he was born. nothing major, just sensitive skin that turned red and bumpy when it was exposed to anything harsher than, well, air. supposedly this fascinated me; i liked to test his durability with lotions that made his little face explode into a textbook illustration of baby acne (but really, look at those eyelashes, how could you be mad at that tater tot for long?). and he never really cried, just sort of...drew his face into the above and sniffled a bit. little as he was, he had this idea that he shouldn't make any girly displays of weakness.

he's still like that, more or less. he was furious and in pain and totally disgusted with himself (after his injury what was left of the team got their asses handed to them), but he made the knot face and was quiet, even as they pinched and probed his ankle. he's seventeen, and macho, and he does not cry, not around people. around me, sure, but i don't count; i'm not people. he gave it a couple of tears when the therapist left the room, squeezed my knee and said "fuck this, it hurts." "yeah," i said. i held his hand. he wiped his eyes when his girlfriend came in. i guess they aren't there yet.

he is deadly frustrated with the world, currently. it isn't his fault, except in the sense that he needs to practice more graceful landings. he'll be okay. he'll limp around over the weekend and be ready to practice on monday afternoon, hopefully.

suddenly i'm sad and i don't know why. down yonder in shreveport, marcus is sad too, because he learned this weekend that black males account for sixty-three percent of the felonies reported yearly in the grand state of louisiana. big surprise, i said. red state. but it affected him deeply. i wish mine were something as profound as that.

but i think it's something else. i'm starting to worry that i'm a bad person.

and not because i scratched and poked at my brother when he was a baby. maybe because i'm no longer shocked by ugly statistics. maybe because i'm the only one who thinks that decaf joke is hilarious.

i guess it's okay. somebody's not afraid of me anymore. that's nice.