Thursday, 23 February 2012

My Brother From Another Father.

           Cropped his forehead pimple out. That's what good sisters DO.

My brother and I stayed up late last night laughing and talking about how stupid life is. Nothing ever makes sense! I asked him for cupcakes but he bought me a dozen donuts. I heated them up for exactly eleven seconds each. He ate one to my four.

We talked about the death of our fathers, the mines in Western Australia, sex, acid trips, childrens books, girlfriends, apathy, depression, suicide, and relapsing.

I hadn't seen him for a whole year. When this guy was born in 1980, my heart swelled out and I was in LOVE .. used to creep into his bedroom at night and watch him sleep in his cot, terrified he would get taken away from me. I pushed him to the shops in his stroller, bought him stuffed toys with my pocket money, and taught him how to write his name. When he was five I even taught him how terrifying horror films are. (Mate I am SO SORRY.)

I used to covet his pacifier, just really wished I had one to suck. One day when I was about nine, I grabbed one and ran outside, bent down ... and sucked on his dummy.

It didn't feel as good as it looked. So disappointing.

That hot day in summer I felt sick, waiting for him to come home from school and be told the terrible news that he'd never see his dad again. Years later I told him everything I knew about why what happened happened. I believed he had a right to know. I believe you should tell the truth about hard things.

Last night I watched him eat my spaghetti bolgnaise and I love him so hard. I want to make the whole world right, just for him. He is one of the smartest, capable, funny guys I have ever met in my life.

Ladies, he's 31 years old and single ... if you'd like the chance of me being the Auntie of your children, please send through an application. You just need to have a good heart. (Great boobs don't hurt - but the guy's cerebellum is where it's all at, promise.)

We laughed so hard last night, each remembering in intricate detail the other's worst pants shitting story.

He's having lunch with my sisters on Saturday; I'll hear the laughing from here. Just stood on my drive and waved him off. Don't know when I'll see him again.

Bam Bam I got your back, and love you always. You ain't heavy.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...