Brother

19 Oct

Day 39 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

I never had a brother

but if I did

I bet I know what kind of a kid

he’d be.

He’d be the boy who looks cockeyed

at another guy

twice his size and doesn’t realize

that with one smooth sailing punch

he’d go down and bleed all over himself.

But he’d also be the guy who wipes his nose

stands up and spits crimson

shooting stars

into the jar head’s face.

He’d be the boy who chases girls

and when he tags them at recess

he’d never say “You’re it!”

but rather, “You’re the one, now”

In hopes that he’d make them feel special,

like he picked her not because she was the slowest

but because she had let him.

And together, (he’d think), was an unspoken

agreed game of catch and release.

He’d be the guy who says, “Buckle up” to me

while I gaze absentmindedly

at the motion picture trees

flying by foggy eyes on the highway.

And as I reach for the seat belt

I see that he hasn’t buckled in either,

but he’d be more upset if I died

so he tries to make me

safer in his ride.

If I had a brother

he’d be the guy who opens the door on the first date

but then doesn’t have the courtesy to wait

for the second date

polite goodnight kiss.

He’d go in and if he was rejected,

well hey!

At least he tried,

and his pride would rarely be affected.

And we’d have played pirates as children

and held sticks and with them

made ourselves feel like rebels.

So rouge and tough that even

snapping neighborhood dogs

wouldn’t seem so “ruff.”

He’d be the boy who touches a girls face

and means it,

the boy who calls his mother

and when they fight, he leaves it

because he’d rather hang up

agreeing to disagree

than to say goodbye on

a bad note.

He’d know good music

and come see my plays

and on those days where nothing seems

to go my way

he’d call me and scream

our favorite line to our favorite scene.

Always making more sense to me

than the boys who kissed

but then didn’t call,

the ones who couldn’t possibly

have come from mothers,

from women,

because these men,

these men,

they are big and hard

and I don’t think a single one of them

has ever opened a door for a lady

without glancing at her goods

behind.

It’s not their fault,

it’s just how they wind

and are wound up

to make themselves feel grown up

when really-

These hard men are all like my brother.

Boys who tried and fell,

boys who got punched but now know well

the hurt and pain of embarrassment,

and that it’s NOT okay to cry,

no matter how many

blonde and pale silky

emotionally wilty

girls snuggle in bed and urge him to open up.

Because no matter what

women know that they want:

a man who can hold her hand

and punch someone with the other.

They want a man who opens the door

but can look down once more

without her noticing.

And so,

if I had a brother,

I know he’d be the kind of boy,

the kind of guy,

the kind of man

who is kind of all three of those ages

at once-

The boyfriend who you want your dad to like,

the man who teaches your daughter

how to ride a two-wheeled bike.

The person behind you in the checkout line,

who lends you two singles

so you don’t have to stand there

embarrassed, searching

through your purse, lips pursing

picking out twenty dimes.

The hard working man who takes two jobs

who quiets the handle as he comes in a night,

and can still find the strength to

make love to his wife

after he tucks my nephews into bed.

He’d be that boy who insisted on being read

a bedtime story.

My father and mother never gave me a brother,

and I can’t say that I’m sad,

but I hope I find the man

who is crazy for me,

like I’m crazy about

the brother I never had.

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One Response to “Brother”

  1. Kumar Gautam October 20, 2012 at 4:32 am #

    Wow…all sis would agree to you.

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