My brother's broken arm
When my brother broke his arm, he was wearing my favorite t-shirt. He was in high school, and I was in college, and we were about the same t-shirt size. I had competed in some fencing events, and had a shirt from the Vassar College tournament where I fenced unremarkably. But damn, the t-shirt was nice. It was grey and it had a Maroon stripe outlining the image of a foil down the left side of the front, and the name and date of the tournament on the right. It fit me just perfect, and apparently it fit my brother pretty well too, because he had stolen it from my laundry and worn it that day while I was at my summer job.
My brother broke his arm by crashing his bike into a stop sign or some such maneuver. He crashed his bike one way or another, I do know that, and he landed on his elbow. He got cut up really bad, splattering blood all over my favorite shirt. He came home kind of dazed and messed up and I was about to go on a date with T. T and I left as my parents took Andy to the hospital.
The next day I had a date with P. We went to an outdoor park that focuses on the fine and performing arts. I had been told in the morning that my brother had to have surgery on his arm, and was still in the hospital. They were going to visit him later in the day. The magnitude of this was somehow lost on me. I knew my brother would be home in a day or two, and I didn't really see the importance of visiting him in the hospital. For various reasons I will not delve into in this post, I think I did not understand the concept of being supportive, although I will say that the main reason for my lack of understanding was the lack of support I myself received growing up.
When I came home from Artpark that night with P, my parents were furious. I missed my chance to visit Andy in the hospital. All I could think of at the time was how my parents always took a perfectly good day and ruined it for me by yelling and being all pissed off. I was never allowed to just have one nice day.
Looking back, I feel guilty and selfish about this, but after all my brother got even with me. He ruined my favorite t-shirt.
My brother broke his arm by crashing his bike into a stop sign or some such maneuver. He crashed his bike one way or another, I do know that, and he landed on his elbow. He got cut up really bad, splattering blood all over my favorite shirt. He came home kind of dazed and messed up and I was about to go on a date with T. T and I left as my parents took Andy to the hospital.
The next day I had a date with P. We went to an outdoor park that focuses on the fine and performing arts. I had been told in the morning that my brother had to have surgery on his arm, and was still in the hospital. They were going to visit him later in the day. The magnitude of this was somehow lost on me. I knew my brother would be home in a day or two, and I didn't really see the importance of visiting him in the hospital. For various reasons I will not delve into in this post, I think I did not understand the concept of being supportive, although I will say that the main reason for my lack of understanding was the lack of support I myself received growing up.
When I came home from Artpark that night with P, my parents were furious. I missed my chance to visit Andy in the hospital. All I could think of at the time was how my parents always took a perfectly good day and ruined it for me by yelling and being all pissed off. I was never allowed to just have one nice day.
Looking back, I feel guilty and selfish about this, but after all my brother got even with me. He ruined my favorite t-shirt.
posted by EMLB at 12:38 PM
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