Shattered

You might not believe me, but as I write this, I am sitting at my desk, in a formal gown, hair still tied up.  It has been five minutes since I got home from my senior Homecoming dance and bowling with friends afterwards.  It should be the best night of my life, and in a way, it was.  I raced cars with one of my best friends, I beat the snot out of another in bowling, and I found out how much I fail at pool.  But, somehow, all these things, these happy memories, are overshadowed by a ten minute car ride.  Six hours of care-free life eclipsed by ten minutes of the worst moments of my life.

I thought on that drive from the dance, that my emotions could not be lower, that I had hit rock bottom.  I had just comforted one of my best friends—I’ll call her Lilly—because she was having a hard time with her boyfriend.  And I could do nothing except be a shoulder to cry on.  I was helpless to do anything, for I have never actually been in a relationship.  That feeling of defeat, of shear loneliness as I tried to help her through her struggle is not one I want to feel again.  And I thought it could get no worse.  I wish that were so.  

During the time with Lilly, probably 30 minutes tops, and another friend, most definitely a better, longer friend than I, my brother—call him Meph—was trying to hurry me to leave, to abandon my friend in her hour of need.  I admit, it was I who started the argument, but I had not realized to the extent it would actually go.  I thought it would be a typical argument for Meph and I, I say my opinion, he says his, we argue for about two minutes and give up, knowing neither of us will move from our positions.  I am sad to say, this argument went horribly wrong.

Unfortunately, there was some good that came out of it.  I discovered a thing about the female of the human species, and being a girl, it hit me pretty hard.  As women, we tend to give the benefit of the doubt, believing that a person is good even when shown evidence to the contrary.  That is, until before our very eyes, that vision of skewed innocence is completely and terribly shattered.  This is what happened between Meph and I.  I will not go into details about the argument, mainly because I can’t actually remember them; they were washed away, drowned by the true import of the argument itself.  The only thing I do remember, is Meph has a different view of friendship than I do, and that he doesn’t really care about the feelings of those around him.

This was not the heart-rending revelation I had to come.  I knew Meph didn’t care about what others thought, I just hadn’t realized it went so deep.  For in those two minutes of arguing and eight of silent tears, I realized that my brother, my very blood, is utterly heartless.  He has no conscience.  I had always viewed him as the gentlemen our parents raised him to be.  I always saw him as my little brother, someone to mentor and protect.  I always gave him the benefit of the doubt.

No more.  That perfect vision is shattered terribly.  Not even when I recall the smiling brother during vacations or dinner conversations am I blinded by his assumed innocence.  Not even when I see him laughing while losing a game of pool do I think him guileless.  And especially not when he tells me to “get over it,” do I see a shred of the compassion I thought he held.  No.  If it is possible to despise your own blood kin, I freely admit to doing so.  If it were only a difference of opinions, it would be so simple!  But it is more than that, far deeper than that.  He has no heart.  He cares for no one but himself.  He threatened me, his own sister, with a beating if I even opened my mouth to argue with him!  And me, being the coward I am, complied!

I cannot stand the sight of my brother anymore!  My little brother!  The same blood runs through his veins as in mine.  What makes us so different?  What?  Or am I truly a soulless monster like he?  I can’t be, can I?  This whole ordeal started because I stood by Lilly’s side in her time of trial, and she stuck by mine not 20 minutes later for the very incident I tell you now!  Can I be such a monster as he?  I pray to God not.  Yet I cannot be certain.

That is true suffering.  Having your heart ripped from your chest as you watch the innocent sibling you’ve always known tear your beliefs and visions into minuscule pieces and stomp them into the earth with the heal of his shoe.  And then he leaves you to wallow in the tatters of your own ignorance, trying to collect what little hope you have left.  That is how I am now.  Broken by my own blood.  I cannot see how Lilly constantly bounces back after each blow in her own life.  I cannot see.  I am not as strong as she.  I am a coward.  I stay with my friends through thick and thin but I run from my own turmoil.  It’s no wonder my brother is so different than I.  Who would really want to be such a hypocrite?

And now I’m rambling, but can you really blame me?  I just went through the worst time of my life, and I know in all actuality that this doesn’t connect anywhere to Faust.  But in all reality, I am suffering too much of my own pain to care about the pain of a fictional character.  For having the vision of a darling brother—and despite all the evidence I have received, I gave him the benefit of the doubt—a brother who I trusted to tell me the truth if nothing else, having that hope for a better future dashed like so many dreams of mine, that broke me.  I now know what my all time emotional low is.  I cannot get much lower than this.  I just hope my friends will be there to help me, as I was there to help them.  I can’t do this on my own.