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Poser
By Julie | September 10, 2007
A short story originally written September 11, 2006 (Edited 9-11-07)
My brother never opened his Christmas presents in 2001, 2002, and 2003. Christmas of 2004 and 2005 no one even bothered to buy him anything. We followed his wishes and made donations to charities in his name for his gifts. He won’t be opening any Christmas gifts this year either, on account of him dying yesterday, and all.
He started telling us before Christmas 2001, “I don’t need anything. I don’t want anything.” Still we added him to our Christmas lists and grabbed him something as we shopped. I don’t remember what I got him, probably something on an end cap I thought would do. I didn’t put a lot of thought into gifts; they were more of an obligation for me. That Christmas, Mom filled the tree’s bottom, covering the floor with gifts for my brother, my sister and me. Like gluttons, my sister and I dug right in, we smeared wrapping paper all over the floor, then tore the packaging off our prized possessions we have since forgotten all about. Who knows if we even still have them?
My brother loaded his gifts up into a pile, and said “Thanks, but I don’t need anything,” Then he asked if we liked what he got us. He said he wanted to get us something special. He got me a book or something, kind a weird gift from him, I didn’t read it. He’s knows I don’t like thinking big thoughts or nothing.
Anyway, we reminded him greed is the point of Christmas, and to open his presents.
To which he replied, “Jesus is the point of Christmas.”
Then I rolled my eyes, my sister laughed, and Mom said, “Open the gifts!”
He refused. The presents sat in a pile for a couple months. Mom asked constantly when he’d cave and open them. He just said, “I told you, I have everything I want.” Eventually she got tired of asking and stacked them in a corner of the basement for when he’d “Quit his stupid foolishness.”
It wasn’t as big of an issue for the 2002 / 2003 Christmas’. By 2002 he was in basic training, ready to go save the world. After his enlistment he was never home for Christmas, and on account of his death, he won’t be again. So, for Christmas 2002 and 2003 we added his gifts to the Christmas pile, putting a little more thought into it so he’d open them. Still, when he came home from leave he refused, telling us, “If you want to spend your money give it to a church, or a needy family, or some charity. I don’t need anything.” Then he’d add something lame like, “Right now, I just want some time with you, while I still have it.” I’d kind of roll my eyes, thinking, ‘Geez, why make it sound like you’re going to die or something.’ Besides, before he became a goody-two-shoes Christian he never wanted time with us. He wanted to go find some drugs, a girl and leave us alone.
Later I tried to catch him up on Days of our Lives. He said, “Man, I don’t need that stuff now, it ain’t real.”
I slapped him on the back, “Dude, you posin’ or what? What happened to you man, you used to be the coolest.”
“No man,” He shook his head. “Not posin’. I wasn’t cool, I was lost. But now, now things are good. I have a purpose.” He tried to talk about God, or the world, or something he thought meant something. I kind of tuned him out, wondering where my goal-less brother went, and how I’d get him back. Meanwhile he talked, and tried to spend all his time with his family. He told us stupid crap, like he loved us, before he had to leave. Mom hugged him and cried. I rolled my eyes, called him a poser, slapped his back and told him to get out of here. {mospagebreak}
He just laughed and smiled at me. Then said, “You’ll see, little brother, you’ll see. Something’s gonna hit you, it’s gonna make you see other peoples problems. Then you’ll know how good you have it. You’ll want to do something to help.”
I rolled my eyes, “Whatever.”
See, there’s more to this story. My brother used to be the coolest guy on the planet, and I wanted to be just like him. He never cared about grades, or achieving nothing in life. Don’t get me wrong, he had goals, lofty goals of drinking a lot of beer, or harder substances, smoking A LOT and as he would say, ‘not that crap you buy in the store either, poser!’, and women, lots of women, lot’s of women he’d brag had ‘clothes that just fell off for him.’
He didn’t get a job after he graduated high school, though Mom fought him all the time, saying, “I’m not going to take care of you forever!” She’d scream and holler, and he’d say, “Yeah. Whatever! I ain’t getting no dumb job.” She’d tell him he had too. Mom worked a full time job, followed by a part time job. Meanwhile my idol, my saintly brother, sat on the couch, smoked pot, and watched TV. He wasn’t even ashamed to admit he was hooked on 2 soap operas. When teased he’d say, “The chic’s did ‘em.” Then when Mom would get home he’d ask for some money to go out, she’d hand him some cash and scream, “I’m not supporting you forever, get a job!” He’d walk out the door, cash in hand, and stay out until Mom left for work the next morning. His system was perfect, he totally played her.
When Mom would cry and say she just didn’t know what to do about him some people would say, “Throw him out. Stop giving him money.”
She’d say, “I can’t, I have to support him, he’s my son.”
They’d say, “He’s 19! Show him tough love if you want him to grow up.”
She’d say, “I can’t kick him out. He needs money. Oh, what can I do!” She was an enabler, my brother knew it, and knew how to play her. Man, I was going to be just like him. Maybe if he hadn’t tried to amount to something he wouldn’t have died yesterday.
9-11-01 changed everything, for a lot of people. But for my brother, well he said it woke something up inside him. I say it made him weak.
I came home from school that day and he was up, dressed, and his hair was combed! He was sitting up, not lying back lounging, glued to the TV. He looked like he was almost crying. It was hours before Mom came home and he was dressed, I knew then something was wrong. He looked at me, shook his head, and asked, “You seen this?” I glanced up in time to see the TV replay the second plane crashing into the Twin Tower.
“Yeah, sucks.” I’d said. We’d watched a little at school. And I’d gotten all sad about it. On the way home I’d been counting on my brother to cheer me up, make me forget about it. I was hoping he’d say something like, ‘Come on man, here’s some weed. ‘s not like we can change it or anything, let’s get happy.’ I really wanted that weed.
But no, he was sober, and alert, and clean, and apparently thinking. Man, that ticked me off. He wanted to, like, talk about it too. “It looks like special effects, ya know, from a movie or some’in.” He’d said, “I can’t believe it’s real. Can you imagine what those people are going through? All those people who lost their family… Most of them don’t even know if the person they love is living or dead yet. How could this happen?” {mospagebreak}
So we sat down and talked about it, and watched TV. I didn’t get no weed, I just got sad again. And my brother cried at some of the stories. He cried! My brother! My idol! He cried. I called him a wuss. He just shook his head and said, ‘Naw, Man, you don’t get it. Those people. Their dead, Man! They didn’t do nothing, ‘cept go to work and try to take care of their families. And the ones that aren’t dead, well, how do you live through some’in like that and just go on?” I shrugged my shoulders, and thought, ‘Darn you! You weren’t supposed to make me sad.’ I mean, he was the one I counted on to make me NOT think. And if he couldn’t do it, his substances could. Where were the substances I needed?
After the towers were hit my bother said, “Something woke me up.” He had supper ready for Mom when she got home that night, and the next night, and the next. He started picking up the house he’d used to regularly trash. He stayed in at night, and actually woke up in the morning. Then he decided to get a job. Geez, I should’ve known he’d gone crazy then. He said even though he was just a waiter he was proud he to be working. He’d used the word proud, and I still didn’t get he was loco. It was when he started going to church, and talking about God I knew I’d lost my brother. I asked what his game was.
He said, “Dude, don’t you get it. People died, the worlds different, nothing’s the same. It took a tragedy to wake me up. What’s it going to take you?”
To which I said, “You’re posin’, right?”
He said he’d pray for me, or something, I don’t really remember for sure. I quit listening. He wasn’t my idol anymore.
They called yesterday after he died, in Iraq. They told Mom something about a bomb, and a suicide bomber. They’re sending his body back tomorrow, this time he won’t tell me he loves me, or wants to spend time with us while he can. He don’t get more time, and neither do we.
Mom didn’t go to work. My sister didn’t go to school. I don’t think I’ll go out with my friends and stay out all night tonight. Mom won’t yell at me when I ask for money and she tells me to get a job. I’m not asking for money tonight, I’m staying here. They could need me, my family. What am I thinking? What’s wrong with me that I’m caring about this?
What happened to him? Why did my brother want to make a ‘difference’ in the world? Wasn’t he on the right start of not caring and living for himself? What made him want to live for other people? People who don’t give no care about what he’s doing so they bomb the good ones? If he hadn’t started caring he wouldn’t be dead.
My sister’s in her room getting high. My mom’s in the living room reading the Bible, she never even used to pray before my brother started doing all that talk about God. And me, I’m thinking, I blame him for making me think. See, I’m scared. He told us he prayed for us and now he’s gotten my mom reading the Bible and going to church. What are prayers anyway? Is it like a curse? Is it something that’s going to make me want to be decent like my brother? Are those prayers I’ve been trying to run from going to catch up to me? That poser! I need to get me some weed, and stop this thinking.
Is this the tragedy he said I needed to wake me up? How long can I resist and stay asleep?
Ah hell, I need to go see about my mom. I can hear her crying, someone has to take care of her. I guess it has to be me now. How dare he make me care!
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