Walkin' Like A Fairy

"Walk properly. No. Properly. Heels down. And stop with all this... … … mincing. For fuck sake, watch me. Your hips should not be swaying."

This walking demonstration was not needed or asked for. But my brother loved to be "helpful." 

Mum used to say he had an opinion on everything. 

Politics. Literature. Raising children. The list was endless. So, of course, why wouldn't he be trying to teach this queer 14-year-old egg how to move in a way that wouldn't get the living shit kicked out of them? 

According to him, I walked like a fairy. Like a girl. And he meant that as an insult. 

I had secretly hoped someone had put him up to it. But I don't think they did. I think he was doing this off his own back. Couldn't be besmirching the family name. He had a reputation to keep up. We went to the same school. I was four years below him. 

At first, he would acknowledge me in the corridors. In the lunch hall. In the yard. Though very quickly he stopped. Once he realised that my geeky, nerdy, awkward, easily picked on reputation preceded me.

After that, he went out of his way to treat me like I was a stranger. 

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He tried to replace me once. 

When he was in uni, both he and his girlfriend "adopted" a 16-year-old they had met while playing Magic The Gathering. He would go round to their Halls. Play video games. They treated him like a sibling. And at first, they included me in their plans. Wanted me to be friends. And then … … … I was no longer needed. 

The final straw came when the 16-year-old accused me of breaking his controller, I hadn't even touched it, and both my brother and his girlfriend not only reprimanded me, but also demanded that either me or mum pay for him to get a brand new one. Mum was livid. 

I don't actually know what happened to the kid. Apparently, things went south, and they no longer speak. 

Paul never apologised. He just pretended like nothing had happened. And like the doormat we are, we just took it lying down because... … … he was our brother and I loved him. 

It's sometimes amazing just how much love can excuse, when done by those closest to you.

Even when he outright stated, in both words and action, that he would rather have a random stranger as a sibling than me. 

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We no longer talk. Not because of any of this other stuff. 

No. 

Because I left home. 

I left home after a fight with my mum. It was long overdue. We were not getting on. She couldn't deal with us having a - "none superpowered" - neurodiversity. DID... … … It was not like autism. Or ADHD. Not in her book.

"Why wear it like a badge?" "Give me a reason why you should be proud of having this 'condition"? She had said the day after I... came out (?) to her. I couldn't. So … … … it was decided that we should go to therapy to "nip this in the bud." Anyway … … … we left home. Hadn't spoken to mum for a whole week, and it was killing us.  

And, my brother, without any knowledge, being on the other side of the world, decided that I must have been responsible for the fighting. 

I still remember that night, like it was yesterday. It's not. 

It was March 27th. 9:45 pm. A rainy Thursday. We were at a pub quiz. It was me and the girls from work. We'd gone to celebrate. It was my last day with the charity. The contract had ended, and, unfortunately, it hadn't been renewed due to funding. It was sad, but... it wasn't like I was going anywhere. I was still staying on. Just going back to voluntary. 

So yeah... I was sofa surfing and about to be jobless. Yet still we soldiered on, because … … … I guessed it couldn't get any worse. 

Famous last words. 

Anyway... we were on round 3 of the quiz. 

People had their phones out and were tap tap tapping away. It was one of these quizzes where you do it on your phone, so long as you don't Google the answers. 

We didn't need to Google. 

We had Leonardo... the hot Italian manager who was feeding us the answers. Why he was doing this? Not entirely sure, to be honest with you. We were doing alright on our own. But we were still grateful for the assist. He was a smart man, Leonardo. 

So yeah... Round 3 Question … … … 

A WhatsApp from Paul? Okay … … … It was neither my birthday nor a holiday, so we were already taken aback. I slide open the message and read what he has to say. 

… … … 

Inside this message was the most supercilious, ragebaiting tirade I had ever had the misfortune of reading. 

I will summarise, as to include the exact words would make our piss boil that much more. 

He called me an ungrateful, lazy, benefit scrounger. How I should be ashamed of treating Mum so badly and for running away like a petulant brat. Telling me I should go home and apologise on bended knee. And then included a playlist of songs that he thought would be "appropriate" for the situation.

Oh, he also - and this I will directly quote - "wish{ed} that Rachel Reeves cuts off your benefits". 

The air was blue. Rouge was furious. They had tapped out a reply before I could stop them. My work colleagues saw our rage. I showed them the message. 

They told me to block. To ignore and block. And... … … with great restraint … … … I did. 

I have not heard from him again. And … … … I don't know if I miss him. Is that horrible to say about your own flesh and blood? 

I was always disposable to him. Literally replaceable. But now the shoe is on the other foot, now that it is me doing the blocking, it feels... … … wrong. 

Not because I did it. But because I feel freer and happier than I have been in years.