That same year Lewis killed a man with his car. Night after night men in black suits arrived and were ushered to the kitchen table to discuss things the rest of the children weren’t allowed to hear. My mother cried a lot but a deal was made and life carried on as usual. That was probably the night my brother decided to become a lawyer. He became adept at talking his way out of anything.
If I spoke out
against him it would only make my life more of a hell. One of his favourite
stances was to corner me, his six foot something frame towering over me. Then
he would start shouting insults and calling me names with bulging eyes and
gritted teeth. “Dufus” was his word of choice for a long time. He is the only
one I’ve ever heard use that word and it will forever be associated with him in
my mind. It gives me chills just to write it here. If I did yell loud enough to
bring my mother running he would claim it had all been my fault. He was good at
lying so there was no point to trying to make my mother understand what really
happened. She didn’t want to hear it anyway. She would yell at us both and Lewis
would smile while I cried. So I shut up and endured. When Lewis went away to
university that autumn, he never looked back, and those of us left behind
breathed easier. He married young, at the age of 21 to a 19-year-old girl. My
mother cried but I was relieved. He would be moving on permanently. I would
never have to listen to his taunts or endure his abuse again.
Unfortunately,
but not unexpectedly, being so outmatched by an older sibling made me turn on
my younger brother Ben. He was three years younger and someone I could
intimidate. I fought with him nearly every afternoon, verbally and physically,
sometimes until we were both scratched and bleeding. But one day, as we both
stood in the kitchen breathing heavily, bruised from a fistfight, faces red
with anger, we grabbed weapons to up the stakes. I think it was a broom and a
knife. We stood paused ready to do battle again. We knew it was either kill or
quit. Somehow an unspoken détente set in. Lewis would have killed me. But Ben
put down his weapon and we walked our separate ways. That was it. I didn’t want
to fight anymore. I wanted to avoid anything that would create a fight. I was
mentally defeated.
The lasting
result of living with Lewis is the need for peace. I hate arguments and raised
voices. I cannot tolerate name-calling or verbal abuse of any kind. I told Alex
early on if he ever called me a bad name I would leave him. He has respected
that. It has also turned me into a people-pleaser. I learned to say what I
thought people wanted to hear. I wouldn’t argue because arguing never got me
anywhere in the past. I became a listener. I absorbed everyone else’s pain,
listened to their complaints, sympathised with their bad days and never relayed
my own stories. One evening Alex got into a heated discussion with a neighbour
outside his house. I couldn’t hear much of it but I could hear Alex say “F***
you” in a loud voice before coming home.
Instead of being angry I was amazed because I have never been able to do
that. In my whole adult life I have never sworn out loud at anyone. The closest
I have come is some veiled threats behind the steering wheel with the windows
rolled up. I fear retaliation too much. I told Alex I couldn’t do what he just
did because I would worry that the neighbour would decide to come over and do
some damage to me or my home. He said with complete confidence: “He’s not going
to do anything.” I believed him. Well, mostly. But he was right. My years of
growing up with Lewis had made me expect the worst and gave me little
confidence. In my adult life I have always told people what I thought they
wanted to hear so they wouldn’t get angry or start an argument. I have no doubt
that from my rocky childhood, the inability to navigate anything but the
smoothest of rides in life contributed to my inability to come clean with
anyone about my disease.
Goodbye Keanu at
www.amazon.com/goodbye+keanu
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