Page 82 of Unspoken Words
“Fine. Your father thought it ironic that your first major football injury involved your groin.”
He nodded, sarcastically. “It’s the third most common football injury.”
“It’s also the first most common sexual injury,” I added.
“It is not.”
“Is.”
Chris furrowed his brow. “Is it really?”
“No.” I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. “But for you, maybe.”
“Makes sense,” he mumbled against my head, securing me to him. “Only a real man goes at it hard.”
“Ew. Gross.” I tried to break free and punch his chest.
“Your struggle is useless.”
I punched some more.
“Ah … I’ve missed this. It’s so nice to see you, Elliephant, even if your hair looks weird.”
“It does not.”
“Does too. You look like Barbie.”
“I donot.”
“Did Moron play with Barbies when he was young? Is that why he wants you to look like one?”
I pulled back and glared at him. “His name is Byron, not Moron. And, no, he didn’t.”
My idiot brother smirked but didn’t say another word. He was wise not to bait me further, or perhaps he knew his snipe had hit its intended target. Either way, he let it go, and I was thankful.
I scoffed. “I guess you can’t help me with my bags then?”
“Guess not.” He lifted his crutch, as if to garner sympathy.
“You’re so lazy.”
He coughed. “Barbie.”
I coughed back. “Pirate.”
*
Later that night,after sittingdown at the dining table and eating homemade pizza and lasagne with my family, I stepped outside for some fresh air. Unanswered questions and pestering demons whirled inside my head, nuisances I didn’t want to address let alone acknowledge they existed.
Rusted metal and weathered linoleum creaked as I lowered myself onto our old love swing, and for a split second, I feared for my safety. We’d had the swing for as long as I could remember, and I knew from experience that nothing lasted forever.
“Don’t do it,” Chris said, as he slowly made his way down the steps at our backdoor. “You’ve got so much to live for.”
I giggled and carefully planted my feet on the ground, stopping the swing’s momentum. “True. But sometimes you gotta live on the edge to discover going over it just isn’t an option.”
“Is that why you’ve come home?” he asked, hopping on his good foot until he’d turned around. “Because you’ve finally realised Moron is an edge not worth wasting your time on?” He fell with a plonk onto the seat, and it made noises I’d never heard it make before.
“Jesus, Chris! Is this thing gonna hold the two of us?”
