Like I mentioned, Michael wasn’t just the name of my best friend growing up, that was also my brother’s name. He’s almost exactly four years younger than me, his birthday in January falling 10 days before my own. We were close as siblings while he was young. I barely remember those moments, but I’ve heard from my mom that they were always amiable. Fortunately for me, one incredibly prescient moment was captured on video. Judging by the timestamp, I’m about seven in the video, my brother three, and my mom’s filming Michael, sitting on her bed. A few seconds in, my head shoots up into the frame, Bugs Bunny style, and my mom suggests that I sit next to Michael on the bed. While doing a quarter-hearted vogue, I politely and excitedly tell my mom “No!” and proceed to stunt for the camera. For a few seconds. Then Michael pulls me backwards and I end up leaning onto the bed and giving him a hug.
Aside from predicting my queerness and complete inability to move with any sense of rhythm, this little vignette also sums up the relationship I had with my brother for the first part of our lives together; Nicholas got all the attention by virtue of being smart, loud, and older, and Michael got the affection and coddling that’s natural for the babies of a family. Sure, we might have gotten into each other’s hair, but we loved each other. Especially as we both grew up, I loved when I could play with my brother and his friends, because they were always so easy-going. So nice. It was fun to make sure they were all playing fair and having fun, and that my brother was being taken care of. I took the job of “big brother” seriously.
When I befriended the older Michael, he and my brother hit it off, in a similar way to how I hit it off with my brother’s friends. However, that friendship between the Michaels would end up changing in a subtle way that had a huge impact. The older Michael would frequently rope in the younger Michael to the Nicholas torment. Pretty soon, the gentle teasing that I was accustomed to getting from my brother turned into more venomous comments. But unlike the older Michael and the rest of my friends, I had the higher ground with my brother. And so, he became the target for all of the retaliation I felt towards my abusers, over the time the abuse was happening.
It must’ve been a horrifying shift for him. Over the course of that summer from fifth to sixth grade, his older brother turned into a monster. For Michael, he’d approach his brother and ask if he wanted to play together, just like they had for years and years. But Michael’s brother would yell and scream, tell him to go away and shut the door to his room. Michael would beg and beg, but his brother would never relent. Eventually, Michael’s brother got violent. He’d hit Michael, slap him and push him around when he would cry. And Michael would fight back, trying to hurt his brother because of the hurt he’d inflicted upon Michael. The boys’ mom would do what she could, but she was just as confused and disgusted at what her older son had become. She’d yell at him, and he’d yell at her back, often escalating into a screaming match that their father finally broke up. The boys would go to their own rooms in tears.
I don’t know what Michael would do, but I know what Nicholas did.
He screamed even more. He sobbed. He would punch himself. Slap himself. Bite himself. All of the rage that was flowing through his little body would come out in full onto himself and his belongings.
As a kid, I broke so many things in “accidents,” which was code for having thrown them into the wall. I slammed my door so many times that the lock was broken and the hinges were loose. I had bite marks all up and down my arms that I hid under long sleeves. I’d pinch myself, or slam my head into the wall to point where I got sick. But I never did more than that, because before I would get the chance, I’d heard a knock at the door. And it was always Michael, coming into my room to apologize.
I’d start crying again and hug him and say I’m sorry, too.
I’m still sorry for that. I’m so sorry, Michael. Your big brother became a monster who hurt you when he should’ve been looking out for you. He brought the devil into our house, and he can’t fathom the idea that he hurt you, too. He’ll feel that pain until the day he dies, and he’s going to have done everything he can to have made up for that cruelty before that day comes.
I’m so sorry that I let this horrible person destroy both our lives, and that he turned us against each other.
I’m so sorry.