Before I realized the “boys are icky” lifestyle, I actually had a boyfriend whose name was Tom when I was around 15 years old. He came over one Friday night and before we went out, we stood talking to my mom and Nelson in the kitchen for a few minutes. Kyle had recently gotten a fish bowl that had three little gold fish in it. It was just a bowl, not an aquarium or anything fancy. The fish bowl was on the kitchen counter and for some reason, Tom stuck his fingers in it. I suppose maybe he wanted to pet the fish. I really don’t know why he did that.
Nelson had started a weekly routine on Saturday mornings. Kyle , who was seven at the time, would be served breakfast while he watched cartoons in the upstairs den. He would sit Indian style two feet in front of the TV, mesmerized by the cartoons. On this particular Saturday morning, I went downstairs to find my parents talking to each other in a mildly worrisome manner. Not end of the world worrisome, more like the type of worrisome I experience when I find that one of the dogs has eaten one of Robin’s shoes. It starts off like “Oh Shit”, yet quickly becomes and “Oh well”.
So I asked what was going on and my mother nodded her head toward the fishbowl. The three fish were floating on top.
“You’re upset the fish are asleep?”, I asked, being the honor student I was. My mother is a big hater of the sleeper inners.
“They’re dead, Kim”, said my mom. I’m sure what she really meant was, “They’re dead, Dumbass”. Good mothers didn’t call their children names, and neither did mine.
Did Tom murder my brother’s fish? Why, that son of a …….
“Do we have any bagels?”, I asked.
“In the bread drawer”, replied my mother.
“I’m making some toast for your brother. Hand me your bagel and I’ll toast it for you”, Nelson told me.
As I waited for my bagel to toast, my mother made a bowl of cereal for Kyle and put everything on a tray so Nelson could take it up to His Majesty once his toast was ready.
While I waited, something came over me. Something very evil. Something of which I am not proud. (OK a little proud. I am a human being, afterall).
When all was toasted, I offered to take Kyle’s breakfast up to him. My mother asked why, to which I replied, “Why not?. He’s my brother and I love him”.
They should have known something was up. What happened next really could have been prevented had Mom and Nelson stopped me. It really is all their fault. Kyle’s current shortcomings are their fault.
I carried the tray and sat it down next to him. “How come you brought it?”, asked inquisitive Little Kyle.
“Because you’re my brother and I love you”, I said, rustling his little head. Then I just stepped back, leaned on the doorjam with my arms folded and observed. First he shoveled in the cereal without looking at it. Perfect. Next, the top piece of toast. Right on target. Finally, he bit into the second piece of toast. He chewed once, then stopped. Horrified, he spit it out and then looked at the remaining piece of toast.
There laid his other two dead fish, staring up at him.
Kyle’s never been quite the same since.
Nelson had started a weekly routine on Saturday mornings. Kyle , who was seven at the time, would be served breakfast while he watched cartoons in the upstairs den. He would sit Indian style two feet in front of the TV, mesmerized by the cartoons. On this particular Saturday morning, I went downstairs to find my parents talking to each other in a mildly worrisome manner. Not end of the world worrisome, more like the type of worrisome I experience when I find that one of the dogs has eaten one of Robin’s shoes. It starts off like “Oh Shit”, yet quickly becomes and “Oh well”.
So I asked what was going on and my mother nodded her head toward the fishbowl. The three fish were floating on top.
“You’re upset the fish are asleep?”, I asked, being the honor student I was. My mother is a big hater of the sleeper inners.
“They’re dead, Kim”, said my mom. I’m sure what she really meant was, “They’re dead, Dumbass”. Good mothers didn’t call their children names, and neither did mine.
Did Tom murder my brother’s fish? Why, that son of a …….
“Do we have any bagels?”, I asked.
“In the bread drawer”, replied my mother.
“I’m making some toast for your brother. Hand me your bagel and I’ll toast it for you”, Nelson told me.
As I waited for my bagel to toast, my mother made a bowl of cereal for Kyle and put everything on a tray so Nelson could take it up to His Majesty once his toast was ready.
While I waited, something came over me. Something very evil. Something of which I am not proud. (OK a little proud. I am a human being, afterall).
When all was toasted, I offered to take Kyle’s breakfast up to him. My mother asked why, to which I replied, “Why not?. He’s my brother and I love him”.
They should have known something was up. What happened next really could have been prevented had Mom and Nelson stopped me. It really is all their fault. Kyle’s current shortcomings are their fault.
I carried the tray and sat it down next to him. “How come you brought it?”, asked inquisitive Little Kyle.
“Because you’re my brother and I love you”, I said, rustling his little head. Then I just stepped back, leaned on the doorjam with my arms folded and observed. First he shoveled in the cereal without looking at it. Perfect. Next, the top piece of toast. Right on target. Finally, he bit into the second piece of toast. He chewed once, then stopped. Horrified, he spit it out and then looked at the remaining piece of toast.
There laid his other two dead fish, staring up at him.
Kyle’s never been quite the same since.
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