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The Brotherhood of Man
By Kent d Curry Of course I love him, he’s my brother. But
that doesn’t mean I think about him much. He’s different than me. I mean, we
haven’t done much together since I got that mall job at 16. I suppose we were
all buddy-buddy before that, fighting, swimming lessons together, swinging in
the tree swing, youth socials, stuff like that. Fighting. One summer, the year
after we moved, we played Monopoly every day of the week with neighborhood
friends—even on weekends and after Sunday school. I almost always won. Then I
started my own life, my real life in the real world. And we were together at Central. Not that we
did a lot together there. I mean, between college prep classes, the National
Honor Society, and student council, I didn’t have much time to hang with
sophomores. Besides, he was busy with his friends and stumbling through
general-ed classes. Mr. Popular, that’s what he was. There wasn’t a teacher
or a girl in that school he didn’t sweet-talk. I think he was a class officer
every year, too. No one ever bothered to look beneath the mask. It was high
school. They just get attracted by the looks, the quick quip and the
charm. I’ll give him credit there, Dougie’s charm was off the scale. Still, even though he did stuff at school, he really only hung with church
friends. That’s where all the attention came from after Mom’s thing. It’s
like the whole church adopted him. Of course, that’s easy when you can both
speak and sing. Who cares if you earn college scholarships, control your credit
cards, or have a great work ethic? At church, you only exist if you can speak or
sing. It’s still that way. Sometimes when I’m
out of town for work I’ll attend a Pentecostal church. Or I’ll run into
church people at restaurants or the airport or wherever and if they find out
I’m a Sullivan, they’ll ask if I’m related to Douglas.
“Douglas”—like he’s some kind of celebrity or something. Just because he
evangelizes all hot-’n-firey, they think he’s a big deal. “Oh he preached
my Youth Week and I was so blessed.” “I’ll never forget that time at camp,
when…” “Are you the brother that used to beat him at Monopoly?” Stuff
like that. And I’m just supposed to smile and agree, all the time thinking,
‘Preaching’s all great and stuff, but how’s he going to support his family
when the time comes? Am I going to be bailing him out then, too?’ Actually, that’s a
perfect example—he expects me to be friendly to his friends, but when does he
make any efforts with mine? Like my last
birthday. We always get together, the two of us, because our birthdays are so
close, and have our annual Big Dog Chowdown. Sometimes he out-eats me and
sometimes I out-eat him, but we always laugh and have a great time. Just like
Thanksgiving brunch with all the uncles used to be. We talk football and friends
and news and growing up days. He even turns off his cell phone. I fill him in on
my latest promotion and raise, he’s always got a couple of great road stories
to share about strange waitresses, odd food in local Southern diners, and weird
tourist traps like the House of Glass. It’s a good time. Or was. Anyway,
he called to set it up and I said fine, but I wanted Belicia to come along. He
didn’t have to pay for her, she’d just come along. He
stuttered something about the Chowdown tradition of us two. This
year’s different, I said. Belicia’s coming along. I want her to come along. He said something
like—oh, I don’t remember—something like, “I was hoping just the two of
us could go out to eat. As part of your present. Like usual.” In other
words—not Belicia. How rude is that? I mean, just because Dad has trouble with
her doesn’t mean Dougie should get all high and mighty about it. I know how
some of his girlfriends went. Love ’em and leave ’em and all that. I mean, what’s the
big deal if she eats out with us? I’m probably going to marry her anyway, so
they might as well get used to her. And why does he even
have to take sides? It’s not like we’re hurting him. When do we even see
him? I mean, now that Dad’s losing it, he thinks he has to make it clear whose
side he’s on, like it’s going to make some big difference in my life. Like
I’ll come back to church because he stands for truth. Anyway, we never did
go out, so now when he calls, if he calls, Belicia doesn’t even say hi, she
just hands me the phone. Serves him right. I’m not even sure he got me a
present. Not that that’s a
loss! I mean, he won’t buy me anything on my list. He says a list is
self-serving. He’s wrong—it’s practical. Listing five items I want saves
him time because he chooses just one. Plus, it assures me that I get something I
like. (I still don’t know what I’m going to get when he chooses off the
list.) Belicia and Dad don’t have a problem with it, why should he? However, a list is
not “from his heart” so it’s self-serving. So every year I end up with
ties or CDs—always Christian, of course—or whatever “his heart” thinks
up. Like he has any idea what I like. He does that kind of
stuff just to prove he can do it. It’s like when we were playing Monopoly that
summer and he landed on my Boardwalk. He paid me all in Ones. Just to aggravate
me. Because of that, I squished him like the bug he was on the very next round. I thought the point
was to be a support, not do your own thing. So, I’m supposed to attend his
revivals when he’s in town, just to “show support,” but when I have
something for him to attend? Well, that’s a different story. Like, when the Heart
Association was going to throw that special banquet honoring the state’s
largest three fund-raisers, Dougie said, “Just let me know when it is and
I’ll be there. Don’t worry about me.” But when the banquet arrived, it was
a different story. Something came up. Great opportunity. Lots of preachers
there. Make contacts and bless others. So he preached. “Don’t worry about
me!” he said. At least Dad showed
up for that one. Dougie said he read the newspaper story. I don’t even
remember his lame apology. Like, what kind of Christian is that? Everyone thinks
he so holy, but they don’t see this side of him. I mean, he hasn’t
shown up at the family reunions on Mom’s side either. I mean, what’s the
deal with that? This is the only time we get to see any of them every year and
he’s always got to preach out of town? Maybe it’s the
girls. I had my crazy time before Belicia. Dad said he’s dating some redhead
in Louisiana now, but so what? It won’t last. Who was the last one? Some local
chick named Mayfield. Brad’s sister Rebecca. That one didn’t last long at
all. Dad said her nose was too big. Like, Dougie couldn’t tell that before he
asked her out? Knowing Rebecca, she still likes him and knowing Dougie, he’s
still trying to be “just friends.” I think he broke up
with her because she wanted to attend weekend revivals with him, sing or
something before he preached. Ha! That was a mistake! Cut into his freedom. Keep
him from finding the next one. No wonder he noticed her big nose after that. I could’ve saved
them both some trouble by telling him to actually look at her face and telling
her to look at his actions. Not that they would’ve asked, but I could’ve
told them that much anyway. So sure I love him.
He’s my brother. We’re just different. ninetyandnine.com © 2002, Kent d Curry --------- Kent d Curry is the executive
editor of ninetyandnine.com.
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