My Brother The Asshole by Cory Hunt (readict books TXT) 📕

back, directly into the birdbath. My forehead smashed into it and, after bouncing off of it and collapsing onto the lawn, I was momentarily stunned. Blood trickled down my forehead and into my eye. I screamed and began crying much like the first time he smashed me in the head. Chris, realizing he was going to be in trouble, approached my mom to make sure that he told her his side of the story.

“He was just running backwards, then he turned around and ran into the birdbath.”

Luckily for Chris, I was sobbing so hard that I was unable to recount the actual occurrence. None of the neighbor kids volunteered the truth, so my mom scooped me up, put a rag on my head to try and control the bleeding, and my dad drove us to the hospital. By the time the stitches were in, I made the decision to keep the truth to myself. But Chris would pay.

It was around this time that The Karate Kid

came out. We were obsessed with it. We had karate pajamas that we wore whenever possible. We briefly took karate classes, but when we discovered it was less like Cobra Kai and more like day care, we quit. It didn’t help that Humboldt County didn’t have an All Valley Karate Tournament. To make up for this, we constantly pretended to face each other in the final round of the tournament, Chris in his white karate pajamas, me in my black karate pajamas.

My mom thought this was cute, so she decided to videotape us. I wasn’t about to lose to my fat little brother in a karate match, especially when it was being documented, so once the video started rolling, I poked him right in the eye. He immediately covered his face and began crying. As the movie had taught me, I was to show no mercy. I reared back and kicked him right in the balls. He crumbled the ground, beaten.

Later in the day, I convinced Chris that we should reenact another scene from the movie. Early on, Daniel gets beaten up by Johnny Lawrence, and while lying on the ground, gets kicked in the ribs. For some reason, I didn’t believe a kick to the ribs would hurt or cause someone to buckle. I failed to share the entire plan with Chris, but promised that he would get to play Daniel LaRusso, so he was eager to join in. When I got him into the proper position on the lawn, he was facing the ground in the push-up position, but his knees were on the ground. I walked around him to make sure everything was set up as I had planned. When I was satisfied, I kicked him as hard as I could in his midsection. He buckled and began bawling. Much to my dismay, being kicked in the ribs actually did hurt.

The karate matches and his failure to get his way all of the time had made Chris bitter. He was bitter at me, bitter at our younger brother and bitter at my parents. He expressed this bitterness by constantly telling people he hated them when he didn’t get what he wanted. If my mom refused to buy him a toy he saw on television, he’d scream,

“I HATE YOU!”

Then he would run into his room and slam the door. Eventually, Mom tired of being told that he hated her. She informed Chris that he was no longer allowed to tell her that he hated her or he would be grounded. She didn’t scare him. He would not bow to her threats.

Not long after the rule, Chris wanted to watch Duck Tales

, but Mom informed him that he had already used his hour of television for the day, so he had to go play outside. He was comfortably positioned on the corduroy couch, so he wasn’t eager to move. He briefly argued that the rule was unfair, but he could tell he was getting nowhere, so he went back to his signature move. He jumped off the couch, glared at my mom as he walked to his bedroom, then yelled,

“I HATE YOU!”

He stormed into his room and slammed the door. Mom had had enough. As soon as she heard the door slam, she marched towards his room like she was on a mission. She swung his door open, looked him straight in the eyes, and said,

“Guess what asshole? I HATE YOU TOO!”

She slammed the door in his face. I heard her walk to her bedroom and shut the door. I guess she needed to cool down for a few minutes. I snuck into Chris’s room to see how he was taking the news that his mom hated him. Initially, he appeared appalled, but his anger quickly returned with a vengeance. He made eye contact with me, then broke it off and began rifling through his closet. I watched as several toys flew into the middle of the room as though a tornado had come through the closet, and then it stopped. He had found what he was looking for. I was confused, so I inquired,

“Chris, what are you doing?”

He turned from the closet, gave me a dirty look, then his face softened and he sighed.

“I’m running away.”

He pulled a tiny blue suitcase out of the closet that had the words “Going to Grandma’s” inscribed upon it. I was confused and I furrowed my brow at him, so he explained further.

“Well, Mom hates me, I hate her and I don’t like it here anymore. I am going to live on the railroad.”

This was better than any birthday present I could have asked for. We finally agreed on something. My sworn enemy was hitting the bricks…voluntarily. He began pulling clothes out of his dresser and stuffing them into the suitcase. In order to help him get on the road as soon as possible, I ran to the bathroom and grabbed him his toothbrush. I asked,

“Is there anything else you want me to get?”

We hurriedly packed his suitcase, cramming as much as we possibly could. When he was satisfied that everything was loaded up, I sat on top of it while he buckled it shut. As he surveyed the room to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything, I went into my room and grabbed a goodbye present. It was a half a pack of candy that I’d been saving for a few days, but it was Lifesavers and it was the best I could do. I offered them to him as sort of a peace treaty as we parted ways. He accepted.

Since I was six years old and relatively stupid, I though Lifesavers were actually a solid emergency device that you could use in case of attack. I informed Chris,

“Now, if a bear or something attacks you, just eat one of these and you’ll be fine.”

He nodded his head. There was nothing left to say. He grabbed the suitcase and put the Lifesavers in his pocket. He sighed heavily.

“Well, I guess I’d better go tell Mom.”

He marched out of the room, proudly sporting the overflowing suitcase. I followed closely behind. Mom was washing the dishes. Chris set his suitcase on the floor and cleared his throat. She turned around. Chris looked at the ground, then raised his eyes and met her gaze.

“Mom, I’m running away. I don’t like it here anymore and I’m going to live on the railroad.”

A look of mock surprise came over her face and she made her best attempt at a gasp. Clearly, she’d been expecting this for a while. Or maybe she was just genuinely happy, I’m not quite sure. Her response sounded scripted,

“Alright, did you pack everything? Did you get your toothbrush, some fresh undies?”

He nodded. She dried her hands on a kitchen towel and walked towards the front door. When he met her there, she gave him a hug and said,

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, Chris. It’s been nice having you around. Good luck on the railroad. Remember, you’re not allowed to cross any streets.”

Chris had been unwilling to follow the rules while he was living in the house, so I was skeptical about him following them once he had emancipated himself. My mom figured that, without being able to cross the street, Chris wouldn’t actually be able to go anywhere. She too realized that he would not follow her rules once he was on his own. Chris marched to the beat of a different drummer. The only rules he followed were his own.

Mom opened the front door and Chris stepped through. I accompanied him to the end of the driveway. When we got there, I knew it was time to say goodbye. I stuck out my hand, and then he set down his suitcase and shook it. I wished him good luck and he was on his way. Maybe we’d meet up one day on the rails, me as a passenger and him as some crazy hobo. I was actually looking forward to it.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and waved goodbye. I marveled at his courage and envied the adventure he was about to embark upon, but make no mistake, I was glad he was gone. As I watched him walk away, I heard Mom approach from behind. Then she passed me and quickly caught up to Chris and put her arm on his shoulder. He stopped and turned around. She quickly informed him,

“Chris, get back in the house. You’re not running away.”

Chris stared at her, confused. Moments before, she’d just been wishing him well on his journey and now she was forcing him back into the house. He didn’t get it.

“But I was going to live on the railroad. I spent a lot of time packing my suitcase.”

I saw his point. I’d helped him load up that suitcase and it was hard work. Now it was all for nothing. I was sad that he was not going to be able to embark on his great adventure. I was sad that I would have to continue to deal with his shit. He hung his head and trudged back into the house, left his suitcase inside the front door, flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. When Mom reminded him that he had already used up all of his TV time, he stood up and yelled,

“I HATE YOU!”

He went into his room and slammed his door. Things were back to normal. One might think that the near running away would have taught Chris and I to value each other’s company more, but it didn’t. We continued to fight all the time. His indomitable spirit was always a challenge and his inability to abide by the rules of war landed me in the hospital more than once. Luckily, I was the bigger, older sibling, so I won a lot more than I lost.