My surviving brother had a birthday last Thursday. He is “my surviving brother” because I almost killed him. Twice. Once was accidental.
He is 18 months younger than me. As the responsible one, it always fell to me to keep him out of trouble. Impossible. I usually ended up principal victim or chief cleaner upper. He made my young life a misery.
He had to be with me on my first day at school. By the third day he had enough and our mother came to school and explained that he would wait another year. The teacher responded “ . . . thank God for that,” then apologised.
My first attempt on his life was in our garden. I was chopping with a small hatchet when he stooped into my line of fire. I hit him on the head. There were screams and streams of blood. I ran to the hen house, our refuge of sinners. He ran inside and traumatised our mother.
Soon we were at the doctor’s, who tidied up my brother’s wound.
That second time was when he drove me demented dripping cold water on my face as I tried to sleep. He ignored the growing thunder. I exploded with the ferocity of a long-dormant volcano, grabbed a pillow, pushed it into his face and sat on it. I then debated whether I should let him breathe. To my shame, I did. I’ve regretted it many times since.
Recently our mother was seriously ill, so same brother and his son arrived from the US having both tested negative for Covid-19 before flying. Both are avid Trump supporters. Mother got better and we returned to our workplaces.
My brother and his son had to be tested again before flying back to the US. They were positive and quarantined for 10 days, while remaining asymptomatic. Not I. I was positive and very ill. A nephew ended up positive and in hospital.
Another relative, doubly vaccinated as he works in healthcare, tested positive too but wasn’t ill. Sundry people my brother and his son visited, though they shouldn’t, had to be tested. Twice. One person was positive but not ill.
All proof, were it needed, that chaos still follows my surviving brother. He was 5 last Thursday. He has been 5 for many decades.
Sibling, from Old English sibling/sib, for 'kinship'.
