My brother writes something about bitches on his facebook page the same day my father and I get into a argument-light about women's bodies. The idea of arguing with one's father about how women's bodys should or should not be viewed, about what is "natural" and a necessary perspective in order for the propigation of the species, seems preposterous to me.
"How would the race continue if men were interested in women's brains?"
If he read this, all typed out in a nice quote, would it sound as insane to him as it does to me?
Mother steps in to take my side, something about violence against women. Dad says, you women are the ones who buy those magazines and I lower my head. I don't want to argue with him, but it feels like an affront against me, an attack. My body reacts
it shuts down, turns inward, unflowers. Who are you? What are you afraid of? But, I can't seem to look him in the eye.
The hot fudge is in a pan of water boiling, it takes forever to boil it in its jar in the pan of water, and if you leave the lid on it will explode, my father says. Big deal. Well it is a big deal when you get a chunk of glass in the eye.
I wrote him a card the day after I got married. I told him how much I loved him
how he better take good care, because he needs to last a long time. I love him regardless. I love him whether or not he is weak or a fool, shameful, a disgrace, terribly afraid, lost, caught in the dark sick on an airplane with his mouth breathing heavily into a paper bag. The idea of his fragility terrifies me.
My brother gets home. What the F, I say? Why are you trashing women like that? It's from a song he says. My father at my tails, is this inappropriate? I say, No Dad. My mother knows it is, but when Aden says, it's from a song she seems to drop it. All I can come up with is, that's rude Aden. Don't be like that. I know almost all of his five sisters made a comment on his facebook page in regards to his use of the word bitch, he knows that it isn't appropriate. But, isn't that why he did it? Maybe his girlfriend broke up with him. I can't imagine how pissed I'd be if I had five
older sisters in my buisness the way he does. Aden is quiet, he knows he's overpowered by these women, he retreats.
I want to know what his inner life is, I want to talk to him seriously, I want to tell him everything will be okay, high school is weird, life changes. I say, tell me about your life and he is silent. We're in the kitchen. Dad has recoiled to the basement, mother is sitting at the counter bar, I'm putting dishes into the dishwasher. Tell me. Aden bows his head and says nothing, he freezes there in the kitchen, the tiniest smirk twinkles over his lips. My mother interprets. Oh no, he's fallen asleep while standing up! Seriously, I think, seriously?