home / writing /short stories /
Crippled Idiot Half Brother
I am me, or so I think, though others seem to disagree. The useless brother of that famous one. Rub out the moustache - and yes, I really look like him.
He had a way with the ball. Always did. I never did. What are you good at Johnnie? What are your strengths?
Play to your strengths.
A talent scout snapped him up straight off the school team. In broad daylight. Snapped him up and whisked him away to the stratosphere. I remember it perfectly. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. & I was left, a spectator standing in the playground. Standing like a savage staring up at jet trails. Sometimes I feel like I'm still standing there, like I never moved from that spot.
For a while it was good. His name opened doors, brought me friends wherever I went. But it's not much of a life when all your friends want is for you to bring your brother. I could drop my own first name entirely and just be known as His Brother. Sometimes I think I already have.
My ex-therapist said, don't define yourself in terms of him.
I don't. You do.
Our mother said, you've a lot to live up to.
They'll carve it on my grave: he didn't live up to it.
© Daniel Winterstein 1998-2008
This is a personal