I don’t think this story will make sense to you if you didn’t have an older brother. Only a guy with an older brother would really understand my story. But maybe if you could step back and see it for what it is, a short story. Fiction. Suspension of disbelief. That sort of thing.
No, you don’t have to be in prison, or a repeat offender, to understand what’s going on.
Part of me thinks it’s general enough for any man – the boy narrator is simply recalling that sticky time of early sexual awareness. God, I hated that, didn’t you?
Or forget gender. Think of anyone in your life who should have been a model or a mentor but failed you. Imagine being left alone in a dark and isolated part of a city at midnight at eight years old and this person never came back to get you, and your father was too busy to notice how late it was when you got home after you had walked miles to get home and he was too busy snoring off his daily offenses, and you had no idea why you were left behind nor why your dad hated you. And you were feeling inside some very confusing mixed feelings and there was no one to talk to about it – the girls and boys at school just didn’t get it. So you had to isolate yourself and hide those creepy feelings that you had inside you and were beginning to hate. You knew it had to do with “men stuff” so you couldn’t go to your mother or your sisters, and ever since then, you’ve never spoken to any man or woman about it – though I guess having become a writer, I may finally start sharing it with others. You, in this case, dear Professor.
They say it will never go away. The shame – but who’s shame? I guess that was the question I had in mind when I tried to remember some defining incident from my childhood. But my memory failed me, so I invented a scene from my childhood.
Continue reading “Ten Years Younger” →