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9-3-01 - 1:08 a.m.

Just to clear one thing up: I was not drinking last night. What I meant by "something I'm not supposed to do" was that I'd fake ID'd my way into a club and gone dancing. I needed to let go of some pent-up energy, appendectomy stitches or not. It was fun. A remix of "Oops! I Did It Again" came on after I'd been there for a little bit and I was in my element. Yeeeuh.

Last night I went for coffee with my biological brother, Brian�not BrYan, my Hot 'N' Sexy 'N' Gay Roommate�and so we met at Starbucks Location 43059823348953095-a412. We both got Caramel Frappuccinos. He paid for mine, despite my protest. He told me I looked "great," I said he looked "really good, too." He's tall, about 6'1" I'd say, has dark brown hair and blue eyes, wears thin-rimmed glasses, and dresses very well. Either that or he was showing off. I know I was, wearing a princess-neck sweater and a pair of jeans, my hair actually looking manageable for a change.

We sat in a pair of adequately comfortable wooden chairs, across from one another at a tiny round table. His posture was impressive, with just the slightest curve in his nearly erect spine. I sat with my legs apart, elbows on the table, slumped over my grande-sized drink as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. I didn't want to say anything. I only wanted to be there with him, across from him at that table, knowing he was there and that he had come willingly.

He broke the silence by asking how I was. I thought very seriously about telling him the truth, but merely smiled, pulled my sleeves over my hands, and told him I was fine. I told him about Sharon and George, about Kellie and Rob and Bryan, and my apartment and my new job. I said I had been valedictorian and accepted to Harvard, but said nothing about my Cambridge experiences.

"So, how are you?" I asked him. I tried to sound casual and careree, but my voice cracked around the lump in my throat. Why do I always have to be such a crybaby every time I'm trying to impress somebody with my emotional strength? No, I wasn't crying, but I felt so guilty after not telling him the truth that I was about to.

He's getting married in the spring. I'm going to be a sister-in-law. Well, I guess, not technically, since we're legally no longer related, but I'm still gonna call his fiancee my sister-in-law. I hope she can do the same for me.

He told me a bit about his business (he's doing exceptionally well) and showed me some of his photographs. Brian has travelled around Southern California taking pictures of the land and its people. He had some photos of his recent trip to Ensenada. They were beautiful. I told him so. He thanked me.

He asked if I wanted to see a picture of his fiancee, Nicole. I said I'd be delighted, and he opened up his wallet. Out poured a clear plastic strand of photo sleeves. "That's Nicole," he said, pointing to several of the pictures. "The rest are mostly of friends and things." So he still hangs out with Darren. Darren lived on our block. He and Brian played Nintendo at our house whenever Brent and Ann weren't home. They loved Castlevania and Contra and Mega Man 3. I looked at all the images of his life with profound interest and was shocked to find that among all his other photos, he had one of me. It was my eighth grade picture. I didn't say anything about it, just smiled and pretended not to notice. I don't have a picture of him in my wallet. And he didn't have any of Brent or Ann.

I told him that I was sorry about Brent, if he was, and explained briefly that "he was never any kind of a friend to me." And then Brian dropped the bombshell on me.

Brent abused him, too.

"How?" I asked him. "I mean, I knew he hit you, but...?" Brian told me that many times, when he and our father were alone, Brent molested him. I didn't ask for details. I can fill in my own blanks.

That bastard. That bastard! It wasn't enough that he had to fuck up the women in his life, he went after his own son?!

I didn't hide my fury from Brian. He told me to calm down and that he was "okay with it" now. I asked how he could ever be "okay" with something like that, and he told me he's been seeing a therapist for five years. He takes medicine for depression.

At that point, we were kicked out because Starbucks was closing. It was late and he insisted on walking me to my car. When he saw what I drive, he was stunned. I said, "What, you've never seen a gorgeous car before?"

He laughed and said he had, and beckoned me to follow him. I did.

I drive a teal 1965 Ford Mustang coupe.

Brian drives a black 1967 Ford Mustang convertible.

"But I really want a '58 Impala," he said. We compared car stories�he restored his himself�and talked for a while more.

Brian is so smart and so wise and so peaceful that I just felt so comfortable around him. Some people, I've noticed, give off an incredibly mellow, laidback sort of vibe that makes them easily approachable and likable. He's like that. He seems to be one of those people who can just take it easy, one day at a time (haha...), and just let things roll right off him.

And so I went dancing. It's the best non-alcoholic outlet I have for letting things go and calming myself down. Okay, so I broke a law, but nobody got hurt, and I went to a gay club anyway, so it's not like there was much threat of me being raped. (Gay clubs are typically a million times better than straight ones. The people who go to them are so much more free and care so much less how they appear while dancing, and the music's generally better, too!)

Today was Ann's memorial. She wanted to be cremated. I did not attend the memorial. Rather, I sat at home wondering if I should go. In the end, I'm honestly glad I didn't. I knew Brian wouldn't be there (he told me) and I didn't want to be in a church-type setting (ick) and I didn't want to see anyone in attendance. I just want to move on and let go.

I didn't leave the apartment today except to go to another day of training. I mostly just sat around and rested. Dancing last night left me sore in my abdomen. But it was soooooooo worth it.

Everything is just so weird right now, I don't know how I feel. Webster has yet to make up a word for what I'm feeling right now. I've lost both my parents and found my brother. I have a job but no appendix. I live with two guys but have no female Friends. I could go to Harvard, but I love it here with Rob and Bryan. And I'm getting a migraine...well, fuck.

 

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