Today is a bad day. That phrase has taken on a whole new meaning since the world disappeared. Mommy says we have it better than most but that doesn’t mean it isn’t bad, or hurtful, or any less humiliating. We’re sitting at the end of our street like homeless people with our dog Mavis because Kevin is having “an episode” as Mommy calls it. I call it “My brother is being a complete DICK.”
All because of a peanut butter sandwich. Kevin woke me up this morning at 6:00 AM asking for a peanut butter sandwich so even though I’m not supposed to I made him one because it was 6:00 AM on a Saturday and I just wanted to sleep. And of course this is a morning Daddy decided to go to the gym. Anyway, I wake up again around 11:00 AM and hear Kevin telling Mommy he’s hungry and can he please have a peanut butter sandwich. Mommy says “OK,” so I bolt out of bed to tell her he already had one. One peanut butter sandwich a day is a hard rule around here. It’s a long story, mommy will save it for another blogpost.
Now before I proceed I should share with you some of the guaranteed ways to get your ass beat by Kevin.
- Say the word no, in response to anything, at any time, ever.
- Tell him you’re leaving without him. Doesn’t matter where you’re going: girl scouts, the gynecologist, the sewer plant to take a swim, or the depths of hell.
- Catch him with his hand down his pants and say, “Hands up please.” This has been happening a lot lately: navigating a disabled boy through puberty is such fun.
- And last but not least is the crown jewel: The foolproof way to get attacked by Kevin then run out of your house is to tell him he can have something then change your mind and tell him he can’t.
That’s what happened this morning, and it’s all my fault.
When Daddy is home and Kevin has “an episode” it’s over real quick. My dad works out 23 hours a day and eats nothing but celery, chia seeds, and (according to Mommy) the flesh of weaker men. He’s ripped and Kevin doesn’t stand a chance against him. When Daddy isn’t home an episode looks like this: Kevin grabs Mommy by the hair or neck and tries to get her in a choke hold. I run over to pry his hands off of her but she yells, “I’m alright Kay let the dog out.”
Why must I let the dog out you ask? Because when Kevin gets angry he becomes determined to hurt you however he can. If he can’t get you physically he’ll hurt you emotionally by kicking the dog or smashing your possessions.
So I run to the door where Mavis is already waiting because she’s been through this so many times over the past year. Then I run back to Mommy. She has freed herself from Kevin’s grip and locked herself in the laundry room. Kevin is doing his best to kick down the door screaming, “Come out now!!!!!!” I yell over him, “All clear Mom!” and Kevin shouts, “No, no, no!” because he knows what’s about to happen. Mommy tears out the back door and we meet each other in the street with the dog and start running. Kevin chases after us screaming, “I hit you Mommy!!!!”
Because he can’t run more than a few feet Kevin gives up quickly, drops in the middle of the street, and screams at us from where he sits: “I hate you!!!!!” Mommy and I sit down with Mavis to collect ourselves and I notice the welt on her shoulder that will turn purple later today. She closes her eyes and repeats her mantra: “Everybody has a Kevin, everybody has a Kevin, everybody has a Kevin.” She repeats it over and over again until she’s calm. Mommy says the mantra helps her remember that everyone has a problem in their life as big as Kevin but I have a different idea. I think she repeats that phrase over and over again in some vain attempt to convince herself it’s true. It’s not.
A few minutes go by and Kevin gets up to start chasing us again. He screams, “I comnin for you!” so we start power walking around the block to keep a safe distance from him.
I should interject for a moment and mention how wonderful our new neighbors are. No one will ever be Jeanie and Tom (I miss them so much on days like this) but the people who live on our street have been incredibly supportive and understanding with “ the episodes.”
Today is no exception. Many of them are out gardening or walking and when they see us they don’t ask, “Are you OK?” because they know we’re not. Instead they whisper things like, “Do you need help?’ and when Mommy shakes her head no they nod their heads then scurry back into their homes because they know an audience will make the episode worse. When Kevin realizes everyone is ignoring him he drops in the middle of the street a second time and begins to cry. We keep our distance, watching for cars when Mommy says, “I got it from here Kay you bring Mavis home and relax.” And though I want to take her up on her offer and forget this whole debacle I hesitate because there’s something I need to ask. I’ve been needing to ask her my whole life and today, in this humiliating moment, I just can’t hold the question in any longer.
Me: Mommy, Do you ever imagine what Kevin would be like if he wasn’t disabled?
I’m already certain her answer will be no. Mommy would never envision Kevin any other way than what he is because she’s good. She accepts. So imagine my surprise when she answers, “I’ve tried.”
Me: Really?
Mommy: Hundreds of times. I just couldn’t conjure an image of him no matter how hard I tried so I gave up. I figured it was better that way. What about you?
The answer is yes, but I can’t bring myself to admit it. I was little the first time I imagined Kevin differently. I don’t remember why but I was crying in bed and thought, “I wonder what Kevin would be like if he was “normal.” Then pop! An image of Kevin Not Broken appeared in my head. Since then I’ve seen him countless times, whenever I’m very mad or sad, but I’m careful not to look too closely because I know imagining Kevin another way is bad. Since pushing him out of my head doesn’t work, when I see Kevin Not Broken I allow myself one quick glance and firm talking to. “One day,” I tell him, “You’ll go away for good. You’re mean. Just like the real Kevin is mean. You just want to hurt me with this image of what my brother should be, the brother I deserve. Well I won’t let you.” Then pop! He’s gone.
I can’t tell Mommy this. It would hurt her feelings, but she persists.
Mommy: Kay what about you?
Me: Yes
Mommy: Really? What’s he like? What does he look like?
Her reaction to my confession has totally thrown me off guard.
Me: I don’t know. I don’t ever, like, look hard when I see him. I just tell him to leave because I know it’s wrong. It’s wrong to want him to be something he’s not and it’s wrong to imagine him as someone he isn’t.
Now I’m crying. I’m crying at the end of the street and Kevin’s crying in the middle of the street. Did I mention mom is still in her pajamas with no shoes or bra on? This family is a fucking train wreck.
Mom pulls me into a tight embrace and gently rubs my back.
Mom: Kayla there is NOTHING wrong with wanting Kevin to be different especially on days like this. Look at us. We’re sitting in the middle of the street in our pajamas with a dog and 2 cats. We look like total white trash.
Me: We do. This sucks.
Mom: It does suck. So do yourself a favor Kay and give yourself permission to be angry. I am. Give yourself permission to feel cheated. I do. And most importantly, give yourself permission to imagine what your brother might be like if he wasn’t disabled. It’s obviously a thought that’s been plaguing you for some time now and thoughts like that don’t just go away.
Me: But it just feels so wrong.
Mom: No. It doesn’t feel wrong, it feels scary. You’re afraid to imagine what Kevin might be like if he was “normal” because you’re afraid of how it might make you feel.
Me: So what do I do?
Mom: I don’t know, go take a walk. Clear your head and let your imagination run free. I’ll meet you back at the house once your brother has calmed down.
So I did. I walked to my favorite thinking spot: a pavilion on the beach at the end of our street that overlooks the water where you can feel the wind even when there’s no breeze. It’s magic. I sat, closed my eyes, felt this tremendous pain in my heart, let the tears fall, and imagined what my brother would be like if he wasn’t disabled. The image broke my heart as I knew it would, but not in the way I thought it would.
I’d seen him so many times over the years, popping in and out of my head like a firecracker, but I’d never allowed myself to really look at him. Now I could see, looking deep into his perfect face, that Kevin was sad. He didn’t fit in at school, the way mommy says she never really fit in at school. He was shy and awkward the way daddy says he was when he was little. He struggled with his schoolwork and wasn’t particularly good at any sports. He was teased a lot for having such a huge butt and flaming red hair and for liking show tunes. All at once it hit me like a knife to my heart: in my imagination, although Kevin was a neurotypical boy, he was broken.
I ran home. He was waiting for me on the steps, as he always is after an episode. “Kaya I sawney. I so sawney Kaya,” he says as he approaches me, arms open almost begging me to hug him. In the past I’d have just walked past him and said something like, “If you were sorry you’d stop!” But today I walk straight into those arms and let him hug me. And when he tells me how sawney he is again I say, “I know buddy. I know you’re sorry and I know you’re trying but you have to try harder OK?” “OK,” he says. “Take me playground?” Again this is something I usually say no to but not today. Today I am walking hand in hand with Kevin and on our way to the playground he says, “Tell me our story?”
OK so this is another thing about Kevin and I that nobody knows. DON’T tell my mom because she’ll start the, “Aww you two are so special,” nonsense with that sloppy cry thing she does and, Ugh, No, I’m not in the mood to vomit today.
When we were in Kindergarden our Sunday school teacher called out and Miss MaryPat had to cover the class but she didn’t have a lesson plan so she just read us a story and when it was over Kevin leaned over to me and asked, “Story is us?” I didn’t understand him at first but later that night after I’d had some time to think about it I crawled into his bed, held him as close as I could and said, “Yes Kevin the story is us.” Ever since that day, whenever he thinks that maybe I don’t love him anymore, Kevin asks me to tell him our story, so I do.
Once upon a time after God made the whole world he made a boy and said, “Look at all this cool stuff I made! I made it all for you so you could live here and be happy!” And even though the world was very beautiful and filled with animals who wanted to play with him, the boy was sad because he was lonely. God realized this and said, “Since none of this stuff is making you happy I guess I gotta make you something else. Would you like a girl?” and the boy said, “Oh yes please!” Then God said, “Ok but I’m going to have to break off a piece of you that will never grow back.” And the boy said, “I don’t care, take whatever you need, I really want a girl.” So God snapped off one small piece of the rib closest to the boy’s heart, planted it in the dirt, and it grew into a really pretty girl. The boy was finally happy, and for years the two ran around naked together in a garden of eating. One day the girl met a snake who told her, “You know that really tall tree God told you not to climb? You should definitely ignore him and climb it there’s apples up there.” And because the girl was incredibly mischievous and disobedient she climbed the tree, picked some apples and shared them with the boy. Now of course God found out and as punishment he made them put their clothes back on and threw them out of the garden. Things got really hard for them after that. In the end, God came to the boy and said, “You know I made you whole and gave you a perfect world but you just had to have a girl and now you’re missing a rib and I bet you’re sorry.” But the boy wasn’t sorry. Because when offered the opportunity to walk alone in a perfect world whole, he chose the path through an utterly imperfect world with his beautiful girl, broken.
