Groom Wars

10. Every Family Has At Least One Idiot

In the evening, I found my sister, Tia, reclining on her bed, texting. Her walls were painted pink and held posters of popular male singers. Perfume bottles, a pocket bible, and jewellery decorated her dresser. She looked up at my entrance, and I guessed the haunted expression on my face must have startled her because she put down her phone. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Holding my chest woefully, I asked, "What am I?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't feel like either a man or a woman. I used to think, 'I'm a girl pretending to be a boy.' But you guys keep saying I'm the son, the brother, a man, and after the surgery, I just don't know... I don't know what I am anymore. When I look into the mirror... what I see is hideous. Gruesome. Horrid. I try not to look at it because I don't like what I see. But I don't know, Tia, I don't know who I am anymore, and it hurts." I bowed my head.

She hugged me and rubbed my back, murmuring, "It's okay. You're who you are. You are Adriel, my wonderful sister, brother, whatever you want to be."

We sat in silence, her hand rubbing circles on my back. After a few minutes of affection, I grew bored of my gloomy act and told her, "Oh and, in other news, I got accepted into Groom Wars."

She screamed and punched my shoulder. "Congratufuckinglations! But are you okay, like emotionally and stuff?"

I smiled. I had wanted to see if Tia loved me despite my gender, and she had passed the test. I stuck out my tongue teasingly, and she slapped my cheek.

I froze.

It hurt.

Her slap hurt.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

As I stood slowly, she said, "Adriel, no."

I knocked her to the bed, and we wrestled like children. She banged her forehead into my chin, and I barely avoided biting my tongue. My chin throbbed. I yanked her hair. She screamed and, while hammering my stomach with punches, called our mother. Pain riddled my belly, and I called for our mother as well.

Tia tossed me beneath her and, sitting on my belly, grabbed a pillow and beat me with it. Of course, she was a girl, so I couldn't fight her like I could fight one of the boys. Hence, I had allowed her to overpower me—I couldn't bring myself to actually hurt her even if I wanted to. Instead, I screamed for my mother to get the heavy vixen off me.

Something odd occurred, though we shouted for help, our mother never arrived. My sister froze mid-attack. "Do you think mom is okay?" she asked. It was hard for me to breathe, so I patted her knee till she got off me. When she removed her weight, my body felt lighter, almost as if it were floating. I took a deep, grateful breath. Her straightened black hair was frizzy and disheveled from our brief spar. She wiped spit of her chin. Tia had an angular face that suited being a man better than mine, and sometimes her demeanor was far more menacing than mine. If she had been the one to be a boy, few would doubt her. I was the problem. Something about me was feminine enough to make guys question me. Our mother still hadn't arrived to help us.

I said, "She was fine this morning, wasn't she?"

"But what if she had a heart attack or something?"

"Well, she's forty-eight. That's a risky age to be."

"We should check on her."

I nodded. Tia lowered her pillow, and, forming a truce, the two of us went into the hall. We opened the door to our parents' room without knocking, fearing what we would find. Mother sat on the bed, a satin cloth wrapping her hair into a makeshift cocoon above her cute, oval face. The soft blue light of the TV struck her maroon skin. She glowered, sighed, and waved us away. "Can't you girls see I'm busy, huh? Go find something to do and lock the door."

My sister locked the door and stood quietly in the hallway. Tia said, "She ignored us. Can you believe that?"

I shook my head, disappointed at Mother's callous attitude. I said, "You know what hurts the most? We were worried about her, but did she worry about us? No. We could have been in a dangerous situation. We could have died. The house could have been burning."

"Exactly! And isn't she always saying TV rots your brain; what was she doing just now?"

"She was watching TV!"

"She's such a hypocrite." My sister and I shook our heads and went downstairs. The fight had made us hungry, so we went to the kitchen to fix ourselves lunch and replenish our energy while discussing how hypocritical our parents were. Father always said, 'Do as we say, not what we do.' If our parents could break their own rules, what was to stop us from doing the same? My sister and I weren't allowed to eat in the living room or bedroom, but we decided to be rebels.

We made ourselves a bowl of popcorn, went into the living room, turned on the TV, put our feet on the glass coffee table, and watched a romance movie. My father poked his head inside, likely drawn out of his study by the muffled noise, saw the movie, let it play for a bit to see what it was about, and said, "This stuff is bad for your brain. Fills you with unrealistic expectations. No eating in here either. Feet off the coffee table." He strode inside, took the bowl of popcorn from my hand. He hit my sister and me with a pillow until we vacated the couch and stood by the entryway. My father said, "Go for a walk or something. Refresh your bodies with fresh air." He took our place on the couch and tossed some popcorn into his mouth. "Look how handsome that fella is. Very few men look like that, girls. Zero realism. And would you look at that, he invites her to his house and sings to her. Ha! What is he.. twelve? Real men are for more devious."

He waved at us. "Go!" He turned back to the TV. "Ay. What an idiot. Where are her parents? A girl needs good parents, or she gets into trouble. This idiota. My middle child reminds me of her. Completely oblivious and a total pain in the ass. It's not Dad's fault, it's the child's brain that is lacking. Ay... her poor parents."

With the death of our rebellion, Tia and I went for a walk. It was a beautiful day; blue sky, golden sun, bright green grass—a gentle breeze. We sat on the swings in our backyard, the chain creaking with our weight, our long legs tapped the ground, and I remembered just how much I had changed since I was six years old. I missed the carefreeness of that time. I missed playing till the sun set and having zero responsibilities.

I asked Tia, "Who is the middle child?"

She watched me with a puzzled expression. "You are."

"Oh."

"Have I always been in the middle?"

"Only since Mia was born. The last twelve years or so...."

"Oh."

Tia placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "For what it counts, I think you are a great deal smarter than Sofia."

Sofia was a certified fool. Everyone in our family agreed on that topic.

If I was second to her, that meant my family didn't think highly of me at all.

I studied the grass; how the long green stands curved at their tips. How the droplets of water from the sprinklers glittered in the sun.

As I swayed in the aged rubber seat, I made a silent promise to no longer be an idiot.

***