Dorits and Famos

You were either a famo child or a dorit child. It was imprinted on your arm when you were born. I was a dorit, but my brother was a famo. My mom popped me out and looked straight at the inside of my left forearm to see. Needless to say, she got a tear in her eye and my dad held his head in his hands. Disappointment was my curse, and I've been living with it for 17 years now.
Famo basically means right. So famo kids were always correct and whenever one was present the mood in the room was light and giddy. Dorit, on the other hand means wrong. So the mood was always angry and uncomfortable. Nobody liked dorit kids other than other dorits. So they stuck together and stood up for each other. My parents were forced to pretend they loved me. At least that's what my brother's famo crew snickered at me every time they saw me. 'They're being paid to love you' or 'It sure is a shame that nobody likes you... not even your parents. Oh wait, I almost forgot. It's hilarious that nobody loves you.' And I couldn't count on my brother to do anything about it because he pretended not to hear what they were saying to me. He knew that dorits were not to be loved by anyone so he obeyed the rules, like the goody-two-shoes he was.
That's the other thing about dorits and famos. Dorits were rebels and they fought to keep that statement true. Famos had nothing to fight against so they didn't fight and that just made everyone like them even more. Some dorits were insecure about their title so they took knives and tried to cut out the word on their arm. They would wake up the next morning getting teased by their siblings and parents about their insecurities and they would have a scar. But the word had been rewritten in the night. I was a proud dorit. I wasn't afraid to show strangers my left forearm and I laughed to myself when they turned their noses at it. I was always outgoing, except for when my parents and brother were around. Out of my entire family, there were only two dorits still alive. There was me, and my uncle was the other. He understood me more than pretty much anyone else, other than my closest friends (which were all guys). But the thing is, my dad is part of the Rarest race, which is three-quarters famo and one-quarter dorit. That's how I got this disappointment of a word on my arm.
There were times when my dad, Beau, acted like he hated my guts and wished I was never born. But the other times, man those were great. He acted like my brother was trash that he found on the street and he and I did everything together. But that was only 25% of the time, so more than half of my life was lived with no parents. I almost felt adopted.
My brother's name was Bobby and his famo girlfriend's name was Susie. My name was Scotland and my mom's name was Ann. And as I said, my father's name was Beau. For the most part, famo's had extremely bland and dull names like Ann and Susie. But dorits got lucky and were named names like Scotland and Augustus, which was my uncle's name. The parents of dorits always figured that having an original and different name was less sophisticated and more rebel-like. But to be honest, it was just another reason for me to enjoy being a dorit.
Famos and dorits obviously didn't get along, so that meant only famos hooked up with famos and only dorits hooked up with dorits. But if you were a famo, it was likely you could hook up with someone of the Rarest race, like my mother and father. Dorits normally didn't do that because the Rarest race was only one-quarter dorit, so for their whole life they would be more than half of a disappointment to their spouse. But over the years, I noticed that when Bobby's friends were teasing me there was one dude in the very back of everyone who didn't participate. I always wondered why he didn't make fun of my title like the others, but I never asked because it was hard for a famo to be found alone, as they were the perfect race so everyone wanted to be around them. I told myself it was just because he had a minor hearing problem and couldn't tell what was going on. But still, he looked really bothered all those times of teasing.

My parents followed the rules so strictly that they made me eat my meals after them. The soup was normally cold, the cereal was always soggy, and the sandwiches were mostly stale. I could smell my mother cooking up a storm in the kitchen but I had to wait an hour after they finished their meal so I could emerge from my room to quickly gulp mine down before being sent back upstairs. One night, through my closed door I could hear the conversation they were having. My mom said that the first child was always the best. I mumbled to myself that Bobby was the first child. Then I could hear the clicking of dog toenails and the voices of my family praising the dog for being so cute and so good all the time. The dog was a girl and her name was Tutu. She was a Boston terrier with one ear that stood up straight and one ear that flopped over. The floppy ear had a white tip. My mom told the guys that every night when she went in to wash her face, Tutu would follow her and eventually even started to wear lip gloss.
That made me chuckle because Tutu was allowed to like whoever she wanted and I just happened to be her favorite. Of course, my family didn't appreciate it but since dogs were the most praised pet, the rules stated that you couldn't block the dog from the dorit. Dorits loved that rule. As my mom was ending her story, she made one last statement: "Tutu's like the little girl I never had." The laughter that followed was so loud and painful but I was forced to sit there and listen... because of the stupid little word on my forearm. I wanted to choke my mom that night, but it would have been three against one, with a helpless dog sitting in the corner, thinking we were all just playing.
An hour later, I got called out of my room for dinner. It was steak and mashed potatoes that night. The steak was tough and under done. The mashed potatoes still had skin in them and they made me gag. But that's what I got for being born. It was Friday Night Game Time in our household. Everyone was invited except for me, so I laid on my bed and listened to their hollers and laughter until 1 a.m. when they finally decided to have dessert (which I was never allowed to have) and go to bed.
My brother had a nice sized room with a double bed. A TV was in the corner, his closet was a walk-in and he had an entire couch on one wall. Compared to my room, which made me feel like Harry Potter living under the stairs, it was a house.
The next morning when I woke up there was a rough little pink tongue licking my nose. Tutu was awake. I sat up and scratched her behind the ear that stood up. I looked her in the eye and she fell right back asleep. I guess the ear scratch was too good to be true. I got out of bed and put on my clothes for the day. I walked over to the door and bent down to read the note that my brother had to slip under every morning.
'Dear Scotland,
The family has gone out for the day. Don't mess up or leave the house. Breakfast is in the fridge, but you can't eat until 10:30. Tutu already ate and she does not need to go out to the bathroom. Don't give her any treats, she ate a pack of gum this morning. One of my friends will be coming by later to check on you and see if you're still here. So don't leave or you will be punished. Always remember, no one loves you.
Sincerely,