All day today, I've been giving my brother that creepy stare a lot of us give... that stare where you try to attain as much information about the other person as possible, because in a few short hours, you'll be out of each other's sight.
When will I see you again? Will I see you again?
I love you... you fucking asshole.
I won't get to see him tomorrow... well, maybe at six in the morning, when I wake up to shower and get ready for the day's activities (I'm going to be a full-fledged idiot tourist tomorrow... since I have until 4PM to fuck around in the city before I head out to the airport). He works from nine to five... and my flight leaves at 6:45PM... so there won't be time for him to come home and accompany us to the airport.
I've been bummed all day. I was with the folks... and Rafa was working... so I didn't see him too much. Once he did come home, I just... did the staring thing... and I cooked for him, teaching him how to prepare the soup for when I'm gone and he has to resume his life of a lonely bachelor.
Tomato Soup Bien Chingona... and quick.
Solitude is a thing I appreciate... but parting ways with a person I love and admire is never an easy thing. I seem to have it easy when saying goodbye to my folks... and my sister (Jesus, I hope she doesn't hear that. It's not like I don't love her, I REALLY do. I think I've slapped enough kids around to prove that point), but my brother-- not so much. I just feel like my brother's at a much higher risk of never seeing again... you know... of him... dying... so saying goodbye to him always breaks my heart. Always.
He has never admitted it while sober, but I know he feels alone... there have been plenty of drunk dials to attest to that. All you really have to do is observe him... how he'll gravitate to the room someone's at. He'll never willingly choose to be alone (whereas I'm the opposite... and I'll always try and find a way to sneak out of a crowded room to be by myself).
During our time here, he has been curling up into the fetal position as he rests his head on my mom's lap. I won't lie-- I almost cry when I see that. It's... sad to me.
We also cringe whenever anyone drops the "J word"... Juarez. We try to put a brave face on... well, Mom and Dad do... I do my "Fucking Bullshit" stone cold bitch face. My "Oh, really, it's not that bad? How about your fucking kid goes to Juarez instead?" face. I can't help it. It makes me angry. How can anyone feel excited when told you're going to have to take "defensive driving" courses for a week? That's what bro will be doing... I think next week. He has to learn how to fish tail cars...how to escape would-be assassins. Last time I checked this nig wasn't signed up as a secret agent... what kind of bullshit is that?
But I digress... no need to get worked up... aaaand, well, yeah, he's once again serving the country and all that blah-blah-blah patriotic stuff.
What does make me feel better is knowing he makes so many people laugh. He's silly... and it appears all of those who come in contact with him appreciate it (there is ONE prick, ONE, who makes it more than obvious that he can't stand my brother. That uptight motherfucker. I was ready to wring that pricks neck, even if I WAS rocking 5inch killer heels and a button-down dress--STUPIDEST. IDEA. EVER.).
Mi broder.
When will I see you again? Will I see you again?
I love you... you fucking asshole.
I won't get to see him tomorrow... well, maybe at six in the morning, when I wake up to shower and get ready for the day's activities (I'm going to be a full-fledged idiot tourist tomorrow... since I have until 4PM to fuck around in the city before I head out to the airport). He works from nine to five... and my flight leaves at 6:45PM... so there won't be time for him to come home and accompany us to the airport.
I've been bummed all day. I was with the folks... and Rafa was working... so I didn't see him too much. Once he did come home, I just... did the staring thing... and I cooked for him, teaching him how to prepare the soup for when I'm gone and he has to resume his life of a lonely bachelor.
Tomato Soup Bien Chingona... and quick.
Solitude is a thing I appreciate... but parting ways with a person I love and admire is never an easy thing. I seem to have it easy when saying goodbye to my folks... and my sister (Jesus, I hope she doesn't hear that. It's not like I don't love her, I REALLY do. I think I've slapped enough kids around to prove that point), but my brother-- not so much. I just feel like my brother's at a much higher risk of never seeing again... you know... of him... dying... so saying goodbye to him always breaks my heart. Always.
He has never admitted it while sober, but I know he feels alone... there have been plenty of drunk dials to attest to that. All you really have to do is observe him... how he'll gravitate to the room someone's at. He'll never willingly choose to be alone (whereas I'm the opposite... and I'll always try and find a way to sneak out of a crowded room to be by myself).
During our time here, he has been curling up into the fetal position as he rests his head on my mom's lap. I won't lie-- I almost cry when I see that. It's... sad to me.
We also cringe whenever anyone drops the "J word"... Juarez. We try to put a brave face on... well, Mom and Dad do... I do my "Fucking Bullshit" stone cold bitch face. My "Oh, really, it's not that bad? How about your fucking kid goes to Juarez instead?" face. I can't help it. It makes me angry. How can anyone feel excited when told you're going to have to take "defensive driving" courses for a week? That's what bro will be doing... I think next week. He has to learn how to fish tail cars...how to escape would-be assassins. Last time I checked this nig wasn't signed up as a secret agent... what kind of bullshit is that?
But I digress... no need to get worked up... aaaand, well, yeah, he's once again serving the country and all that blah-blah-blah patriotic stuff.
What does make me feel better is knowing he makes so many people laugh. He's silly... and it appears all of those who come in contact with him appreciate it (there is ONE prick, ONE, who makes it more than obvious that he can't stand my brother. That uptight motherfucker. I was ready to wring that pricks neck, even if I WAS rocking 5inch killer heels and a button-down dress--STUPIDEST. IDEA. EVER.).
Mi broder.
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