S2, Account 1: Cory
They treat him like a black sheep, as if he is nothing more than a biological accident that occurred in my mother’s womb, when an egg that was meant to remain as one, accidentally and undesirably split into two.
He is more than a name uttered only amidst a deep sigh of regret, or screamed out like nails dragged against glass…he is my brother. My identical twin brother. And he carries my cross on his back daily as if it were a petal, instead of a floating tomb of family shame, discord, and rejection. I am Cory and he is “that boy”. He is “not my son”. He is “wasted potential”.
When did it become okay to give up on your children? To deride them for their mistakes made in the naivety of the hour? To scorn them with such passion and spite that the child ceases to become a human being, but instead the punchbag for all of the unresolved personal demons you never dispossessed yourself of, but multiplied and handed down like a family heirloom…so that the cycle can continue, again.
I know he’s not perfect, but if they looked a little harder, they would see the light that he truly is. The depth of his loyalty, the fierceness of his love, the honour in his character. My brother will always be the greatest person I know. And that’s why it hurts so much to know that I have caused his treatment. That now I am the quintessential comparative tool. My brother more or less belongs to the streets now, and that’s what happens when conditional love marries with faded dreams; anything less perfection is seen as ungratefulness and rebellion which must be punished with ostracisation.
I am Cory…the high-achiever, the role-model, the diligent one, the conscientious one, the model son, the paragon of filial duty and responsibility.
I am nothing of the sort, I’m definitely a fake, I am guilty, I am tired and I want to be done. I can’t carry this anymore, I’m tired. I’ve stolen my brother’s place and now I want to be done.
Today is my graduation. I can see my parents beaming proudly beside me, my aunts and uncles cheered me on the stage, I spoke to my grandmother on the phone and she wept in pride and delight, but one person is missing…my brother. I feel the loss as deeply as if I had lost my right eye. I smile, I pose for the pictures, I pretend he is not missing, I hold my girlfriend’s hand, listen to her chitter-chatter about moving in together at some point, I smile in fake delight, it doesn’t reach my eyes, my eyes are blurred, I just got a text from an unknown number saying “I’m proud of you”, my eyes are blurred, and now tears race furiously down my cheeks.
I am an imposter.
My brother made one mistake, and he’s paying for it with his life. But it’s not even the mistake they think he made. Cordell’s mistake was protecting me from the mistake I made.
Originally posted: August 29, 2020