Sibling Rival
Matthew Ryan Fischer
If there was one person Ian wanted to beat in any game they
played, it was Pete. If there were two, it was Pete and Arthur. Beating Pete
was more important though. Ian would come in second or third or any place as
long as it wasn’t last, and as long as Pete was behind him. It seemed as if
Pete felt mostly the same. Arthur liked to win. He didn’t care too much else
about who he beat or what order they lost in, just so they lost. Healthy?
Perhaps not always, but it certainly did give the boys motivation.
Pete didn’t have very many friends, not like Ian did anyway. Ian could
be the life of the party. Ian could talk to women. Pete was fun and entertaining
and his jokes were standard and passable, but by comparison it made everything
he did seem just a little hollower and more contrived. Pete didn’t mind that
Ian was the fun one. He consoled himself with having fewer, but deeper
relationships. Or so he wanted to believe.
At the end of night Ian would find Pete and regale him with stories,
recapping adventures and wild trysts. Pete laughed and smiled and was rarely
jealous of his brother. He was often there for the adventures, even if Ian didn’t
always remember it that way.
Arthur had no interest in stories. He had no interest in retelling
events or living vicariously. Arthur found his own path and made his own love
and luck and if he had something interesting to tell, he told it to himself and
remained a mystery to the other two boys.
Arthur went to college and when he came home from break, he
brought his new best friends, Adrian and Jean. They had secret codes and inside
jokes and often snuck out at night to smoke cigarettes and take a nip of brandy
from a flask. Ian and Pete were not invited. On the weekends, they’d go into
town, and Sunday morning they would return, singing and giggling and still
inebriated.
Pete began to hate Adrian and Jean.
“Who do they think they are?” he’d say. Ian had no answer. He didn’t
understand his brother’s preoccupation and tried to distract him with a game of
pool or darts or tales of the Murphy sisters or inspire him by dreaming about
some upcoming cookout or party of their own. Pete didn’t care about any of that
anymore. He was strangely obsessed with these two schoolmates that were
stealing his brother away.
“Why them?”
“If you want to go to the party, just ask. I’m sure they’d let us.”
“No. They’re from Arthur’s class. They wouldn’t want us there anyway.”
“You don’t have to be so bitter.”
“Arthur was never like this before. He never drank. Or ran around
after midnight.”
Ian thought his brother was sounding more and more like their
mother, but kept that to himself. He could beat Pete at a lot of things, but if
Pete were in the mood to tussle, he could give out a mean punch or two before
Ian cold do anything about it. Ian had felt the bruises one too many times.
One night Pete snuck out his window and headed behind the barn,
where he found Adrian and Jean, smoking and drinking.
“Are you going to offer me some?”
The boys looked at Pete and shrugged and passed him the flask.
Pete began to imagine slipping something into the flask, making
them sick and watching them puke. Maybe they’d puke on each other. And Arthur
would see it and laugh at them. Pete chuckled to himself. He would find some ipecac
or soap or something awful. The summer would be ruined and maybe they’d go
home.
Arthur appeared, a little surprised to see his younger brother
there.
“You drink now?”
“I do.”
“All grown up.”
“We were about to take off, go see about some girls. You want to
tag along?”
Pete thought about Ian, wondered what he was doing, wondered if
they should invite him. But Ian was boisterous and loquacious and would
probably steal the attention of any girl Pete liked. Fuck him, mumbled Pete.
“What?” asked Arthur.
“I said fuck yeah. I want to go. Let’s have some fun.”
The others nodded and smiled and they passed the flask around again
as they headed off.
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