He Said/She Said

I'm going to Back Fence PDX tonight. I went to the holiday special last winter and it was highly enjoyable; there is not enough story-telling in the world. The conceit of this particular evening is that two people will be telling the same story from their own perspective. It should be good.

My co-worker and I were talking about it and she was particularly excited about the brother/sister combo. Which got me thinking about my relationship with my brother. We get along great. Now. There was a time, a really brief amount of time (about 10 years) that we hated each other's guts. There is a particular moment that I recall as the crowning moment of our hatred, and perhaps even, the catharsis that we needed to resolve our differences.

I was in the living room, the television was on, and there was something I really wanted to watch, probably Murder She Wrote. I asked Laurence to change the channel. He wouldn't. He exhibited shocking defiance and disdain for my obvious superiority as the older sister. I then told him that he could at least pick up all his stuff that was scattered about the living room. I picked up his shoes and prepared to do something with them (probably put them away, but possibly throw them into the garbage can). I looked up to see this look, this horrible shadow of rage pass over his face and I knew I was totally screwed. I abandoned the shoes and sprinted down the stairs, my brother in hot pursuit. My plan was to escape to the bathroom and lock the door until he resumed normal form, but like some cheap horror movie, he caught me right as the door was closing and burst through. What happened then could be described as a fist fight, though it should be noted that he never actually punched me because I am a girl. We shoved each other around, knocked the shower door off its hinges, bled a little bit, etc. He ended up with a blue eye (not quite a shiner) and a long scratch down his forehead (I don't know how that happened, I'm not a scratcher). And then it was over. I immediately felt better, lighter, amused even. He glowered. I apologized. I drove us to a friend's house to meet our parents for a BBQ. The story was relayed and my parents shook their heads (no doubt deeply embarrassed), and then they took a photo of his face. His sullen, bruised-up, scratched face. And we slowly became friends again.

I would like him to post his version of the story (to be continued . . .), but you may have to settle for asking him yourself. I'm sure he'll be willing to defend his side of the matter.