Beer and Pastries 3

“Guys. Guys!” My eldest brother yells with his deep, commanding voice, which promptly shuts the twins into an alienated silence. Eugene acts and is built like the ideal older brother of three younger siblings. He is the sole reason as to why my day-to-day experience of public education is unhindered by physically abused peers who attempt to take out their enmity on easy prey. During the fifth grade, I use to have a classmate by the name of Charles who picked on me for looking different. Eugene, who was in the ninth grade at the time, already had his balls dropped, resulting in his signature low voice and the formation of rippling muscle. In his first year of high school, he became the star player of both the wrestling and swimming team. When asked why he never joined the football squad (they pretty much begged him every year to tryout) he would reply simply with “it’s not for me.” And I would have to agree with him, even though he would have easily broken the Eagles losing streak (our school mascot used to be the Bulldogs but was changed due to be too unoriginal).

Anyways, one day during recess, Eugene appeared on the playground, grabbed little Charlie by the scruff of his loose pants and pulled upwards, giving the fifth grader the illusion of temporary flight. Tightening his grip, Eugene howled into the boy’s face, asking him if he looked “like a chink.” During this time, I took the pleasure of watching Charles’s jeans grow slightly darker in hue as my brother threw him on the ground and gave him a beating of his life–I’m pretty sure even his own father didn’t hit him that hard. Charles appeared at school a week later, still bruised all about the face with bandages on his right arm. After that, he disappeared, transferred to another district most likely. While I would had preferred Eugene to go about it more peacefully, being a pacifist and all, Wee-wee Charlie was my pass and is my current talisman for a stress-free high school experience. And even though I don’t wear it proudly, it's there, like the scarlet “A” on Hester Prynne's dress (guess what I’m reading in English class these days).