Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2010 11:53:15 -0500
From: Johnathan Johnson <jjjohnson8221@gmail.com>
Subject: To love or not to love - Part 1

For all of you who really understand that love is love.  There are no
explanations as to why someone falls in love with someone else.  It could
be physical, it could be mental, it could just be on a whim.  The question
is, does it really matter?

As I leaned against the frame of the door to his bedroom watching him sleep
peacefully, I wondered how many times I had done this.  A hundred times?
Maybe even a thousand times, who knows, I lost count a long time ago. And
why do I do it? There are many answers to that question.  One could be
fear, another could be awe, another could be love and desire, and the list
goes on and on.  And truth be told, it is all of them.  I have fear of and
for him, I am in awe of him and I am head over heels in love with him.
Quite the conundrum no?  And yet with all those questions and answers I
could do nothing about any of them.  You see, the man that lay there in
front of me is my older brother Jeffrey.

15 years ago when we were kids living in the same house, in the same room,
went to the same school we appeared and played the typical brother scene.
Got along well, but fought some just the standard sibling rivalry.  However
in reality, Jeff tortured me, verbally and to a degree physically as well.
But was smart enough to do it in a way that even if I went crying to our
parents, there was no way of proving it. I couldn't prove that he said
anything because there was no one else to hear it.  And I couldn't prove
that he used to hit and kick and spit on me because it was never done hard
enough to leave any marks.  So I had nothing to show for it.  I used to try
and fight back, for many years I tried to, but there was no way that I
could win on either front.  He was too smart, one of those people that
could take anything you say turn it around and use it against you.  And
physically, well there was no question on that one, I was no match for him
even then he was tall -- at 15 he was 6'5" I was 13 but only 5'10".  He
was muscular, I was scrawny. There was no match, but I was stubborn and
tried to fight back anyway and always ended up getting hurt worse.  I asked
and begged him hundreds of times to just leave me alone, or at least tell
me why he did it.  In all honesty that's what hurt me more.  Not the abuse,
but being in the dark, not being able to understand what it was about me,
or what I did that made him do it to me.

But again no one would ever believe anything I ever said about it.  Because
outside of our room, he was seen as an angel, would never hurt a fly. Was
considered the `gifted' child, so smart, and so able and so bullshit.  Why
was he smart? I'll give you one simple guess.  ME.  Truth be told, I was
the gifted one, my freshman year in high school, I was doing his homework
-- that's right and he was a junior.  Who trained him for his tests? Who
wrote his college essays? Me.  Say no to it?  What do you think happened?
That's right, I get beat.  Do it? What happens?  That's right I get beat
anyway.  Never made any sense to me, still doesn't it.  I warned him about
the fact that I wouldn't be there with him in college to do any of this for
him.  And that if he did get into Harvard -- its 4000 miles away from
California, you're going to get your ass kicked out of college before you
even sit down.  But of course he had a way around that too.  Get a sports
scholarship, become their most valuable player and then never have to worry
about getting kicked out.  And sure enough it worked.  He was the
`brilliant' and `gifted' child of the family once again.  Where did I wind
up?  Living at home going to UCLA because no one could afford to send me
anywhere else, and I wasn't allowed to take out a loan.  "If I wanted to go
to a fancy school, I should have gotten myself a scholarship or found a way
to pay for it myself."

And well after a while, you get used to being put down by the world around
you.  By your family, and your friends -- if they could be called that,
and well yea, you just get used to it.  Though, there were small benefits
to it, given that no one ever listened or paid any attention to me -- I
never had to explain anything that I did, not that I really did anything.
But I never had to explain anything, I never had to tell anyone my
feelings, or desires or anything like that.  The fact that I was gay?  That
was easy, I accepted it, understood and quite honestly was happy about it.
Now mind you, I'm not a flaming queen or anything, you wouldn't be able to
pick me out on the street as being gay, but if I was ever asked, I
certainly would tell the truth.  And of course the fact that my family was
completely right winged antigay, and felt as if those types didn't even
exist didn't help anything, but didn't really hurt anything either.  I knew
what my goal was, live in the house as long as I had to and get out as soon
as I could to survive on my own.

Now, before continuing on with that, I'm sure that you are wondering where
was Jeff in all of this, had he been home throughout his time in college,
what did he do after he graduated?  I'll give you all those answers, in the
4 years that he was over there he came home twice a semester, for the term
breaks, during and during the summer, so in essence he was home 16 times in
4 years.  And every time he came home, it was if he never left, everything
was the same.  The attitude, the treatment, everything, and yet for some
bizarre reason, I sat there and took at all.  I didn't understand it then,
because if I were really smart enough I would have made sure to avoid him
at all costs, but on the same token that was impossible, and also, in a
sick and twisted way, I didn't want avoid him, I missed him.  Not what he
did to me -- I certainly did not miss that at all. But I did miss him not
being there as my brother. But it was not until later on that I would be
able to make sense of that.

But in leaving all that aside, after Jeff had graduated and come back home
to California, there was the question of what was he going to do now?  He
had a college degree from Harvard (how he managed to do that I am clueless
about to this day), but had nothing set up for any sort of work, he did not
go into any sort of professional sports, and it did not appear as if he was
going to go to graduate school.  So all he did was sit home day after day,
go out at night with his friends, then come back and do what he used to
when we were at home in grade school, torture me at his will.  And just the
same I would fight back and lose every time.  Though I can say one thing,
aside from his general sports he must have lived at the gym because he was
3 times the size he was when he left 4 years ago all of solid muscle.  I on
the other hand, while I had worked religiously to build some definition had
never been able to get to that size.  And for another 2 years I lived with
it all again. Him back at home beating and torturing me as if I had never
left.  I could stay out until 3 in the morning hoping to avoid it all, but
it never worked.  Somehow he managed to be up and waiting for me when I got
there.

But, there was finally going to be an end to all of this, I was finally
going to have the upper hand on things because I was going to be leaving
and moving away from all of this.  I was graduating college, I had set
myself up for this point that I could leave and move out on my own.  I had
set up a full time job that made enough money that I was out of there as
quickly as I could be. Long before I graduated under everyone's line of
vision I had everything set up, found myself a place to live on my own,
purchased a car of my own and was ready to head out.

The day of graduation, everyone showed up to witness it, family, friends,
Jeff of course being the angel that he was to the outside world was there
with a big smile on his face wishing me all the best.  To my surprise, I
had been asked by many people, Jeff and my parents included, what it was
that I wanted for a present for graduation.  And I said the same thing to
each and every one of them, "Nothing. Your being here was enough for me."
Which not surprisingly, they all seemed happy about.  However I did get
congratulatory cards from people which was actually nice, all of them said
nice and simple things.  But as you can imagine the one I got from Jeff
said something a little different.

	"I've got a present for you buddy.  The biggest one you've ever
gotten."  Now of course I knew exactly what that meant.  And I had figured
it would be something like that, so I decided that I would go out that
night, actually get myself relatively drunk, come back and get what was
coming to me, and maybe it wouldn't actually hurt too badly (at least not
until the following morning) and then spring my own surprise on everyone
and move out that day.

So I went out that night with friends, and we all celebrated finally making
it through the four years still in one piece, and by 2 or 3 in the morning,
I felt that I was good enough to go back home take what I had coming to me,
get it over with and then move on.  As I walked back into the house and
into my room, as expected, there was Jeff wide awake, waiting for me to
show up.  The minute I walked in and shut the door he jumped up and said,

	"Why the fuck did you take so long? Hoping that you would be able
to avoid me?" I just looked back at him and said,

	"No, actually I decided to enjoy myself before coming home to enjoy
myself some more."  I actually don't think it was the response that he was
expecting, but none the less, he responded with,

	"Good.  Let the fun begin." But as he had said in the card, this
time was different.  He gagged me with a sock in my mouth, obviously to
prevent there being any noise. (At this point I realized it really was
going to be a bad one, but at least the last.)  And he began his assault,
first spitting, then the punching, but this time much harder than usual.  I
knew there were going to be marks this time.  Never touched my face, but my
upper arms would definitely be black and blue my stomach too, the slaps he
was giving my ass stung like hell and I knew there would definitely be red
on those too.  But again just like my unexpected verbal response earlier, I
did something a little different.  I didn't fight back, I just lay there
letting him do what he wanted, pretended to make a muffled whimper but that
was it, I did nothing else.  I didn't push back, didn't even try and move
away, I just lay there and let him do what he wanted.  And in the midst of
all of it, I heard him saying something, wasn't paying any attention to it
until I felt a much stronger punch on my thigh, I looked up into his eyes
and saw fire -- something I had never seen before and I heard him say,

	"What the fuck? You given up pussy boy?"  I said or made no
movement, which actually made him even more angry I think, and he finally
just gave me one final blow to left bicep -- and that one actually really
hurt, almost made me tear, and then I heard him say,

	"Fuck this." Pushed me back on the bed and walked out.  Finally. It
was all over.  It was the last beating and humiliation I was ever going to
have to endure.  Though it was also one that I wouldn't forget, at least
not for some time.  At that point I was wiped out, in pain and actually
made the decision that I wasn't even going to wait for the morning to
leave, I was going to do it now.  I had no idea where Jeff had stormed out
to, didn't really matter.  I knew that I wouldn't be seeing him again for a
very long time anyway, no sense trying to change anything, he was finished
and that was that.  And my parents, well, as a courtesy I had told them a
few days ago, what I was going to do and how they could reach me if
necessary but I would be fine.  I did what my father told me to, did
everything I had to myself.  So that said grabbed what I needed and walked
out of our room and down the steps into the living room, where I actually
found Jeff passed out on the couch with the TV on.  In that position, at
that point in time, he really did look like the angel that everyone thought
he was.  He was a beautiful man, had an incredible body that anyone would
kill to have, and when they were kind and loving during the day he had eyes
the color of emeralds.  He was breath taking. And also such a heavy sleeper
that you could set off a bomb next to him and he wouldn't wake up.  Knowing
that, I shut the TV off, went over kissed him on the head said "I love you
Jeff".  I walked over to the front door, left a sealed envelope with a note
to my father just simply saying I decided to leave a little early.  And I
walked out the door and down the front walk and into my car.  I sat for a
few moments, just staring at the house, that I had spent the past 21 years
in, and finally drove off heading north for the next 7 hours to San
Francisco to start my new life -- one where I was the one that ruled it
and no one else.

	As I started to drive up the street, I started to think if any of
them actually cared whether or not I was gone.  Did it really matter?  I
wanted to think that they cared at least a little bit.  I remembered what
my father said when I told him what I had done and I was giving him the
information and all,

	"Well it's about fucking time that you did something for yourself.
Now your mother and I don't have to support you anymore.  Good luck to
you." Was that sincere?  In a way I think that it was, it was the sincerity
that he was capable of -- at least towards me.  Which was fine, and I
also wondered if he even kept my address and phone number, or did he just
throw it away.  Again I'd like to think that he kept it, but who knows.  Of
course my thoughts then came to Jeff, what would he think?  For one I knew
that he would definitely be pissed off that he didn't he didn't find his
punching bag where he left it the night before.  But by the time he woke up
I'd be about half way if not more to my new home already.  I actually
chuckled about that, not only that, but the fact that now, he had no one to
blame anything that he fucked up on anymore.  Like when he drove home
toasted one night, and drove right into the back my father's car.  Somehow
he managed to pin it on me -- thankfully the damage wasn't bad and I was
able to pay for it.  Any of those things that would happen, that I would
have to take the blame for or be punished for it -- well the punishment
happened one way or another but whatever.  But I did still wonder, how he
was going to manage to get away with all of that, or if he would even do it
anymore.

Interestingly enough though, as I got on to the interstate, I actually
started to tear a bit, I mean granted I wasn't going to miss any of the
physical and verbal abuse from any of them, that part of my life was
finally over, but they were my family.  As fucked up as they are, they are
still my family and I will miss them dearly.  But, after so many years of
endurance and pain, I knew that what I was doing was the right thing for
me.  And again, as sick as it sounds, and is really, out of all of them I
will miss Jeff the most.  I loved him, no. I do love him and I always will.
I finally had figured out a year or 2 ago, what my problem was with him,
and why after everything he's done I still love him -- its not because I
love him, it's because I am IN love with him.  He was the reason as to why
I never had the ability to be with any guys.  I had, had hundreds of
opportunities to have boyfriends, to have my sexual escapades with anyone
that I wanted to.  But I turned each and every one of them down, and I
racked my brain about why. I couldn't understand it, it wasn't until Jeff
had graduated and come home that I realized that it was him that I was in
love with.  And he who subconsciously prevented me from having any sort of
relationship.  So in a sense not only did he physically and verbally abuse
me, he had a mental hold on me as well.  And unfortunately I had a feeling
that was the one thing that I was probably not going to be able to break
away from.

As the sun rose, and I continued north, I closed my thoughts on my past and
decided to concentrate on my future.  I had a great job set up, the pay was
fantastic, the area was great -- good old San Francisco -- yes gay
mecca of the states, but contrary to most thought that was not why I chose
here at all.  I had actually wanted Southern California, like San Diego or
along those lines.  But this jobs was just too good to pass up, so I
grabbed it.  I mean let's be honest, it's rare that a college graduated out
of UCLA is offered 190,000 dollar a year job as a starting salary, it just
doesn't happen.  It basically opened up every single door that I needed.
Hell I could have bought myself a house if I wanted, but decided that an
good sized apartment would be fine for me, and I could get myself a new car
instead of this used one.  That would be great too. My biggest concern now,
was meeting new people and making friends.  Since granted it was going to
be a very different from college, since I was never a big bar or club
person.  I made my friends through classes and other activities and what
not.  But how hard could it be?  I guess I'd find out soon enough.

After a very long and back-aching 7 hours, I was finally pulling into the
garage of my new home.  A very strange feeling came over me -- neither
good nor bad, just strange, I guess one of `wow'.  As I handed the car keys
over to the parking attendant, I grabbed 2 of my suitcases and walked out
of the garage and into the lobby of my apartment building and just again,
paused and looked around, it was actually much nicer than it had looked in
the pictures.  I walked over to the elevators and waited for the doors to
open, as the opened I walked in and pressed my floor -- 21, just how old
I was.  As I walked out of the elevator and mad my way down the hall to my
apartment -- 21 J.  I stood there just staring at it, my name had already
been put on the door, and finally with a shaky hand, I put the key in the
lock and unlocked the door to the true beginning of my life.



Comments welcome at jjjohnson8221@gmail.com