Thanks in advance for your consideration.
Warmly yours,
Bradley Hargrave
I’m out of my chair before I even finish reading the sign-off. In headquarters, I punch in my own name and pull up that Christmas. For the life of me, I can’t remember what I got. I scrub the memory for a moment, a look of elation, a shout of validation.
Instead, toward the middle, there is a quiet moment. My hands unwrap a one-hundred-and-twenty pack of artist-grade colored pencils. Up until then, I’d sensed disapproval from my parents over my affinity for drawing. They saw it as childish, a hobby, a time-suck. I glowed, thinking this was from them.
I read the tagline for the brand:THE RAINBOW AWAITS.I was slowly beginning to understand myself as some flavor of queer. My eyes landed on guys longer than girls at the movies or the mall. I knew the rainbow flag as the symbol of pride. At thirteen, I took that as a sign—even if unintended—that if and when I came out, I’d be accepted.
Now I comb back through the memory record. When I turn the pencil set around to show my parents, there isn’t knowingness or support in their expressions. But when I zoom in on Bradley’s reaction, the side of his mouth tips up slightly in a smile. Like a teen who knows his wish had been granted.
I’m crying now. Fat, salty tears running down my hot cheeks.
Pulling out my phone, I call Bradley. The call connects after a single ring. He must hear the tears before I speak because he asks, “Patrick, what’s happened?”
I sniffle. “Nothing. Or everything. I don’t know.”
He proffers a small apology to someone on the other end of the line. There are muffled footfalls and a door closing and a soft sigh. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”
“Yes,” I say. Though, how am I to know? I’ve been ignoring them since I got here. Chalking up the neglect to a need for my attention elsewhere.
“Areyouokay?” Bradley asks. His voice is sanded down. But still, it pries me open.
“No,” I admit. “Not really.” He patiently waits for the blubbering and the heavy breathing to end. “I’m sorry. You’re probably at work. Busy. I—”
“Patrick, that’s not important. Why have you called? You never call.” He doesn’t say this to hurt me. He’s only stating fact.
“That’s why I’m calling,” I say.
“I don’t understand,” he says. But there’s an undertone ofI want to.
“Was I a jerk to you when we were kids?” I ask.
There’s a click on the line. Momentarily, I’m afraid he’s hung up. “Where is this coming from?”
“I was. It’s okay. I know I was. Well, I didn’t know until recently, but—” I heave out a breath lodged up in my diaphragm. “I’m sorry, Bradley.”
“I, uh— Apology accepted,” he says quickly. Like he’s been waiting on these words for a while. “But it’s really not necessary. I gave you your space because that’s what you wanted.”
“It wasn’t,” I say. “You know how Dad and Uncle Luke were always in competition with each other. All those stories Dad would tell about them vying for favorite with Nan and Pop. I guess I thought that’s how brothers were supposed to be.”
“How brothers are supposed to be?” Bradley asks, confusion audible. “They can barely have a conversation without arguing.”
“You’re right. I didn’t even think about that. I was too busy spending all my energy trying to catch up to you.”
“Funny, I always thought you were chasing me away.”
I laugh, even though it’s not ha-ha funny. More of a sad-funny. “Either way, I was running, and I never stopped long enough toconsider how you felt because I was too concerned about what Mom and Dad thought.”
“Guess we were both keeping each other at arm’s length.” He sounds wistful.
I shake my head. “I wish I’d said something sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have been rushing against a clock that was never ticking.”
“What’s that now?”
“I chose an accelerated architecture program so Mom and Dad would see my career choice as legitimate sooner. I got married to Quinn so they would understand our relationship quicker. All in the name of competing with you and winning their affection,” I say. The selfishness bears down on me.
