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“Don’t think about yourself,” Theresa says. And I’ve been sick recently, I have this ringing in my ears.” It’s like coming face to face with a part of yourself you had no interest in knowing.” The Orbit room has round cement tables that are four feet high and people sit around them on tall stools. “They fired rubber bullets at us,” she says proudly. Theresa has been at the protests all day in Oakland. It’s always tough to see an ex-girlfriend and realize she’s getting better looking. Theresa is wearing blue jeans and a torn black shirt. Then I worry that maybe I do drink too much. I worry that my brother will think I drink too much. We head to the Orbit Room where my ex-girlfriend is getting drunk with her friends. You don’t know anything about college basketball.” We watch a basketball game at my friend’s house and I lose fifty dollars. “It’s like my feet are magnets and you have a metal head.” We pass the Victoria Theater where Hedwig and the Angry Inch is in its final week. “You stay on your side of the line.” The streets are crowded and the fruit vendors are out so it’s hard for either of us to stick to our grids. “You see these lines on the sidewalk? Stay on your side of the line.” “From now on I’m going to call you Underfoot,” I say. We’re on 16 th Street and Bosco keeps brushing against me and I keep moving further away until I am against the buildings. His feet smell and I’m going to have to tell him about that. He sleeps on the wooden floor, his feet inches from my head. I’ve borrowed a sleeping bag for him my studio is so small.
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I want to be a good brother but the truth is that I don’t have the skills. I’m not jealous that he’s growing up with two parents in a big house in the suburbs. What I have to keep telling myself is that Bosco is a kid and being a kid is hard. I was more surprised, when, after saying yes, I found out the ticket was for ten days. So I was surprised when he suggested Bosco come out and stay with me. Some times I tell my father it’s best we don’t talk for a while. He thinks he should have been a worse father because it would have helped my writing. My father likes to joke that he only handcuffed me to a pipe that one time and look how many stories I’ve written about it. We get along for months at a time and then I’ll get some note explaining how he wasn’t that bad of a father how he didn’t shave my head, he gave me haircuts and I’ll remember waking up to my father’s fists and being dragged along the floor into the kitchen. My father thinks I have exaggerated my victimhood at his expense. I wrote a book about growing up in group homes and the violence there. He remarried, made money, moved to the suburbs, had children. My father and I never really mended our relationship. The state took custody of me and charged my father with abuse and neglect. I ate from the garbage behind Dominick’s, food thrown away just past due date. I ran away just after my mother died and slept on rooftops and hallways for all of eighth grade. I don’t know my little brother as well as I should. It was the day after my best friend committed suicide.” My brother hangs on the front steps with Kaui’s boyfriend Andy and Andy tells him not to do heroin.
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I was wearing my mother’s skirt…” “I was fifteen, she was nineteen.
ROXANE GAY BROTHER HOW DID HE DIE MOVIE
“He put his hand between my legs at the movie theater. Everybody has an MFA so every story has a small inappropriate observation. Jackets are piled on the bed in the bedroom and people are laying on them or on the floor telling stories about losing their virginity. The house is filled with poets and short story writers. “He’s a little young to be drinking, isn’t he?” Claire asks. Bosco grabs two beers from the fridge and hands me one. We go to a party for people from the university. I just flew into San Francisco two hours earlier. And I’m realizing I’ve made a terrible mistake. We’re in a cab returning from the airport. He’s wearing pajama bottoms and my father’s green bomber jacket.
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He’s fourteen years old now, almost my height, 5′ 8″, creamy white skin, and a small, German nose from my stepmother’s side of the family. “Are you a masochist?” It’s the first thing Bosco asks me.