hairy thing

When you are fifteen or sixteen at family gatherings you want to blend in, you don’t want anyone to really notice you unless, unless they are paying you compliments. Telling you how great you are-not the life decisions you should be making or discussing politics. Actually I like to blend in still, but I usually fail miserably at this.

So I am sitting there among my aunts, uncles, my grandparents, my dad, my stepmom and my brother, my brother, we are eating, eating. I begin to hear a little voice say, Kate has a hairy thing. Very faintly at first. I look around, looking into eyes of those around me, to see if they have heard, heard those words. Looking for slight recognition. He says it again, Kate has a hairy thing. Of course, it’s my brother. Please make him stop. I’m willing him to stop, he keeps going. Kate has a hairy thing, louder now, louder now. I am sure I’m not the only who can hear him. Oh shit. He needs to shut up. I look over and see him, his freckles painted on his face, his blue eyes big like chucky, his eyelashes I’m still jealous of but he still is cute of course. His head has curls of hair. He has a glint in his eye. He knows what he is doing. The only thing more important to him other then ninga turtles and chicken nuggets is making my life miserable. My life miserable.

He says it again, Kate has a hairy thing- louder, almost yelling. Everyone is looking at him, looking at me. I am turning red- the irish coming out. I want to die. I really do. How do you explain why your younger brother saw you naked? It is not a shock that puberty has paid me a visit but I don’t want my family members provided a memo, a memo with the details. Kate doesn't just have pubic hair, but a hairy thing. Kate has a hairy thing. No one is talking, no one is responding. It has to stop. I’m trying to will, hope, plead, anything for it to stop. I am thinking of what to say. T jumped out of my closet when I was changing after the shower. Trying to explain this away. But there is no explaining. I see out of the corner of my eye- my stepmom grab, grab my brother’s hand and drag him, drag him away from the table.

Our nice family table. Ruined. I didn’t know what happened but T returned and his face now was glowing red. Glowing red and his mouth everflowing, now silent. Silent. I didn’t know what had happened but I was thankful. That it was over. Over. The strange thing is I don’t remember anyone talking about what had happened it was just business as usual. Food to fork to mouth. Repeat. Napkin to mouth. Talking and more talking. Repeat.

On the drive home, I found out that my step-mom had saved the day when she grabbed him, grabbed him away from the table and told him if he didn’t stop, he didn’t stop saying what he was saying that she would tell everyone, everyone at the table he had skid marks in his underwear. Skid marks in his underwear. Who knows if he even had them? I didn’t care. It shut him up. That was enough for him to stop- at least long enough for today. At least for today.