Text Box: Trinity Spirituality Center
 

 

Text Box: Brother’s Cruelty “I don’t want to take a bath.” My brother’s voice blares from the kitchen and penetrates my body as I rest on the couch. “Go to your room then, “ mom says. Strong, defined steps vibrate each stair. Dust sifts off the ceiling fan and falls in spurts with each beat. I hear his muffled voice through the ceiling, “I hate you.” His trapped tone warms my blood, drawing me onto my feet. I feel the energy of brotherly duty and I move out of the room. I step softly up the long shag carpet of the narrow stairs. Trough his door, I witness my brother angrily tugging cream colored bed sheets with his teeth. Leaning against his door frame, I stare calmly at his red, clenched face. “Quit lookin’ at me,” he says. A tickle of laughter wells in my stomach, and I work to keep my face rigid. “Stop lookin’ at me,” he screams. A breeze of voice blows up from below. “Settle down or you’ll stay in your room for an hour.” I slowly stretch my toes across the door jamb and back, whispering with calmed excitement, “I’m in your room, I’m out of your room. I’m in your room, I’m out of your room.” Out of the clenched redness, my brother’s face blows, “Get away from me.” A hurricane of voice gusts up from below. “O.K., you’re there for a hour, I warned you.” With a smirk on my face, I plop back on the couch downstairs.
 


                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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