pages 66-68



Alex,

I regret calling you "turtle" when the steroid you were on for your asthma made you retain water and look all round and bloated.

I regret making fun of the asthma camp you went to all those summers.

I regret those years when I was bigger than you when I would hold you down during a fight and tell you I was going to bite your nose off like the Penguin in Batman Returns.

I regret acting like a brat on your 8th birthday.

I'm regret telling the neighborhood kids you had worms when you got ringworm.

I regret telling on you.

I regret not telling on you.

I regret not dropping everything to move back to Columbus to make you live with me.

I regret that one time I covered your bed in ketchup.

I regret that you had to fight your school bus bully instead of doing it for you. He was my age, after all.

I regret not getting a better paying job so I could support you.

I regret trying to keep you out of my room when I had friends over.

I regret not teaching you how to properly throw a baseball. Jesus, you were so, so bad. It was embarrassing to watch. Painful, even. I, ugh, I can't think about it now without cringing.

I regret not being more encouraging of the things you did well.

I regret making you feel bad for being allergic to cats and being the reason I couldn't have one.

I regret not pushing Mom and Dad to send you to military school when you begged to go.

I regret rolling my eyes at you in the hall at school when you went through that hair gel phase.

I regret not just giving you the goddamned Chumbuwumba CD.

I regret all those times I just brushed you off as a pain in the ass instead of really talking to you.

I regret that year we didn't talk after our huge Christmas Day fight.

I regret not being a kinder, more sensitive person you may have felt more comfortable confiding in when you first started getting into trouble.

I regret judging instead of listening.

I regret being so hard on you to change.

I regret not being hard enough.

I regret that the last time I saw you, I brought a six pack of beer. What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking. I was thinking, wouldn't it be nice to have a beer with my brother, like normal people do? And then you drank four of them so fast, and would have drank a fifth but I pretended to want another so you wouldn't. I'm sorry I was so stupid. I'm sorry I put wanting to be "normal" with you above what was best for you. I'm sorry I gave up trying to fix you. I just didn't want you to be mad at me anymore.

I am sorry that I'm the one editing your book. But so far, I don't regret it.








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pages 82-84

   A few nights ago I had a very vivid dream wherein I bought a vintage motorcycle. It was a Harley I think, from the 1970s. It had pistach...