Where Did My Brother Go? Part 1

I stood behind the door leading into the psychiatric unit of Mount Vernon Hospital. I peered into the window and waited to be buzzed in. Beyond the door, Khalid was standing in the hallway, in a white hospital gown, talking to someone - perhaps his girlfriend - on the payphone. He had taken out his cornrows without detangling, and his hair was quite disheveled. He looked up and his eyes met mine through the door’s glass window. I waved, not knowing what to expect in return. He just stared in my direction with a blank expression, almost looking through me instead of at me. I wondered if it was a one-way glass mirror or something. After locking away all of my belongings, and giving me a once-over with a metal detector wand, a nurse let me into the hallway where my brother stood. I smiled nervously, and took a few steps toward him, when suddenly, his eyes narrowed at me as if I were someone who betrayed him. “Do not take another step." he sneered. "Turn right back around and get the fuck out.”  

The Perfect Little Sidekick

My mother always tells me how lonely I was before my brother was born. When he came into the world, I was 4 years old and bursting with pride to be a big sister. I always wanted to do anything I could do to help him. When he was a toddler, he followed me everywhere, and In typical big-sister-fashion, I could get him to do anything I wanted - usually sneaking snacks out of the kitchen for me. If he refused, all I had to do was say “I won’t be your friend anymore!” and he would say “I’m sorry! Okay, i’ll do it!” So freaking easy! We spent hours creating obstacle courses in the living room, and stayed up late in our bunk beds making shadow movies on the wall with his Fisher Price flashlight. He was my partner in crime. I was ecstatic to have him as my little brother.

When my younger cousin, Tisha would come over, I made up short plays for the two of them to perform, which usually involved them on their hands and knees playing barnyard animals. I remember it always took a 10 minute pep talk for my brother to feel brave enough to come out of the dressing room [mom’s bedroom]. I would say, “You got this, Khalid! Its just Mommy out there!” Sometimes he would drop a few tears, but eventually he always came through and made my little showcase a success.

When it was time for him to start kindergarten and for me to start 3rd grade (he had been allowed to skip a year of Pre-K), we had just moved to a new city: Mount Vernon, NY. It was an adorable little urban town, and I was very excited for our first day at Lincoln Elementary School. I was always a very outgoing kid, and was eager to make friends. Khalid, however, could not handle the shock of a new environment. As soon as the bus dropped us off in the morning, he would cling to me. If I tried to walk off toward the third grade area of the yard, he burst into tears. From then on, for the next three years, I would stay by his side in the playground before school started. Most of the kids who knew me were way younger than I was, because they were all in my brother’s class. It was annoying, for sure. But I was the big sister and it was my responsibility to see to it that he was okay.

The Shift 

By the time he was in 3rd grade, I had graduated into middle school, and my mom enrolled my brother into a Catholic elementary school in Mount Vernon called St. Peter and St. Paul. By the middle of the school year, we noticed a change in Khalid. He was developing an attitude that neither of us appreciated at all. His friends were rude and we didn’t like the influence they had on Khalid. They acted like they were all hot shit that no one could level up to. My brother, who at first just followed the crowd and did what his friends did, suddenly became the leader of the group, and more of a jerk than the others. My mother started getting calls from school about his behavior in class. Acting out, cursing, not doing what he was supposed to do. It was like he was putting on a tough guy mask for his friends, because at home, he was still the sensitive cry baby he always was. 

There was a significant change in his behavior at home, though. The days of him sneaking snacks from the kitchen for me were long over. We started arguing more frequently, and our fights would escalate from verbal disagreements, to physical altercations. Sometimes, he would get so angry that he would bite me! I remember once, when I wouldn't give him the TV remote he actually broke the skin on my forearm! I ran to my mother, furiously yelling “He’s crazy! Something is wrong with him!” She scolded him sternly for biting me, but she would always follow up with comments like, “Kalima, don’t say things like that about your brother.” Or, more frequently, “You’re the oldest. Don’t provoke him.”  It was incredibly frustrating. Slowly but surely, I started avoiding him in the apartment. We had our own rooms at that point, and for the most part, I stayed in mine with the door closed. 

It seemed like he kept getting more and more mean from that point on. Since my new middle school was predominately white, I began to develop an interest in different forms of music. While Mount Vernon was a hip-hop-and-reggae-loving town, my mp3 player had mainly artists like Bowling for Soup, Green Day, and Simple Plan. Khalid would tell me constantly that I listened to too much “white people music” and that I “talked so white.” I would roll my eyes and tell him how ignorant that was, but he made his opinion of me was perfectly clear: I just wasn’t black enough. 

One Saturday, in the public library, he and I were returning some books, when I saw a kid who used to bully me in elementary school. He called Khalid over, and they started laughing and joking together. At one point, I heard the kid say “Your sister is mad ugly, right?” And suddenly I felt as small as I did in 6th grade, when I was bullied the worst. I felt my eyes burn as tears started to accumulate, but I waited to hear Khalid’s response. Even though we weren’t as close as before, I thought surely he would defend me. I was his sister after all. What I heard next was actually my brother laughing and agreeing with what the kid just said about me! I left the library so fast, and got into my mother’s car, trying to hide the tears on my face. 

Coming Out and Testing the Waters

When I started high school, Khalid and I did not socialize anymore. We barely spoke to each other. There were some moments of sibling bonding, but those were few and far between. In my sophomore year, I came out to myself as gay. I told a few friends who were more like siblings to me than my actual sibling. For the most part, the news was received well. I decided that I would tell Khalid before telling my mother. At 12 years old, he was definitely an ass, but he was still my brother, and I wanted him to know who I was. First, testing the waters, I told him I was bisexual. He didn’t seem to have a problem with that. Later, I told him that I am actually a lesbian. He raised an eyebrow and said, matter-of-factly, “You can be bisexual, but you can’t be lesbian. That’s bad.” I didn’t know how to respond except to say “I didn’t have a choice. I just am.” He shrugged, and the subject seemed to be dropped. 

When Khalid’s hoard of friends would come over to our apartment, I would hear their conversations from my bedroom. I could barely stand listening to the misogynistic way they spoke about the girls they knew, and I had to resist the urge to embarrass him and tell them to shut the hell up. One day, I was doing my best to ignore them, when I hear one of his friends refer to a kid in their class as "that faggot." Immediately I was all ears. I must have hoped that my brother would speak up and tell him not to use that word. Maybe even mention that his sister was gay and it was offensive. He did not defend me though. He didn't even pause to consider defending me. He just continued on with the discussion. Though this may sound harsh, I think that was the moment when I lost faith that my brother cared about me at all.

[3/13/2019]