Talking with Meera during our after-choir Dunkin Donuts ritual, I actually said aloud something I've been deeply hurt by for a long time. I think I've said it before, but it's been a while. I thought maybe I would have gotten over it if I didn't say it, but that's not true.
I continue to hate my brothers for never visiting me. Never.
Okay, so I was in Ireland and England, those are a bit out of reach. But I went to the same college as Cripps and Smacks. They know where it is, obviously, couldn't get lost on the way... I was there for three long years with nary a visit until graduation weekend.
Then I lived in Ithaca over the summers. I LIVED there. In an apartment one summer, in a sorority house the next. I knew that incredible town inside and out and was bursting to show them. They didn't even bother making weak promises, they just never came.
And now I've been in Boston for more than two years. They almost came for graduation and then I ruined that weekend utterly... I know it's partially my fault. But they don't even ATTEMPT to bring up the idea of trip. I've had to instigate everything and it's never worked.
Here's the kicker: they visit Tom at least once a year.
I can hear this seven-year-old me screaming and pounding her feet on the floor. BUT IT'S NOT FAIR!
Love me, dammit!
1 comment:
My brother spends money on guns instead of a plane ticket to visit me.
That doesn't really bother me now, because Omaha doesn't have too much to offer in the tourist category, but I really wanted him to see me in Boston.
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