I Love You, Too
Lauren Kim
I was hunched over my desk when I heard the floorboards creak outside of the opened door to my room. I didn’t even have to turn around to know that there was a stupid smile on the fat little face poking out from behind the frame.
“Go away, Ryan,” I said flatly, not bothering to face him.
He let out a defeated grunt that turned into a soft giggle as he made his way over to my desk.
“Hi–”
I pressed my eyes shut, folded my lips, and inhaled loudly through my nostrils–my usual response to his ill-timed interruptions. I swear to God. Couldn’t he see that I was busy? Couldn’t he see that this clearly wasn’t a good time? Apparently, he couldn’t. He never can. He just stood there, gently twisting his body from side to side looking as round and dumb as a matryoshka doll.
“What do you want?” I asked, slamming my pencil down as I finally turned to face him.
“Oh, uh…”
I could feel my insides boiling already. Do I have low patience? Yeah, you could say that. But yours would wear thin too if you had to put up with this shit for twelve years. Sometimes I come across pictures of him when he was a baby, and I can’t wrap my head around how he turned out to be such a pain in the ass. I remember I used to love him. It’s not that I don’t anymore–it has just been reduced to the kind of love where you love someone because they’re family, and there’s no other reason besides that. Because now, I hate almost everything about him.
I hate how he eats like crap. I read online that kids like him are predisposed to impulsive eating. You would think that an awareness of those habits would garner a greater sense of understanding in me, but it didn’t do shit when I went into the basement at ten o’clock one morning and found a new bag of Doritos completely empty. Ten in the freaking morning.
I glanced down at his shirt. It was sprinkled with chicken nugget crumbs, barbecue sauce stains, and streaks of grease where he had wiped his sticky hands. His hands are never not sticky. I hate that too. The crumbs reminded me of the ones I found dusted around a package of Golden Oreos last night. He had only opened it a day ago, and it was already gone.
And I hate how spastic he is. I hate how he runs up and down the stairs on all fours while screaming like a siren at the top of his lungs when I’m studying. I hate how he stands in front of the TV, shaking his arms in the air and yelling “BZZZZZZZZT!” while I’m trying to watch a show. I hate how he enters whatever room I’m in, invisible machine gun at the ready, and aggressively vibrates in place, spit flying everywhere as he shouts “BRRRRRRRRT!”
And I hate how helpless he is. He can’t even read a book that’s three grade levels beneath his for five minutes without complaining. It’s pathetic. And helping him with his homework is the absolute worst. It’s so goddamn frustrating the way he literally refuses to put in a modicum of effort.
That’s wrong, Ryan. Try again.
But I don’t know how to do it.
Well, you’ve only tried it once.
I don’t know! I just don’t know how to do it.
Like I said, you’ve only tried it once. Why don’t you give it another go?
But I don’t know how to do it! Why can’t you just help me?
Because you need to learn how to do things on your own!
I told you I don’t know how to do it!
You’ve only tried it once!
And I hate how he pesters people. My God, does he pester people. I hate how he asks the same goddamn questions over and over again: Can I have a playdate with Jonathan today? Can you think about it? Did you think about it? Did you text Jonathan’s mom to ask if he can come over today? Did his mom answer? If his mom doesn’t answer can Lucas come over instead? Or can I go over to Lucas’ house? I’m not inviting myself over–I just wanna ask him if it’s okay if I can go to his house since you said you don’t know your plans right now. Did Jonathan’s mom answer back? Can I check your phone to see if his mom texted back? Can you call and leave a message? Can you just call one more time? No wonder he was never the one being invited by anyone.
“Oh, uh…”
“…Yes?”
“Oh, uh…I just wanted to know what you were doing.”
BAM! I slammed my hand down on the desk. I could feel it grow hot as it throbbed from the intensity of the impact. My teeth were clenched so tight that the pressure made my head shake. I burned him with my eyes. Why did it always have to get to this point for him to understand?
“Holy fucking shit, Ryan! What does it look like I’m doing? Can you not see that I’m doing work right now? I even told you before I went upstairs not to bother me because I’m studying for a really important test! Does this seem like a good time to ask what I’m doing? Honestly, does it? Seriously, what is wrong with you? Just get out.”
Damn it. I felt my stomach twist as I turned back to my work. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a look of sad confusion on his face as he stared at his hands. They were fidgeting with the pencil I put down earlier.
“Okay…I’m sorry. I love you,” he said as he placed the pencil in the cup on my desk where it usually belongs. Before he disappeared down the hall, he poked his head through the doorway again. “Do you want the door open or closed?”
I felt a small pang in my heart. It wasn’t his fault that he was the way he was, and I knew that. I wanted to give him a hug–to wrap him in my arms and protect him from a world that was bound to isolate him and show him no sympathy. At the very least, I could apologize. But I didn’t. Instead, I plucked the pencil out of the cup and, without even turning to look at him, said, “Closed.”
Lauren Kim wrote “I Love You, Too” in her Creative Non Fiction course taught by Pual Blaney. Blaney selected the piece for publication in WHR.