As he walked past me, I glanced up at him timidly. ItÃÂs hard to look into his eyes. Quickly I shifted my gaze to the floor, not wanting to make eye contact. It wasn't always this awkward between us, but something had changed. We just were not the brothers that we used to be.
He stood there next to his trashy blonde girlfriend in the hallway at the entrance of his bedroom door. He had jumbled, greasy hair at six foot five, with a skinny twig shaped body. His clothes were always dirty and smelled like a pigsty. He always had blood shot eyes and pimples were scattered across his long defined face. When he saw me, he turned his head and said in his deep, sharp voice, ÃÂDonÃÂt even think about coming into my room you little bitch.ÃÂThese were the words that he chose to identify me with. It never used to be this way though.
When we were younger we were best of friends. We would go out and play football with all the other neighborhood kids and I would always be on my big brotherÃÂs team. He would make sure I scored a touchdown every time because he knew it made me happy. He would then run over to me, giving a whopping high five with his rough muscular hands.
When I was in middle school he would always protect me from any bullies that came in my perimeter. He was a very clean looking boy in those days, and if you saw him walking down the street you would be blinded by his gleaming spiky hair from his endless supply of hair product and his flashy expensive stud earrings. He was very muscular from his nightly workout routine and wore the designer clothes that all the...