Mi Hermano
How
one brother's confession brought him closer to his other brother.
By Carlos Manuel
 It
had been a very long night for me and my friends, Cris and Jesus,
but we were used to these nights. Every weekend the three of
us would drive to the nearest city from our small California
town-just to go dancing, and this Saturday night was no exception.
La rutina was always the same: we'd meet at Cris' house around
5 p.m., drive to Sacramento, and then party until our bodies
were ready to drop dead. Then one of us would be responsible
for the long late night drive back to our small town.
One particular Saturday, I had been experiencing
problems with my car, so Cris became our designated driver. So
now, many hours of partying later, Cris was dropping everyone
at their respective houses.
"¡Adiós, niña!"
Cris said as we dropped Jesus off. "Te cuidas y no andes
regalándolas todo el tiempo." Cris said as he and
Jesus exchange a small peck on the cheek.
"Te cuidas, mija," I said. "And
we'll see you Monday."
And while Jesus started walking towards
the front door of his house, I got out of the car, jumped in
the front seat next to Cris, and closed the door.
Cris then drove me to my house. As he dropped
me off, I noticed a car parked in our driveway. It belonged to
one of my tíos, which only meant we had visitors. I slowly
opened the front door and noticed how the living room looked
like a campsite. My younger brother Arturo and my cousins Luis,
Miguel, and Alberto were all sound asleep on the floor. Then
I noticed that a neat pile of sábanas had been carefully
placed on the couch. My favorite pillow was also there. That
only meant that my room was being used for guests.
As I prepared myself to go to sleep, I
looked around and I emitted a deep sigh. "This is mi familia,"
I said to myself. "A poor and simple family, pero una familia
felíz."
Half asleep, I realized that my brother
Arturo had arrived home before I did. "Maybe he didn't go
out at all," I said to myself as my body slowly felt relaxed
and as my eyes closed.
The next thing I knew, it was the next
morning when my mamá woke me up. She asked me to continue
my sleep in my own room. My tíos and my familia were out
of the house and were on their way to church now. I felt I had
just gotten to bed, but I got up and walked to my room.
After sleeping for another two hours or
so, I finally got up and decided to watch TV. While I surfed
the channels, a news update caught my attention. It had to do
with an incident concerning a QV bashing. The lady in the television
tube talked about how this was the third reported incident in
the last three months and that people, especially homosexuals,
should be careful about their whereabouts.
Although the news of QV bashing was nothing
new to me, I was shocked to a certain point because the incident
was near my town. "I should be careful," I thought
to myself. "And I better tell my friends to be careful,
too."
On Monday, my friend Cris called me to
give me some bad news:
"Carlos," he started to say,
"Jesus is in the hospital."
"¿Qué le pasó?"
I quickly asked.
"You're not going to believe this,
but after we left him at his home Saturday night, he was jumped
by a group of guys-right in his own front yard," he said
to me with difficulty.
"Oh god!" I exclaimed as I felt
a strange pain conquering my body. "¿Saben quién
fué?" I asked.
"No," he said then continued,
"But I have a feeling he was beaten up by the same people
who have been beating up all those QV people."
I didn't know what else to ask. All I felt
was an incredible desire to go out and find those responsible
and beat them to death. Pero ése era solo mi deseo instantáneo,
deep inside I was very scared. I continued to be scared for many
days, weeks, and months after that. So scared that I didn't want
to go out that much. I don't remember if I was scared because
I was afraid of getting beat up or because if I became a victim
of QV bashing, my familia would know the truth about me-that
I was QV. Whatever the reason, I was scared and I lived in constant
fear.
These feelings of insecurity and fear stayed
with me for a long time. In fact, they didn't go away until I
decided it was time for me to come out of the closet and let
la familia know about mi vida loca. The first to know about me
being QV was my brother, Arturo. With my mom, I decided I would
let her know later-much, much later.
Once I told my brother, I noticed his attitude
towards me started to change. He suddenly became closer to me
and soon he started to share his private life with me. In fact,
on one weekend, when mamá was out of town visiting los
tíos, Arturo and I decided to stay home, drink some chelas,
and watch a couple of movies.
To my surprise, the alcohol went up to
my hermano's head faster than I thought it would. Soon, he started
talking nonsense. Then he started talking about my life as a
joto. After a while of insisting, I told him about my life. He
started crying and then told me he needed to confess something
to me-something important.
I began to suspect that he wanted to tell
me he also was QV. I was ready to hear his words and give him
support, but I was in total shock when I heard him say, "Bro,
I am one of the guys who beat up those fags a long time ago."
He then began to describe the incidents, giving me details and
reasons as to why he had done it.
My body trembled with anger, fear, and
astonishment. I said to him, "I don't believe what I'm hearing."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I had no choice. I was
told you had been with guys before, and I couldn't believe it.
So I decided to beat them up because I thought they were trying
to turn you into one of them." He sobbed as he confessed
his crime.
For a while, I sat next to him without
saying a word. I had mixed feelings about his confession. I had
no idea what to say or how to react. His words had turned me
into a speechless person, and at the same time, had made me feel
numb all over. I couldn't believe that my own hermano had been
part of a series of QV bashing incidents.
Then, I remembered what had happened to
my friend Jesus.
"!No puedo creer lo que me acabas
de decir, Arturo!" I shouted. "You beat up all those
men just because they were QV?"
"No. Not because they were QV-because
I thought they were trying to make you one of them. ¿Entiendes?"
"You beat up my friend Jesus,"
I again shouted.
"That's not true!" He shouted
back. "That night I was here because tío Frank came
to visit. Remember? He even gave you $100 because he had missed
your birthday."
He was saying the truth. I recalled the
weekend los tíos came to visit, and I clearly remembered
how that night Cris and I dropped Jesus at his house. I recalled
how I found my cousins and my brother Arturo sleeping in the
living room so my brother could not have done such atrocity to
Jesus. My brother had been asleep by the time we had come back
from our night in Sacramento.
"Still, you beat up other people,"
I coldly said to him.
"No, I only did it twice," he
said. "I swear to you."
"I'm going to bed, bro. Right now
I don't know what to think about all this," I said.
I left him in the living room, sobbing
and feeling sorry for himself. And even though tears ran down
my face, and I felt an incredible desire to beat him up, I could
only hug my pillow as tightly as possible.
When I got up the next day, my brother
was nowhere in the house. I immediately called Cris and asked
him to come over. When he arrived, I told him about my conversation
with my brother, and how he'd confessed about some past QV bashings.
Cris was shocked and we just sat silently thinking if we should
tell Jesus.
That night, my brother and I had a long
conversation. And I came to understand his feelings and his guilt
more clearly. I came to realize how sorry he was for what he
had done to those QV people two years before. I came to comprehend
more of his life. He was only a teenager back then-a confused
18-year-old man who did things because his friends were doing
them. But once he learned about my homosexuality, he had to accept
the reality of life. After talking to him for quite some time,
he started sobering up and his words sounded weak, broken, but
muy sinceras. He apologized to me muchas veces.
Then came a time when my brother apologized
to Cris and even to Jesus, even though he had not done anything
directly to either of them. For a while, my friends and I felt
very strange about my brother's confession. And I know my brother
felt very uneasy around us. But as time went by, we were able
to get past the whole thing and move on with our lives.
Now, seven years have passed since mi hermano
came out to me with his confession. Since then, we have grown
closer by the day. I do confess it has not been an easy process,
but it has been a learning experience for all of us. When I think
about my brother's confession, I now realize he was acting out
of ignorance and fear. He acquired his ignorance thanks to people
in society who teach others to hate homosexuals rather than to
understand, accept, and love them. He acquired his fear out of
the love he felt towards me-his own flesh and blood-and out of
the thought that he could have "one of those fags"
in his own family.
I love my brother very much, but I don't
justify what he has done. I understand he was young, and I understand
his fear and his ignorance, and I also understand his friends'
ignorance. I somehow understand why he and his friends acted
the way they did. Mi hermano has repented, and he has learned
from his mistakes. Mi hermano knows it was wrong to QV bash,
and he will never do it again.
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