Natural Selection?

         Alex, that's my older brother's name. Never really have had too much of a bond with him. Still don't currently, though it is getting better. The reason for this distance lies in the way we were brought up, though in no way am I attempting to paint my parents in a bad light. It just kind of happened this way. My temperament and that of Alex's have always been different. But much more so in our younger years, before knowledge or wisdom could bog down the intensity and purity of our personalities. While he thought, or should I say over thought, I acted. Sometimes over-reacted. A chemical imbalance. Always the more emotional of the two. But we somehow loved each other through all the arguments. And fist fights. And cheap shots. We were kids, being kids. But one thing that persisted is the pressure my family, his friends, outsiders put on him to be the big brother. Whatever they think that means. As if being older by definition did not make him the older brother. As if his knowledge and wisdom more expansive than mine meant nothing. Because he wasn't larger, or as strong as I, the snide remarks from people who didn't matter over time began to matter and with the speed of an explosive stockpile on a sinkhole, tore between us a chasm. All the small things, being given leadership roles over him, being asked for my opinion over his, by my unknowing parents, really did add up. Singular ant bites in the collective hive assault on the fore finger of Alex's confidence. And here in more modern times, I see now that same injured, tucked away entity, back with a magnifying glass, blazing sun high overhead, raining down concentrated beams of bitterness.
        My parents always fought. Not that that is anything out of the ordinary, but this was during a particularly rough time. Seemed like every night, my brothers and I would lie wide awake, in a fright, on the brink of tears hearing all the crashing and barking happening just down the hall in the kitchen. My little brother, Tyson, was too young to comprehend back then, but this lasted for what seemed like years off and on. Sometimes plates and cups crashed around, other times wedding rings clanked and fists slammed down on counter tops. Eventually there came a time when, quite frankly, my mother "couldn't take it anymore" once they'd both had their turns whirl-winding through our kitchen. She wanted a divorce. All of this blowing up in our small little faces, shakily eavesdropping in our bedroom together, though we're certain the yelling could have been heard down the street. Ever so clearly I remember sitting in our room together, lights off, crying. None of us looking at each other. Then there was an abruptly swung open door, and my father shaking, informing us of the temporary reality we may not see her again, choking back angry tears. Right on cue the front door slammed and a car roared off into nothing. He was staring me in the eyes. As if to say it was I who was in charge of doing something with this emotional bombshell. That I was in charge of the well-being of my brothers. As if I alone was not caught in the wake. This, while Alex sat in a back corner, looking onward with eyes of accusatory bitterness, for lack of a better word. But what was there to do? I took this responsibility somehow, I acted. Took my brothers up and hugged them. Told them everything would be okay just because it seemed like the thing to say. Didn't over-react this time, though I wasn't crying any less than my brothers were. We were children. But because I was bigger, because I didn't think so much, because I felt too much, because I showed it, I was knighted with a blade of rivalry in a ceremony of dejection. I had to become my own big brother, be strong for them because I was expected to. And this is a wound of Alex's that to this day still bleeds. Slowly, under bandages of time and apathy, but bleeds none the less. I can see it.