Letter to Kevin
Apr. 11th, 2010 06:36 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_communicationKevin,
I am not sure I understand the drawing. Pieces of it, yes, but the whole. Is that the point? I do not know. It would seem that nothing is where it needs to be, yes? And nothing is, on the inside? But for the faces, where they kiss, that is calmer. But even that is not fully normal, if that is the correct word. The mouth, the focal point of the connection, the normalising factor, it is twisted and turned away, teeth facing the viewer. And there would seem to be a third person, but maybe it is that I am thinking about it too much.
I like it very much, though, and so I will try to give you something in return, as before.
-JPB
***
The boy had a sister.
He did not know of her, had no memories of her from before the foster homes. He would learn, in time, that the family that took him in after his parents died could not take them both, perhaps they did not want her. But she was his twin, he felt that he should have known she existed, felt some kind of pull toward her, a draw.
He did not.
He does not know why. He felt the pull occasionally, after being reunited with her, but that is jumping ahead of the story.
The point being, he did not know she existed until he turned nineteen.
A group of people approached him, a group of people who claimed to know something about him. This was something he had slowly begun to suspect about himself, but he had not said it aloud, had not even really thought through the consequences. When he realised what the people knew, what they claimed, he was furious.
He stood, ready to leave the meeting they had invited him to.
Beneath the anger was a growing sense of fear. The boy, he had built his life on a series of events, assumptions, and lucky introductions. He did not want it torn to pieces by this secret he did not even realise he was keeping.
It was then that the group brought forward their own secret, a weapon which brought the boy up short, stopped him before he made it halfway to the door.
They introduced him to her and, for a moment, he did feel like he had been lacking something in his life, almost as though parts of himself had now fallen into place and an emptiness had been filled.
He agreed to do as the group of people asked him, joining a program so that he could know his sister, for she was already a part of their program. Of course, he asked that they keep the secret, the fact that he was a mutant, a secret. They accommodated him in that, at least.
Things did not go so well, though.
With a twin, he assumed she would know things, understand things. And in some ways, she did. In some ways, she did not. They worked together well, they grew to know one another. And he came to realise that he did not fit into the structure, the hierarchy, of the group. He was not so good at teamwork, feeling others held him back. He was rash and arrogant, often stupid and very reckless.
The boy wished to impress his sister, but he could not. Everything he could do, she could as well.
A time came, though, when they began to fight. Not simple bickering, of course. Large fights, screaming matches. Back and forth, back and forth – they did not stop when they should have, they brought others into their arguments. And the things they argued over often were not so important. Sometimes, once the fighting was ended, he would not remember why they fought.
But it continued. On and on, and he believed that, maybe, if he tried harder to be what she wanted and needed, then he would win her. Win something – anything. This was his twin. There had to be something there, did there not? Some connection no one else could have. And the boy, he wanted that. He wanted something that was only his, for he had never had such a thing.
Hand-me-downs, used goods – these things he understood. He borrowed other people’s parents, other people’s siblings, other people’s families and lives. But the boy had never had one person in the world that was his alone.
His sister, she was not well. This became apparent, but the people they were working with did not seem to care, and so instead of leaving as he wished, the boy stayed.
It did not end so well for him. Or for her, of course. Finally, when he could take the strain no longer – and there is far more to the story than their arguing, of course, but the letter grows long and I think, maybe, tedious – he did leave. He abandoned her, but it was this or risk his own sanity along with hers.
Once again, he ran away.
I am not sure I understand the drawing. Pieces of it, yes, but the whole. Is that the point? I do not know. It would seem that nothing is where it needs to be, yes? And nothing is, on the inside? But for the faces, where they kiss, that is calmer. But even that is not fully normal, if that is the correct word. The mouth, the focal point of the connection, the normalising factor, it is twisted and turned away, teeth facing the viewer. And there would seem to be a third person, but maybe it is that I am thinking about it too much.
I like it very much, though, and so I will try to give you something in return, as before.
-JPB
***
The boy had a sister.
He did not know of her, had no memories of her from before the foster homes. He would learn, in time, that the family that took him in after his parents died could not take them both, perhaps they did not want her. But she was his twin, he felt that he should have known she existed, felt some kind of pull toward her, a draw.
He did not.
He does not know why. He felt the pull occasionally, after being reunited with her, but that is jumping ahead of the story.
The point being, he did not know she existed until he turned nineteen.
A group of people approached him, a group of people who claimed to know something about him. This was something he had slowly begun to suspect about himself, but he had not said it aloud, had not even really thought through the consequences. When he realised what the people knew, what they claimed, he was furious.
He stood, ready to leave the meeting they had invited him to.
Beneath the anger was a growing sense of fear. The boy, he had built his life on a series of events, assumptions, and lucky introductions. He did not want it torn to pieces by this secret he did not even realise he was keeping.
It was then that the group brought forward their own secret, a weapon which brought the boy up short, stopped him before he made it halfway to the door.
They introduced him to her and, for a moment, he did feel like he had been lacking something in his life, almost as though parts of himself had now fallen into place and an emptiness had been filled.
He agreed to do as the group of people asked him, joining a program so that he could know his sister, for she was already a part of their program. Of course, he asked that they keep the secret, the fact that he was a mutant, a secret. They accommodated him in that, at least.
Things did not go so well, though.
With a twin, he assumed she would know things, understand things. And in some ways, she did. In some ways, she did not. They worked together well, they grew to know one another. And he came to realise that he did not fit into the structure, the hierarchy, of the group. He was not so good at teamwork, feeling others held him back. He was rash and arrogant, often stupid and very reckless.
The boy wished to impress his sister, but he could not. Everything he could do, she could as well.
A time came, though, when they began to fight. Not simple bickering, of course. Large fights, screaming matches. Back and forth, back and forth – they did not stop when they should have, they brought others into their arguments. And the things they argued over often were not so important. Sometimes, once the fighting was ended, he would not remember why they fought.
But it continued. On and on, and he believed that, maybe, if he tried harder to be what she wanted and needed, then he would win her. Win something – anything. This was his twin. There had to be something there, did there not? Some connection no one else could have. And the boy, he wanted that. He wanted something that was only his, for he had never had such a thing.
Hand-me-downs, used goods – these things he understood. He borrowed other people’s parents, other people’s siblings, other people’s families and lives. But the boy had never had one person in the world that was his alone.
His sister, she was not well. This became apparent, but the people they were working with did not seem to care, and so instead of leaving as he wished, the boy stayed.
It did not end so well for him. Or for her, of course. Finally, when he could take the strain no longer – and there is far more to the story than their arguing, of course, but the letter grows long and I think, maybe, tedious – he did leave. He abandoned her, but it was this or risk his own sanity along with hers.
Once again, he ran away.
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