Sunday, January 6, 2013

Someone You Miss

I knew it the very next morning, and I still know it now: My brother hates me. He has removed me from his mind, stricken away any thought, any memory about me. I am dead to him. The scary part is, that being dead will not stand in the way of him killing me, if ever he lays eyes on me again.
It is an odd feeling. Have you ever faced it? Being dead to someone you envy; someone you miss, too; someone who knows you intimately and, even worse, has the chutzpa to occupy your thoughts day in, day out. It grinds down on your nerves; doesn’t it? 
Trust me, being dead to your brother is not all that it is cracked up to be, but it does set you free—oh, don’t act so surprised! It frees you from any lingering sense of obligation. Brother, you say to yourself. What does it mean, Brother? Nothing more than a pang, a dull pang in your heart. 
You have betrayed him. Accept his hate.

Yankle, in A Favorite Son

My retelling of the biblical story of Jacob and Esau takes the time to concentrate on two things: the contemplation of the crime, and the mental anguish afterwards. Here is another view of my Ceramic sculpture of the character. It is called "What if my father touches me."  For a previous view click here.)

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"There is so much I enjoyed about this book, that I do not quite know where to begin"

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