Evan Eldon Fox

On October 16, 1989, my little brother came into the world. I wasn't quite three yet, so I really don't remember much of our first couple years together (I think I might have a brief memory of my mom with an enormously pregnant belly, and of course vivid memories of when Evan I shared the chickenpox before he was even out of diapers). But, in the years that followed, he became my favorite and most dependable playmate, my buddy, my partner in crime.

We played Cowboys and Indians with his plastic six-shooters, we spun each other mercilessly on the tire swing, we were "stranded" in the wilderness of our barnyard with only our dog and swords made of sticks (with which we would of course duel each other once in a while) for protection, we sprayed each other with Super-Soakers and the garden hose, we broke imaginary horses in our old corrals and rode them across the country on wild and daring adventures, we played restaurant with bark and mud pies and salads made out of grass, we spent our winters sledding down the steepest hills and taking shelter from the wind in the barn, we played safari with our plastic animals in the tall grass & weeds outside the yard, we even threw rocks at each other and tried to choke each other out of consciousness, as all loving siblings do (Evan will claim I did most of the choking, but he did most of the throwing!).

He was always the one person I could count on to be there whether I needed a guy's opinion on something, was having a bad day, or just wanted someone to watch a movie with. I don't really remember being embarrassed to have my little brother tagging along (actually, I think he was more embarrassed to have his big sister always butting into his business). I think I was even a little overprotective sometimes, wanting to protect my little brother, no matter how emasculating that may have been.

Then I remember coming home from college and my little brother had, in just over a year, grown to 6'3" and became the desire of nearly every girl in high school within a 60 mile radius. The same kid who used to come up to my ear now towered over me & was the most popular guy in school! I often joke that if he didn't look so much like our dad, I might be asking questions (haha, just kidding Mom & Dad!). He was the first to actually be the "protective one" for me when it came to boyfriends (which, to a girl who always kind of felt like the ugly duckling in comparison to her big sister, was a pretty great feeling).

One night, I ignored a call from a strange number in the wee morning hours. The next morning our sister called to ask what happened to Evan and was he ok? It turned out he had been calling all of us and no one had answered all night. He was trying to reach me after wrapping his car around a pole and breaking his collarbone, and I had just hit "ignore" and gone back to sleep. I have never felt worse in my life, and I'm not sure I've ever really forgiven myself for not answering that call and being there for my brother.

Granted, we have kind of grown apart over the years, but I still know that, no matter what, I could call him right now, and he would be there for me. If I ever needed a place to go or help with ANYTHING, he would be there. Because that's what brothers do. I just hope he knows that that's what sisters do as well :)

So, in short, my little brother turned 23 today. And I just wanted to let him know that the last 23 years have been wonderful, largely in part because I had such a great companion to grow up with. Here's to the next 23, little brother, and I don't care how tall you get, you will ALWAYS be my little brother :)

Happy Birthday, Evan!

Old Wounds

It's been nearly two years since this happened, and I would be lying if I said it didn't still send an aching pain through my gut to think about it and how everything went down. But, I never really told my side of the story. So I think it's time to finally rip off the bandage and expose this particular hurt to the world.

My senior year of college, fall 2008 - spring 2009, I became fast friends with a girl I met through our mutual classes and work study position in the PE Department. Since she was "kind" enough to avoid using my name, I will at least grant her the same minor courtesy. Though I assure you, the facts I type will indeed be just that; facts. One of us should be able to say that (by the way, there is absolutely NO bitterness in this blog post, none whatsoever! Or sarcasm. None of that either :P).

Anyway, as I was saying, this girl and I bonded quickly over many things, not the least of which was our strong pro opinion toward gay rights, shared love for writing, and disdain for online classes. That March, we planned a Spring Break trip to Chicago together, and remained close friends even after several "rough spots" along the way. She introduced me to my favorite show, True Blood; the bands +44 and Angels & Airwaves, as well as the wonders of tarot readings and Jimmy John's sandwiches. She was a large contributor to and often the subject of many of my blogs for class projects. We co-hosted a radio show together on the campus radio station. She was, quite frankly, one of my best friends.

In Dec. '09, I signed a lease and moved in with her, her fiancee, and their dog and cat. But things quickly got...awkward. Neither of them got along with or cared for my boyfriend at the time (which ultimately didn't matter, since we broke up shortly there after), and when I got laid-off from my job in January, it seemed as though I was expected to take on more of the household chores than I felt was necessary. Since I was home all day, every day and they both worked full-time, why couldn't I do all the dishes (even theirs)? Why couldn't I clean the apartment? Why couldn't I walk their dog? I still paid all my share of the bills, and paid one-third of the grocery bill, even though I did not get to eat one-third of the food. Rather than make waves, however, I stuck to loading and unloading my share of the dishes from the dishwasher, made my own supper, even went out and started buying my own food to avoid unnecessary confrontation.

I will admit, I got a new boyfriend (who did spend the night once or twice, bringing the total men in that apt to two) shortly after my break-up, and between our break-up in April & my exit in July, there were three other guys who slept over a couple times (in case you're keeping track--which I was--that brings it to five men who ever stayed in that apartment over a seven-month period. Keep that in mind).

By May, I knew I wanted to get my own place. Things were only getting more tense and uncomfortable. I had to let them know when I would be home and knock before entering my own home because there was always a chance I would walk in on them naked on the floor. I would drive around by myself for hours because I didn't want to go home. I didn't feel like there was anywhere I belonged.

By June, I told them I wanted to move out and was actively looking for an apartment. That month, while they were both out of town, I locked my keys in my car across town and had no way of getting into the apartment. The guy with me proceeded to kick the front door down, with my permission (we were both drinking, and no, I am not proud of this). The next morning, I texted them and informed them what happened, saying I was the one who broke down the door (I didn't want them going after my "friend" for money to fix the door; they were self-proclaimed man-haters--their words, by the way, not mine).

I assured them I would fix the door out of my own pocket, and that I would tell the landlady AFTER I had gotten it fixed, that way none of it would come back on them, and she wouldn't pull money out of their share of the security deposit to fix it. It was my mistake, I was going to fix it. And I did. Well...my dad did.

By July, I found a place and began moving my things out. My parents drove down to help me and my dad fixed the frame of the door (afterward, as promised, I told the landlady what had happened, and had her inspect the repair job to see if further compensation was needed, which there was not). During this process, their cat wandered out into the hallway at some point (I thought she was hiding in their room like usual). When I realized she was gone, I frantically searched the building and found her in the second-story hallway. She was safely returned and never even left the building, so I didn't bother them with it. In retrospect, I probably should have told them right away, but I honestly didn't think it was even worth mentioning.

I wanted to remain friends with them after I left, and I knew I was putting us all in an awkward position; my name was still on the lease, so technically, I was still responsible for one-third of the rent until December. By this point, though, I'm pretty sure we were all ready for me to leave. Back in the spring when I first told them of my plans to move out, I told them I would pay rent through August, no matter what. Then, if it got the point where they couldn't afford it anymore and were about to be turned out on the street, I would give them SOME money for September. I never once agreed to pay another full month. By the end of July, everything of mine had been vacated from that apartment and all the bills that had been in my name had been switched to my new address. But, as I promised, I dropped off a check for my share of August rent.

Early that month, they asked me when they could expect September's rent check. This is where things started to get very ugly. They claimed they didn't have the money to pay rent there, just the two of them, and that I was "screwing them over" by not paying when I said I would. But, miraculously, they scrounged up enough money to buy a brand new bedroom set (bed, dresser, night stand, the works) and a brand new living room set (couch, chair, table).

When I told them I didn't have the money to pay for two apartments when I hadn't been living there for over a month, my "friend" posted a very mean and hateful blog about me. I tried to take the higher road, sending them a message stating that I had paid their share of our final electricity and cable bills (which had been sent to my new address) and that they should consider that my "September contribution" because, quite frankly, that was all I had to offer. I also said, since I wasn't living there and had turned in my keys, I wanted to arrange a meeting with the landlady to have my name removed the lease, and that I was willing to forfeit my share of the security deposit to them.

In a last-ditch attempt to salvage the friendship, I showed up unannounced at their apartment to try and talk things out. I was still incredibly hurt by the spiteful and untrue things she had posted online about me, and I wanted to know if we could work through it. Neither of them were happy to see me (can't really say I blamed them), and the conversation was pretty short. She owned up to the blog, saying she was "pretty angry" when she wrote it, to which I replied that I was "pretty angry" when I read it (she never did apologize for it, however). She said she considered me part of her family and wanted to stay friends, which I agreed with. Her fiancee, however, had a different opinion altogether.

When she finally spoke, her fiancee insulted me for buying a loveseat for my new apartment (which I had been saving specifically for) and buying $20 worth of decorations for my new place when I said I had "no money" for them. She then said she didn't need me to pay her ****ing bills for her (I don't really like dropping F-bombs on public forums, so I'm just going to use asterisks instead), that she didn't give a **** about me, she was ****ing done with me and my ****ing family and as far as she was concerned, I could get the **** out of their lives forever.

Ok, you DO NOT insult my family. Especially when they bent over backwards to help you out and were always warm and welcoming towards you. That was the end of everything. Things were no longer salvageable at that point. I deleted and blocked both of them from every forum imaginable, and now if/when we see each other in public, we avert our eyes and turn up our noses.

Reading back through all my old blog posts, I remember how much fun we had together, how close we once were, and it hurts to know that that is gone forever. It almost makes me want to seek them out and make amends. But then, all it takes is one more read through her nasty blog post, and I go back to not caring if I ever see either one of them again and wishing they would leave town for good. I decided the best way to air all this out was to make her post public. Maybe this will be what heals my old wounds once for all.

http://www.ourlesbianlives.com/2010/08/hello.html