Reborn

My brother always talked about backpacking across Europe, for as long as I can remember. He was obsessed about it. He had studied the train routes, the activities and points of interest in all the countries, and the foods he wanted to try in each place. He had lists and itineraries and budgets all planned out and written into a businesslike proposal to give my parents by the time he was sixteen. It was vaguely agreed that he could take his dream trip when he graduated high school in a few years.

He remained focused on his trip for the next two years. By spring break of his senior year, he was ready to start booking flights from Seattle to London, which would be the first stop on his two month long adventure. He wanted to leave the day after his graduation, but my parents just put him off, over and over. He was pissed.

I could feel the tension building in the house in May when his graduation was only a few weeks away. And then one night there was a huge fight between him and my parents. I could hear yelling and all three of their raised voices. I knew what was happening, they were delaying his trip, again. He was in a rage. He broke a kitchen cabinet door and slammed out of the house.

He stayed mad. Really mad. He didn't even want my parents to attend his graduation. He stayed away from home as much as possible. He looked hurt and angry, all the time. One night his buddy was over and they were sitting on the couch in our basement and he was telling him what happened, in detail.

I was never close to my brother. He was only two years older than me, but we were so different. We had followed different paths from my earliest memories. He didn't like me. He never had. We grew up together, but we were strangers in all the ways it mattered.

That night, as he hung out with his friend, I'd been headed to the basement to grab some of my laundry. As I'd started down the stairs I had heard him talking. I stopped and stood still. You can't see the stairs from the couch, so I sat on one of the top few steps and listened, unobserved, to their conversation.

Christian was telling his buddy Titus about the now defunct summer trip. I'd been curious, but not enough to ask anyone in the house about it. But now it was all unfolding, at least my brother's side of the story.

He explained that they wanted him to wait two more years. They didn't think it was fair that he would take this trip and I didn't get to. Great, another reason for him to hate me. In two years, my parents would send us on his dream trip, together. He'd argued that they could afford this trip twice. And they could. My parents were very comfortable and we could have taken these kinds of trips every year with no problem.

He told Titus that I didn't even want to go. He was right about that, too. I'd never been interested. I was more of a trip to Paris, stay in a fancy hotel, eat bread and cheese everyday for two weeks, kind of guy. I was horrified to hear I was the cause of him not getting to go. As if my parents didn't know, or care, that we didn't like each other, we didn't get along, we actively avoided each other to keep from fighting. I understood his anger but I was also scared. Two years was a long time for him to stew on this. How much would he hate me by then? What would happen between then and now? This was terrible.

I heard Christian tell Titus that he hated me. I was a fag. A disgusting fairy. He'd rather eat shit than take me on his dream trip. He spat out his words with such hate in his tone. I usually didn't care that he didn't like me, but this hurt. I felt the tears in my eyes and I sat and cried silently on those stairs. I was angry at myself for listening in. I slunk back upstairs to my room and made plans to avoid Christian at all costs.

I felt weird around my parents, too. They knew I was gay, but they weren't comfortable with it. If they could ignore it, that was their plan. I'd never had a boyfriend. I wasn't flamboyant. I wasn't feminine. It didn't matter though. I was not their idea of perfect. Christian was perfect. And that's another reason he hated me for messing up his perfect trip. He was the favorite. Not getting something because of the family freak was infuriating to him.

As I feared, he grew more hostile towards me. Any time anything went wrong in his life, his anger towards me swelled. He keyed my car. He pissed through the window, onto my driver's seat. It was unbearable living like this. One night, when he was nineteen, he came home late. He was drunk. My parents were asleep when he came into my room and beat me while I lay in my bed. My parents didn't do anything.

When I was a senior, I tried to convince my parents I didn't want to go, again. From the minute I found out I was the reason for the delay, two years ago, I'd brought it up to them as often as I could find a reason to. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to be anywhere near Christian. If they made me do this, no one would enjoy it. Christian would detest me for the rest of his life for ruining his dream trip. And he might even "accidentally" push me off a mountain in Switzerland, if he thought he could get away with it.

And then I was graduating, with a 4.0 GPA. My parents were unimpressed with my good grades, my responsible personality. Christian was still the favorite, even in his new embittered form. He was twenty now. He'd come home drunk most nights. He drove drunk. He stole cash from mom's purse. He caused trouble in town. He got arrested for assaulting his girlfriend's dad. He was a hoodlum. But he could do no wrong as far as my parents were concerned.

Christian was a rich, white, straight male. He was entitled to act like as much of an ass as he wanted and consequences be damned. My parents allowed it. Society allowed it. I hoped against hope that he'd be uninterested in taking this damn trip by the time I graduated. And for a while his interest did seem to wane. But then I graduated and my parents brought it up and he wanted to go, with renewed interest. Damn them all.

The morning of the trip was tense. We had our bags ready to go. Everything was set. But Christian and I didn't talk about any plans, so I was heading across the world, with someone who hated me, with no idea what was going to happen, at all. My apprehension was off the charts.

At eighteen, I was well built. I could have been a star on the football team. A running back with speed and size. But I was into science and history instead. I was one inch shy of six feet. I weighed 175. I had medium blonde hair and blue eyes. To the outside observer, I was an athletic high school god prototype. What I really was, was a scared younger brother, an awkward virgin, an unwanted, imperfect second son. My name is Cassidy and I wish I could be anyone other than who I was. I hated myself. It was easy to feel the same way about myself as everyone else around me did. I always felt hopeless.

My parents dropped us off at SeaTac at six in the morning. They tearfully hugged Christian goodbye while I stood by on the curb. My dad said something to me about not disappointing the family. Something else about not ruining this trip for my perfect brother. My mom half hugged me quickly and then got back into the car without saying a word to me. I wanted to cry. Even though these people weren't worth my tears.

After multiple flights, numerous airports and hours of travel we finally arrived in London. My brother led me to our hostel and we checked in. I got stuck with a tiny, ancient looking cot and Christian took the last top bunk bed. The bottom bunk had stuff on it, as did both bunks on the second set of stacking beds. I was relieved that we were rooming with three complete strangers. It felt safer than being alone with my brother.

Reluctantly, we went out to a pub together to get some food and a pint. It would have been a fun night if I'd been with literally anyone else. Anyone at all, or even alone. I finally addressed my lack of knowledge about the trip. He agreed to give me a copy of the itinerary once we got back to the room. I felt like that would make me relax, but I wasn't going to believe it until I had it in my hand. At least if he ditched me, I could follow the plan by myself.

In the room that night, we met our roommates. They were American girls. My brother started to act like a pig. I was mortified, but those girls had his number before he was aware. I watched as the three of them trapped him in uncomfortable situations and got him to say stupid stuff to embarrass himself. They made him look and feel like an idiot. It was hilarious and I enjoyed myself for this first time on this trip. I had a glimmer of hope for once.

As we all readied ourselves for bed, one of the girls asked if I wanted to trade spots with her. She was tiny and she wanted me to take a bigger bed and she'd take the cot. I tried to assure her it was fine as it was. This girl was already my hero for taking my brother down a notch. She should sleep on a golden pedestal for all I was concerned. But she insisted.

One of her friends joked that she and I could share a bed and then no one would have to take the cot. My brother seized the chance to out me as gay, thinking he'd embarrass me in front of the girls. But I already had faith in them and sure enough, it backfired on him big time. They mocked him, they belittled him and they praised me and my good looks. I went to sleep feeling like I had the upper hand. I had never had the upper before.

We soon made our way to France. Paris was everything! The food, the fashion, the lights on the Seine. I never wanted to leave. The days started to blend. The hostels became one big blur. And eventually we were in Venice. Other than Paris, Venice was the second place I was truly excited about. It was romantic and ancient and historical.

I had always wanted to try blowing glass after I'd met a gaffer who had worked at Dale Chihuly's studio. She had given a demonstration at the state fair and I was mesmerized. I was going to Murano, no matter what Christian said. I'd gotten more comfortable with the traveling by now and I had started doing my own things in most of our destinations. I'd just meet back up with him at the hostel or the train station.

Murano was everything I'd hoped for and more. I watched gaffers work. I strolled through the shops full of glittering works of art and sculptures. I hadn't purchased many souvenirs along our route because I didn't want to add more weight to my pack than it already had. In Paris I had gotten myself a pair of Chanel sunglasses. They were wrapped carefully in my bag, protected from damage. I would wear them once I got home. They were too precious to risk letting my brother even know they existed.

Here on Murano, I was going to buy another souvenir for myself. I wanted to buy this beautiful vase I'd found, but it was just too impractical. I didn't trust my parents to not sabotage any packages I might send home, so that wasn't an option either.

Finally I found a string of sparkling hand blown glass beads with a delicate pendant that looked like a Phoenix. The whole piece was made in beautiful flaming colors of red, orange, yellow and warm purples. The beads were graduated in size and arranged in gradient hot fiery colors. The Phoenix had widely spread wings and real gold leaf inside that made it look like real, gilded feathers. It was exquisite. I'd buy a wooden box to keep it in if needed, to get it home safely.

That night we had the pleasure of running into the girls we'd met in London again. I went to dinner with them and my brother made himself scarce. That day in Italy was the best day of the trip so far. Just a hair behind the first day in Paris. Against all odds, I was enjoying this trip. Christian and I fell into a routine that kept us from killing each other.

Things started to change at our next location. We were headed to Barcelona. We had a twenty four hour long train trip ahead of us. We had settled into our seats and another group of backpackers were in our train car. They were Canadians with one Irish guy thrown in. It was three guys and two girls. One of the girls apparently had a thing for total douchebags and she started hanging out with brother.

I gave her my seat and I sat with the other four. It was wonderful. We got along instantly and we had tons of fun on the train. The girl that stayed with us was the funniest person I'd ever spent time with. One of the guys was her boyfriend. The last Canadian guy was hotter than sin. I had a crush within seconds. The Irish guy was ridiculous and sweet and a good listener. He had been traveling alone when he met the Canada crew and joined up. I was jealous of the difference in their experience and mine. But I'd make the best of it while I could hang out with them.

Everyone fell asleep eventually. The girl with my brother was sitting next to him, sleeping with her head on his shoulder. We had seen them making out a little while ago. I had confided in them that he and I didn't get along and they became protective of me. I thought they'd worry about the girl with Christian, but they assured me she could take care of herself. I slept in the seat next to the hot Canadian. His name was Jon.

Jon and I awoke earlier than the others and we made our way to the observation car and we talked for hours as the countryside rolled by. We all exited the train together in Barcelona and they were able to get beds in the same hostel as us. We split up to explore the city. Christian and the girl went one way. The Canadian couple and the Irish guy went somewhere else and I explored the city with Jon. He was dreamy in every way. He was beautiful to look at. He was kind and considerate. He was laid back and easy to be around. It was amazing. I floated through Barcelona.

We stayed out, just the two of us, until it was very late. We strolled along, taking our time, or fingers lightly brushing each other's as we walked. I don't think either of us wanted the day to end. But the hostel finally appeared in front of us and we headed inside. Jon walked me to my room that I was sharing with my brother and several kids from Japan. We stood in the hallway, outside my door and looked at the floor, the door, the ceiling. Anything to avoid looking at each other and saying goodbye. Our paths were diverging the next day. Finally he spoke and said goodnight. We agreed we would stay in touch. He hugged me goodbye. He kissed my cheek. I wanted more, but the timing was off for us.

He stayed there, lingering as I unlocked my door. As I pushed it open, I noticed the bunk bed that had been occupied by the Japanese kids, was now empty. I didn't think they were leaving until tomorrow, but maybe our language barrier had left me mistaken. I stepped further into the room and saw my brother, on top of the girl from the train. They were fucking like wild animals.

I froze for a second but Christian saw me and started to flip out at me. He could've left a note on the door, or texted me not to come back, but he hadn't. I didn't know this would be happening, but he screamed at me for disturbing them. The girl tried to calm him down but he wasn't listening to her. His rage was focused on me. He jumped out of the bed, pulled up his shorts and he lunged for me. The girl screamed.

In the hall, Jon heard the commotion and had turned around and come back. He burst through the door just as Christian's fist connected with my nose. Blood sprayed everywhere and I fell onto one of the empty beds. I could hear the girl still screaming, calling him crazy, while she scrambled to find her clothes. Jon was on Christian in an instant. He tackled him to the floor and punched him in the side of the head.

The girl was near the door now, pulling on Jon to get up and leave with her. Jon got up, my brother laid there trying to cover his head to protect himself from further blows. Jon spun and looked at me and he grabbed my hand and pulled me up and out the door with him and the girl.

We went back to their room. I slept next to Jon and he held me while I cried. In the morning Jon walked me back to my room to get my backpack that I'd abandoned during the chaos of the night before. He opened the door and entered first. He gasped and I pushed into the room past him. My clothing was scattered everywhere. It was ripped up, my toiletries dumped everywhere and worst of all, my Phoenix was smashed into a million pieces. I sat down on the bed and stared at the destruction all around me. Christian and his things were no where to be found.

Jon sat down with me and held me. I wanted to go home. But not to my actual home. I hated it there. I wanted to run someplace safe, but it didn't exist. My anguish was overpowering. I don't remember the next few hours. Jon had helped me clean up my things and the room, as much as possible. I cut my fingers on the broken red and gold glass shards and I didn't even notice in my numb state. Jon was so worried about me.

I didn't know what to do, where to go. I had to assume Christian had moved to the next stop on our trip. He probably fled in the night, thinking to avoid trouble from the Canadians, or the law. The poor girl was shaken. He hadn't hurt her, but she was scared. I felt terrible he ruined her trip and it angered her friends too. I figured I'd be the scapegoat for his actions and they'd shun me, but it was the opposite. They invited me to stay with them for as long as I wanted.

I'd had my wallet in my pocket last night, so I still had my card and some cash. My card should still work unless Christian called my parents and gave them some story that painted me as the villain and convinced them to cut me off, mid-trip. I wouldn't put it past any of the three of them to do just that. Cutting off their eighteen year old son in the middle of Europe, alone, probably would have thrilled them. Any chance to treat me cruelly seemed to be irresistible to all of them. I hated them. Each and every one of them.

I stayed with Jon and his friends that whole day. They were all so nice. They were shocked at the story we had to tell about what had happened in that room the night before and even more so when Jon and I told them what we'd found in there this morning. They all worked together to make sure I had a great day. And I did. Mostly. My heart hurt. I felt like I'd lost my home, as terrible as it was. It was still the only home I had. I was in a daze most of that day.

That night we all boarded another train heading to Lisbon. My trip with my brother was supposed to head to Madrid. We had to pass through there to get to Lisbon, so I was fearful on the train that night. Jon was so supportive and he assured me he wouldn't let anything happen to me. He kissed me on the train. It was incredible and it was the first thing that had truly made me feel better. We made it through Madrid without issue and arrived in Lisbon.

Jon held my hand as we exited the train and we held hands on the whole walk to the rooms they had reserved. Their accommodations for the night were two rooms in a home of an older couple who rented out their spare bedrooms to student travelers every summer. We parted way with the Irishman, as he had plans to meet up with some friends and continue on his journey with them.

The first room had a double bed and a single bed. The smaller room had a double bed and there was barely room to walk around it. The girls wanted to be together and the one girl's boyfriend stayed with them. They took the room with the two beds. Jon and I took the other room, with one bed. For the first time, Jon and I were alone, behind closed doors.

He was 21. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He was an inch shorter than me and maybe ten pounds lighter. He was stunning to look at. His eyes sparkled all the time. His smile was devastating to behold. We didn't talk about home. We didn't talk about our pasts. We lived in the here and now only. I didn't know if he considered himself gay or bi or something else. I didn't know if he had someone at home waiting for him. I didn't care. He was here with me. Now.