My Brother

 This narrative is an episode from my very young life where I began understanding trust. It was a period when I relied on another person for my well-being and security, and he did not waver in his support.  It was also a time when he needed me.

In November 1964, I was eleven years old, and my brother William was twelve. I admired and saw him as my protector. He seldom lost wrestling matches with our two older brothers or friends. But he also had mental toughness I didn’t have, allowing him to endure situations others could not. And he never complained. When we put the winter wood supply in the basement, he was the first to start and the last of us to finish, seldom talking. At night before going to sleep, we had discussions about our day or sometimes about what kids would view as more significant issues. His views were often more adult than most adults we knew. He reasoned things out.

 

The boys in our family were expected to do a man's work; maintaining the property, cutting, splitting, storing the winter wood, and tending to the family garden. We were strapping kids known for our ruggedness.

While I could often be found amid the household roughhousing, I generally preferred the company of a good book away from the mayhem. Over the past year, what had been periodic sexual curiosity was threatening to consume my thoughts, and they generally involved other boys. I hadn't acted on my impulses, which increased my angst and guilt as a child of strong Catholic parents. My small library now included a series where I could use my imagination to create fantasies.

 This was supplemented by a couple of pages from the boy's underwear section of Eaton's catalogue. I kept my "collection" under my bottom bunk in the bedroom William and I shared.

One quiet Sunday morning, I came to change my church clothes. William was already there. "Doug, what are you doing with the catalogue pages stuck in a book? And why are the pictures of guys in their underwear?" I had gotten sloppy in hiding them. I must have been red-faced and couldn't think of anything to say. "Holy geez, Doug, are you queer?" William asked, holding them up. The word seared its way across my brain. Nobody had ever accused me before. I had worked so hard to hide it; now it was there for everybody to know. I was on him in a second, with fists flying, screaming and cursing. I was no match for William. He fought back, and the racket soon got Mom's attention. She flew into the room and tore us apart. He got in a punch on my nose. Blood was over my face and on my good clothes. "What is wrong with you two? Douglas come with me to the bathroom. William, pick up those books and paper." she ordered.

Mom got the bleeding stopped in a few minutes. We were both relieved my nose wasn't broken. The cold compress on my face and neck was slowing my hyperventilation. I kept pushing her away as she tried to help. She had a firm grip and sat me down on the side of the bathtub. I gulped for air and cried. She released her grip and rubbed my back gently. I was spent and went limp.

"I don't know what started that fight; you and William are good friends. Did he say something to make you that angry? I know he doesn't have sense sometimes." Mom hadn't seen the catalogue page. I was relieved, but at the same time, I just wanted to throw off my burden and shout out that I was gay. I was silent. "It was my fault. I thought he had worn my dress shoes to church. I just got worked up for nothing. They were by my bed.

" Ok, take off that shirt; I will soak it in Javex and hope the stain comes out." She hesitated before getting up. "Douglas, is there something else bothering you that you want to talk about? Reading is good, but it might be putting things in your mind that aren't good." I responded quietly. " I am ok, Mom, don't worry about me. I will take care of the shirt and patch it up with William." "You are a good boy, Douglas; I can depend on you. I will put the shirt beside the washer," she said as she left the bathroom.

 

My thoughts turned to William as I wiped away the crusty blood beneath my nose. I was sick with fear; being outed had been my worst fear since realizing I might be gay. He held my life as I knew it in his hands. I shakily re-entered our room. William was lying in his bunk looking at a comic book. He put it away as I came in and jumped down to sit beside me. " How's your nose? he asked. I'm sorry I hit you there. It’s a big target and hard to miss," he joked as he jostled me.

"I'm sorry, I started it," I said as I felt the tears run down my cheeks again. " Doug, listen to me. You are my brother, and we have always been best friends. Nothing is changed. You know lots of shit about me. You didn't ask to be gay, and I had no idea you were. But I know now, and if anybody in this hillbilly redneck village ever says anything to hurt you, they will answer to me. It will be a hell of a lot worse than a bloody nose."

 

The relief on my face must have been undeniable. He said nothing but just held me. That moment over fifty years ago remains a frozen scene. My brother's love for me far exceeded anything he may have heard or thought about homosexuality. In those few moments, I learned a most valuable lesson about trust. I realized its value when given and especially when received.

Five years is a lifetime in your teen years. William and I now had separate bedrooms with our older brothers at university and working away. For me, whatever improvement in privacy was offset by not having our nightly chats. I missed his presence. But things had altered with William. His self-assured, focused character had become moody and cynical.

He was hanging out with guys I knew to be troublemakers in the village. And weekends almost always involved him coming home drunk, followed by loud arguments with our parents. The mood in our home now was always tense. I never discovered the reason why he changed so much. But his transformation included cutting me out of his life. With my mentor gone, I gradually lost myself in my reading.

The day after William's high school graduation, I heard the telephone ring downstairs in the kitchen. I looked at the alarm clock on my bureau. It was 4:30 am. I went downstairs to see what was happening. Dad answered the phone. The anxiety in his voice matched the worried look on his face. When he hung up, he sat heavily on a nearby chair, shaking his head. I knew it was about William. I tried to prepare for the worst.

" That was your uncle Earl. He saw somebody floating down the river on some raft. He thinks it might be William. He used binoculars but couldn't see any movement."

Earl worked as a forest ranger and was coming off a night shift. "He called the RCMP, but getting a boat out there will take time. He says the raft is coming apart."

I sat on the step leading to the porch and pulled on my sneakers. " What are you doing?" asked Dad. You can't go out there by yourself." "I have no choice," I responded, pulling on a light jacket. It was late June, and the wind would be chilled. " The doctor said you can't lift anything for a month." Dad had injured his shoulder, cutting firewood. " Another person in the rowboat is a weight that will slow me down. I responded. " Douglas, you don't know what condition he is in. He might already be......" His words trailed off. "Dad, I can't leave him out there alone. He would never abandon me." I looked into my father's eyes for approval. He nodded and turned his head away.

A few minutes later, I was in my small rowboat, headed in the direction Earl had indicated. It was a cloudy morning, so the sun would not be in my eyes as I rowed from shore.

I tossed my jacket to the bottom of the boat as I was sweating, partly from the effort but also from fear of what I might find. I heard the wails of a police car and ambulance as they made their way up our street. The wind was light, and the tide was coming up the river, making the rowing easier.

It took me less than fifteen minutes to get to the area. I swung the boat around and spotted the raft about a hundred metres away. I recognized William's jacket. I couldn't see if he was conscious as his head was turned away. I started to row slowly backward, calling out quietly but then yelling to wake him or assure myself he was alive. There was no response. I filled my bailing can and threw the water on his face. He sputtered and lifted his head as I pulled alongside. He was talking incoherently.

 I was determined to keep him awake and kept up a chatter. He was in no shape to transfer him to my boat. Neither of us was a good swimmer, so I couldn't risk us going into the water. The raft was just three pieces of pulpwood held together by a light rope. A square of plywood sat loosely on top. Using the strong nylon rope in my boat, I tied the pulp logs firmly together, then tied the raft to my line. I looked across to the opposite shore. The tide that was in my favour earlier was now working against me. Added to the wood's weight and my brother's, it would be rough going. The wind had not come up, so that was a break. I set out.

I kept up my banter to keep him awake. His sporadic responses kept my spirits up while putting every effort into rowing. I was very comfortable on the river in all types of weather. I’m sure my adrenalin level was in full gear, but every muscle in my arms, back and legs ached like never before.

It took over thirty minutes to reach our shore. When I hit the beach, Dad helped William off the raft together with the police officer. The ambulance attendant evaluated William and said he was still very drunk but didn't appear hurt. They wanted to take him to the hospital to be sure. Dad agreed, and William said nothing. Dad and the officer talked for a few minutes, then came over to me. " Where did you learn to row like that?" the policeman asked. It was like you had a motor." "I had lots of motivation," I replied sheepishly. " You know you saved your brother's life." his tone becoming serious. "That thing he was on wouldn't have held together if he got into open water. Mr. Dolan, you must be very proud of this young man." " Yes, I have always been proud of Douglas.

I haven't told him enough; if things had gone differently out there, I would never have been able to say it. Thank you, Douglas." The policeman and Dad spoke briefly. I heard him say there would be no follow-up needed. And he was gone.

I landed a few hundred feet up from home and was pushing my boat out to bring it back. I didn't see Dad, but suddenly he was helping me push off. "Your mother and I are lucky to have you as our son Douglas. You never give us trouble like that fool brother of yours." I was in the boat and rowing back when tears broke through. It may have been the release of tension or exhaustion. It may also have been me realizing I could never live up to their view of me.

Later that day, William was back home. I was reading when he came quietly to my room for the first time in months. He sat on the side of the bed as I swung my legs over to join him. "I guess you are the hero now, Doug." There was no sarcasm or bitterness in his voice. He spoke so low that I strained to hear him. The scene mirrored the one we were in five years ago. I wasn't going to let him go without saying what I felt. " William, you stood by me when you learned I am gay. You didn't break the trust we had. I was so afraid of losing you then and today. I don't know how I could go on without knowing you would be there. I am your brother, I trust you with my life, and you must know you can trust me with yours. I don't know what happened to change you when you were fifteen. But if you ever want to talk like we used to, I am here for you.

I want to say that my brother William came back to me. But that is the stuff of television and movies. After graduation, he broke our mother's string of having all the children with university degrees.

He did go to college and worked as he wanted. He got married and had excellent and accomplished kids in various professional fields. But he never returned to me, and I am the lesser person for it.