I don’t know what it was. They were
like glitter: sparkly and shiny but once you looked closer, like a lot closer,
there was actually nothing there. And there wasn’t. They weren’t very nice people
but I still found myself wanting to be next to them. But the guys next door
would only see me as just that: the girl next
door. I knew that they made fun of me. It dug and got under my skin real
fast. Why did they think that they were so much better than I was? We weren’t
so different. We had the same interests and hobbies. But the way that we
treated people? That’s where we lacked to agree. I was always the one trying to
avoid stepping on toes while they thrived on it. There were three of them,
sometimes five or six. It depended on how many of their friends were there. We
were cordial because we needed to be. Or at least I was. Neighbors can’t be
rude; it doesn’t look good when people take notice. That’s what mama always
said, at least.
The
one I knew best was the oldest. I knew him because of my brother. I don’t know how
they met. I never asked. To be frank, I don’t care enough to ask now. The
oldest and I used to be close until we weren’t. I wish I could tell you what
happened, I honestly wish that I could, but I don’t even know myself. He used
to take care of me. I used to think that he was some sort of handsome but it
was only the glitter that I saw.
The
second oldest, the middle, was my age. We never got along. Mama said as kids we
would fight about everything…mostly his older brother. He was bigger, stockier,
than the others. He had a nice face with gorgeous blue eyes that were
mesmerizing if you looked into them for too long. We liked to joke that that’s
how he got all of his girlfriends…even though it was true. He’s had quite a few
of those…and he’s treated them all the same: like dirt. So many pretty girls,
so many tears. I almost felt bad for them but as I watched each new one become
an old one but I knew that there’d be another one coming around the corner and
that they’d never learn. Blondes and brunettes were constantly coming through
his door but redheads were his favorite. They always lasted the longest (but
that wasn’t saying much considering their shelf life was about two weeks).
The
third brother, the youngest, was the shy one. He went with the flow, he never
wanted to mess up; most definitely the perfectionist of the group. He looked
similar to his middle brother and would act like him one day, too. He was much
smarter, though. I’d see his nose in a book, scribbling notes in a notebook
next to him. I never took the time to figure out what his notes were, not that
he’d give me the time of day. I don’t think that his very own brothers even
knew what those notes were.
You’d
never find one without another. If they weren’t with a brother, they were with
one of their friends who followed them around like trained dogs. It was almost
like a cult and it was disgusting. Mama said that it must be a guy thing but I
didn’t believe that for one second.
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