Kourt got up from the couch and stretched. Extending her arms in opposite directions and arching backward as if ready for a hug but with no one in front of her, to grasp her, hold her close, and share those feelings. She yawned. Brought her arms in to cover her her mouth and began the talk to the front stained-glass front door. She felt out of herself. She lost control. The walk to the door, the movement of her arms, the swing in her hips – she controlled none of it. Her hand reached out, the tendons stretching, pulling, contracting – not by her whim, someone else pulled the strings; she grabbed at the brushed gold door knob. Just before she made contract with the knob she heard her brother talking from the top of the stairwell behind her.
Tom was four years younger then his sister and he had just started his final year at Buffalo Ridge Middle School. Buffalo Middle, though not directly related to West Chester, usually fed it. They acted as theoretical sister schools and those with enough money that finished Buffalo ended up at West Chester. Kourt followed that path, and everyone expected the same for Tom. But oddly enough Tom lacked interest in West Chester. He lacked interest in a lot of things actually. He was a nerd for all the wrong reasons. In his words he refused West Chester because he, “like, couldn’t deal with all of like that, ya know?” Kourt recognized her little brother’s insanity and dismissed his mockery to that. Actually, Kourt found it easier to dismiss things regarding her brother because when he was nine years old his parents took him to the doctor. Both of her parents agreed that something about Tom seemed wrong; his concentration faltered, he failed to respect them — he came across as abnormal. The doctor found something wrong, actually, Tom lived with Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder. Or ADHD. He hated the title. He loathed all of it, but no one ever asked his opinion. He just took the medicine.
Anyway, from his perch on the top of the stairwell he asked his sister, “Headed to Paul’s?” Kourt recognized the opportunity in thrown her way and stopped reaching for the door. She spun to face her brother who stood above her, she replied, “Ya looks like it, he wants to see me.”
“Why him, he is kind of a dick if you ask me?” Tom looked at his sister, he rolled his eyes. “Then again, you don’t ask me. So, have a great time!”
Kourt felt rejected by her own little brother but for the wrong reasons. She wanted him to keep talking not because of their faltering relationship or any of that sappy stuff but simply because Tom’s point held validity. He said what he thought. By happenstance he also spoke the truth. But he was a hyper kid doing homework, alone – easily dismissed. And Kourt’s lack of self control, or control of her self as she wanted to call back for her brother but instead felt as if her chance had fled. As Tom walked back into his room, Kourtney felt hopeless. A puppet. She turned back to the door and grabbed the knob. She spun it. Pulled. And stepped out of her home.
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