Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
Casey gained two half-siblings in that same year. One on his father’s side; one on his mother’s. Both girls. Maybe if they hadn’t been he would have viewed them differently. Maybe.
Silvia, a mixed-race princess who plucked food between her finger and thumb and favored books and cats to dolls or blocks, never looked up to Casey, her nose wrinkled in annoyance at his sexist comments the older she grew. Her mother’s child, pointing out faults with pianist fingers, harsh in her condemnation despite being right. Got a full-ride to the local private high school and skipped out to university the moment the acceptance came.
Brendon didn’t blame her.
Amanda, a pale chunk of pink baby fat turned speed demon who learned to kick a soccer ball sooner than she learned to speak in full sentences. Her father’s daughter, she told the same dreadful off-color jokes as her old man and stroked that same bitter chip that Casey wore on his shoulder. Ran off to California at seventeen without a backward glance to work at a surf shack and spend nights smoking weed on the sand.
Brendon didn’t blame her either.
Brendon thought them both magical those first few years. Younger siblings a treat he’d never been blessed with because his Mom was done-done-done and the Lord could give her an immaculate conception if he wanted otherwise. Casey resented them both, like the attention-mongers they rightfully were in their years of diapers and toddling.
At fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, Casey went from latch-key boy with a limited range to a wild teen with the open-ended freedom of car keys. Toss in a penchant for the illegal, a ruined friendship, and a need to have everything and Casey became a concoction Brendon could scarcely breathe around.
Casey would give this sigh—filled with longing, awe-filled need—and drag Brendon behind him, for Brendon’s longing remained focused on Casey even as Casey looked outward, onward, toward something only he could see.
Next Chapter Coming Mar 3rd!