Weekend Post #22: My Brother the Judas pt 3

I find it ironic that fate should decree that on this day when we traditionally celebrate motherhood, I should write of my mother’s disparaging betrayal. No flowery words praising the strength and virtue of my struggling single mom shall be found in today’s post. A mother that has aligned herself with the Star Wars goons is no mother to me.

Alas, I am getting ahead of myself. When last I posted on the subject, I had just retired in the guest bedroom of my brother’s house after discovering that he and his family were adulterers trysting with Star Wars behind Star Trek’s back. It is from this point that I resume my story.

Sunday morning my mother woke me up much earlier than expected and told me that we were leaving. My brother’s family hadn’t woken up yet. Normally when we visit my brother, the whole family goes to Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast before we drive home. I however, was not remiss to forego family niceties after the previous night’s grim discovery. My mother must have said her goodbyes after I retired the previous evening because she led me strait to the car without saying a word to anyone in the house.

I hadn’t showered or shaved, not that that was unusual behavior for me on Sunday, but for the first time that I can recall, my mom didn’t whine about my body odor. We drove in silence until we reached Hudson Valley. Suddenly my mom turned to me and said that I owed my brother’s family a huge apology. I felt then, as I do now, that it is my brother who should fall to his knees and plead with me for forgiveness, but my mom never shut up long enough to give me a chance to say that.

She had the gall to say that I had ruined the entire trip and that she was sick of all my Star Wars and Star Trek “nonsense” and it was time I “grew the [expletive] up.” I originally thought that my mother fled my brother’s house so quickly to prevent another alteration between us, but I quickly realized that she, like my wretched sister-in-law, had become a full-fledged Star Wars goon. I suppose it was inevitable. Those two weak-minded women felt an urge to rebel against authority, just like teenagers do, and so they willingly turned from the path of Star Trek’s enlightenment that I showed them into the maze of Star Wars’ lies and deceit.

I told my mom that none of this would have happened if my brother didn’t have Star Wars DVDs in his house. I said, “All you have to do is read my blog to know how I feel about those films.” Mom said that she didn’t want me writing the blog anymore. I refused to speak to her the rest of the way home. After we dropped the rental car off at Enterprise and took the subway home, I went right to my room and watched Star Trek movies all night long even though I had work the next day.

The next morning my mom went off on this spiel with the usual crap. “Why can’t you be more like your brother? He has a good job and a great family and blah blah blah blah blah.”

I tried my best to tune her out but she went on for longer than normal that day so finally I said, “Okay! Maybe I don’t have a girlfriend or a super great job but I have a blog and a mission that millions of people around the world share. Not that it matters to you, but all of those people look to me as a leader! I think that far outweighs any meager accomplishments that my brother made!”

My mom sighed in that disdainful style that I loathe so much and said that I was living in a fantasy world. She said that if I wanted to keep wasting my time writing long boring posts that no one on Earth wanted to read that was my business but if I wanted to keep living with her I needed to “get my life in order” and start paying rent. She also forbade me from ever mentioning Star Wars to any of her friends or anyone in our family because no one wanted to come to the apartment because of me. She claimed I was the reason for her ruined social life.

I mumbled, “You’re acting like a Romulan.” I don’t think that was such a bad insult considering that what I really wanted to say was that she was acting like a Star Wars goon.

She said, “I don’t even know or care what that is, but my offer for you to pay rent is gone. I want you out by the end of the week.”

So now, I’m out of a home. The I Hate Star Wars Club has had to pack up its headquarters and move to a grossly overpriced studio apartment in the Bronx. I don’t have a phone or the internet hooked up yet, but don’t worry, as long as I can keep making posts from the public library, I will keep the blog alive. The Star Wars militia is certainly laughing at me right now, but little do they know that now that I am not living under the gaze of my mother—undoubtedly one of their spies—this club will develop unobserved and will become more powerful than they can imagine. They may think that they dealt me a fatal blow, but they will shortly find out that they are suffering from a self-inflicted lethal wound.