In The Offenders Defence

I have always had strong morals. As a child, I was repulsed by cheaters, sickened by liars, and puzzled by women in pernicious relationships. I would often question to myself “Why wouldn’t you just leave the relationship? If someone treats you badly, then you leave them!” As if it were all that simple. Sitting on a pile of dirty clothes, hands shaking, tears streaming along my scarlet face, I laugh to myself. In a way, I understand. Someone I admired and loved had hurt me. In my anger, I could only see them as a villain, as unforgivable. I have come to realize, one cannot simply treat the darker parts of a person as their whole to forget the previous good.

My relationship with my brother has always been a complicated one. My childhood could be represented by the snow forts we built in the backyard, filling the interior with blankets and packaged goods hoping that for one winter night we may sleep under the stars. Or perhaps by the beloved little red wagon I would squeeze into as he grasped the worn handle and brought us around the neighbourhood in an exciting adventure. As we grew up and apart, the relationship evolved from childhood camaraderie to that of a guardian, a protector. People make mistakes, my brother still suffers for his.One of his most haunted mistakes happened earlier this year. Realizing I have grown out of my childhood bedroom, an online order was quickly placed. The moment my package arrived, I immediately set off to bring my beloved desk to my room, despite the weight and size of each piece. An hour later, I sat on the wooden floor of my bedroom, pieces of Styrofoam and unknown metal tools littered the surface.

“Hey, what the hell is this!” a deep voice echoed through the empty house announcing my brother's return. It suddenly occurred to me that I had yet to clean the entryway and stairs, steps and stones covered in small pieces of Styrofoam.

“I’ll clean it up later.” I called from my spot, continuing to sort the different screws. I did not realize it would quickly escalate from there. He said things, I retaliated. The topic varied. Sometimes it was about our puppy, Angus.

“Gus will eat the Styrofoam and it will kill him!”

“He’s been sitting next to me this whole time and hasn’t done anything!” I argued. Sometimes it was about simply being cruel. I said my fair share.

Towering over my short stature and watching his heated expression, I finally noticed my legs shaking from adrenaline and fear. SMACK! Abruptly, I found myself lying on the floor. My ankle ached, my elbows were scratched and my head was dizzy and pained. A concussion, I was later informed. In my brother's view, I had hurt our dog, his dog, he said. After I wondered if I had hit him during my fall. My brother and I have different reactions to problems. While he called my mom and informed her of what happened, I unsteadily made my way to my closet, sat on a pile of clothes with shaking legs and quietly said to myself with a small chuckle “That really sucked”. For some reason, it made me feel better. I did not cry. Not until I realized the gold chain my deceased grandmother had given to me at birth, had broken off my neck at some point during the blow. I still haven’t been able to repair it.

The shuddering fear, bitter anger and complete helplessness I felt in that moment filled me with hatred until I choked on it. Suddenly, every happy memory, shared secret and moments of wonder I shared with my brother blackened. I desperately wanted to be done with him. But then he apologized and told our parents what he did. He didn't have to. He could have lied, swept it under the rug. He didn’t want to hide it, as I did. I later found out that some of his past mistakes had affected his brain chemistry. This is not an excuse but rather an explanation for the sudden change from protector to perpetrator.

It is important for me to explain that I do not believe that abusive relationships can be condoned, that my experience was something entirely different. I wished I could hate him from that point on, I wished I could forget him, forget every nice and considerate thing he had done for me, forget all the times he looked out for me and protected me. My humanity intercepted all the hatred flowing to my heart and forgiveness escaped instead. I understand that one bad moment or action does not define a person’s goodness, it is their response once the action is done that truly matters.