The Art of Breathing Underwater

Chapter 21

My brother returned home last weekend. He didn't let anyone know he was coming, arrived in a taxi, with his wardrobe in the boot. He claimed he was bored and fancied a change of scenery. Nobody believed this. My dad questioned him a lot those first few days, but Johnny stuck to his story. My mum said little. She was glad to have him back.

I was ambivalent. On one hand, it was nice to see him again. And he brought his portable TV/VHS combi-set with him, so we could watch movies upstairs. On the other, I had grown accustomed to thinking of the bedroom as my private sanctuary. It was disconcerting to walk in and find him sprawled out on the bed, TV on full blast. I didn't write, now there was a presence observing and questioning. Plus, he smoked. A lot. Not always cigarettes, either. The box-room resembled a 19th-century opium-den, the air thick with pungent grey smoke.

What I liked about my brother is he's a wealth of incidental anecdotes. When we watched The Thomas Crown Affair, he told me when McQueen lived in Hollywood, Steve's property neighboured onto James Gardner's. The king of cool disliked Gardner and would regularly empty his trash-can into his fellow Thespian's garden to piss him off. During Raiders of the Lost Ark, Johnny put his beer down to wow me with a little-known fact about Heinrich Himmler; the SS commander led a secret mission to Montserrat Abbey in Barcelona, hoping to locate the Holy Grail. A guy you would want on your team at a table quiz. Johnny, not Himmler.

Paradoxically, Johnnies greatest flaw is he's in thrall to his own voice. Never happier dropping facts, telling stories, and voicing his opinions. When somebody likes to talk that much, they are lacking in the listening department. Whenever you manage to sneak a word in edge-wise, you can tell from their eyes that they are busy plotting what to say next. I expect he suffered from low self-esteem. He had an overwhelming need to be the centre of attention, tied to his self-worth. I doubt think he would handle isolation well. Deprived of an audience, he would lose purpose.

For all his flaws, though, my brother had the propensity to surprise me with small random acts of kindness. The other evening, after work, he noticed me grimacing and rubbing my lower back. Without saying a word, he took the pair of pillows from his bed and tossed them onto mine. He refused any effort I made to return even one of them and consequently spent the entire night shifting on his bed in an attempt to get comfortable. I felt guilty for the resentment I had been harbouring toward him and his being all territorial with the remote control.

The chief problem I had, now my brother had taken up residence in our room, was my last remaining refuge had vanished. Everywhere I turned there were people I had to hide my true self from. In school. At work. At home. And now in my den. That secret which bubbled below the surface, an active volcano, threatening to erupt.

At school, when someone told a homophobic joke, I forced myself to smile. Pretend it didn't matter. Made believe it did not bother me. Break out the weird high-pitched laugh, when in my stomach, bile was swirling in my guts like an eddy.

At work, I discovered people did not grow tolerant with age. They simply got more selective with whom they shared their bigoted views. Instead of blatant playground insults, snide remarks and acidic barbs were delivered in low asides, drawing sneaky sniggers from the attendant listeners.

My go-to line never altered. 'I have nothing against gay people. But why do they need to be so flamboyant and in your face about it.' Declared with an affable grin, while I writhed inside.

At home, my dad was apt to remark, 'that Bowie fella—he's a bit funny,' his wrist going limp to illustrate the point.

Now, the insidious homophobia had crept into my bedroom. There is a scene in Dirty Harry, where two gay men are holding hands and eating ice cream in a park, which prompted my brother to offer his thoughts. "Disgusting how them lads carry on, isn't it?"